Don Sandman Now A Youngster Of 70

Press, Volume XCVIII, Issue 29064, 28 November 1959, Page 5

Don Sandman Now A Youngster Of 70

■TVON SANDMAN is 70. no-one who knew him when he was the finest all-round athlete in Canterbury will believe it. For thousands, he will always remain the resourceful, courageous little half-back, bringing down men twice his size, the clever leg-break bowler, the batsman whose purpose and power and pugnacity made brighter the days when cricket did not lack for colour and personality.

Don Sandman was a natural at every sport he took up—his hundreds at billiards came easily, he was an expert rifle shot, he scored his centuries even at quoits, and he was outstanding in gymnastics, hockey, badminton, boxing, tennis—anything he had time to do. Now he plays bowls, and plays well.

But more than that, he is among those rare characters who come to the top in sport occasionally—the type which fears no situation, no opponent, no criticism. Because he was so outspoken, some knew him as “the outlaw”; but he was a team man in the best sense, and his was no passing fame, for at Hagley they still speak of him with affection, sometimes with awe.

Sandman played for New Zealand at cricket, and an extremely competent judge of Rugby recalls that his failure to win an All Black jersey remains one of the blackest blots on the record of Rugby selection. But he was in the famous New Zealand Army team in South Africa after the First World War, and if he is not listed among the All Blacks, his is real footballing renown. Enthusiast Perky, aggressive, strong of arm and quick of tongue, a man who played every game with all his heart and strength. Sandman has left behind a legion of stories. Most of them are true. There was no room for the pedantic or pedestrian when Sandman was in a game. < Sometimes he was out early, but when he wasn't he always scored fast. Sometimes his leg-breaks were hit, but he kept spinning and trying. There was never any question of his courage. He was in Australia with a New Zealand team, and the great fast bowler, Kelleway, cut a swathe through the New Zealand batting: Hemus 0,

Tuckwell 0, Hickmott 0, Reese 6, Patrick 6, Carlton 3, and five of them to Kelleway. In came little Sandman, a pathetic little figure between the distant bowler, and the wicket-keeper 20 yards back. His first ball flew at him, hit him over the heart, and he fell to the pitch. As he staggered up, he addressed himself to the wicketkeeper thus, “What’s he want to hurt me for? I don’t even know him.”

But Kelleway began to know Sandman a little later. Sandman walked boldly up the pitch as the bowler ran, and he drove and hooked and cut his way to 53 not out, top score for New Zealand. In the second innings he was top again, with 33. No bowler conquered him this time, either. He was run out. Sandman never believed in taking much notice of reputations. He played for Canterbury for the first time in 1910, against an extremely strong Australian side. Sandman scored 20, and his last scoring shot was a 6 off Warwick Armstrong. Sandmah’s second innings score was 12 not out—two sixes off Armstrong. After this

one provincial appearance* Sandman was chosen for New Zealand.

There is a sequel. On the Australian tour, Sandman bowled to Armstrong in the Victorian match. The 19-stone Armstrong took a huge stride down the pitch and hammered back the ball with all his strength. Somehow Sandman caught it. And the other fieldsmen had to unbend his fingers to take the ball out. He bowled no more that day, for his hand rapidly became swollen and useless. Armstrong and Sandman remained the best of friends, and Armstrong, Australian and New Zealand representative for a Scottish firm always left a present for Sandman on his New Zealand visits. Sandman came into cricket in typically assertive fashion. With' other members of the St. AlbansJ Young Men’s Guild cricket team, he was at Lancaster Park to watch a big match, and at the lunch interval one of Canterbury’s finest players, K. M. Ollivier, came out to have some batting practice against the fence. Someone tossed Ollivier the ball, and Sandman beat an aggressive stroke with

his leg-break. Another bowler from the spectators tried, but Ollivier merely caught the ball and tossed it to Sandman. Ollivier tried to hit it, and again he missed. Then he spoke to Sandman, and invited him to the St. Albans net at Hagley Oval. Sandman went, he played a match in the second team, and then joined the seniors, where he stayed for many a happy day. Virtuosity Two other instances of Sandman’s virtuosity and skill must suffice. There was no more gifted batsman than Victor Trumper, and Sandman bowled against him four times, a privilege in itself. And Sandman had him out three times —bowled for 32, caught for 72, lbw for 34. On the other occasion, Trumper scored 293 against Canterbury, perhaps the greatest innings ever played in New Zealand. Sandman ended it by catching him off Joe Bennett.

On the Sunday of a test match in Christchurch, the Australians and New Zealanders were gathered on the tennis court at the Opawa home of Sir Arthur Sims. The Australians began to talk about the remarkaole ability of Arthur Mailey in spinning the ball, then the Australians backed their views with offers of wagers. The New Zealanders accepted. So a strange, man-to-man contest took place; the Australians paid up cheerfully.

In nearly 20 years of representative cricket, Sandman did some remarkable things. He had many successes as an all-rounder. In Plunket Shield matches alone, he took 88 wickets for Canterbury, and scored more than 1000 runs; in all, his tally was 170 firstclass wickets, and there were few to beat that in those days. In 1911, his five for 55 retrieved a losing situation against Auckland led to a dramatic victory, and there was his remarkable performance against Otago in 1912, when his match totals were 105 runs and eight wickets. He was one of the successes of the 1913-14 Australian tour, and he played a magnificent innings of 80 for Canterbury against the Australians at Christchurch in 1914, when Armstrong, Crawford, Noble and Mailey were opposed to him, and he was fighting a lost cause.

Opener Sandman often used to open the bowling, for the modern conventions were still unknown, and there was a notable occasion at Auckland, when L. G. Hemus, one of the greatest, shouldered his bat to the first ball of the match, 1 which Sandman had decided in advance would be a wrong ’un. Hemus was bowled, with his eyebrows nearly as high as his bat. Canterbury won a wonderful match by one wicket—Sandman, 27 not out at the final crisis, making the winning hit. After he had served overseas with the infantry, Sandman found the runs and wickets still coming; there was a seven for 30 against

Otago in 1921, seven for 99 against Auckland, when he was Canterbury’s captain. This match provided another typical Sandman story. He had been hit on a knee in the previous match, and was almost crippled by the time the team reached Auckland. He was ordered to bed, but when the coast was clear dressed and went to the ground. He stayed in the stand, until he could not bear it any longer, so hobbled out and took his seven wickets.

Sandman’s last match was in 1927, and it was only right that his last victim was another extraordinary personality, B. J. Kortlang. It was only right, too, that his last innings should be "bright and attractive” and should yield 64. Long Hit Sandman* once hit a six off C. Oliff, of Auckland, which was measured at 135 yards. At 50 he was still playing cricket, for the West Coast, and he misses few days’ play at Lancaster Park. But he deplores the lack of practice today, the lack of fitness, the lost art of cutting, the lack of footwork. Not that he is one of those who sees no virtue in the present player, and modern cricket. He is far too cheerful for that. His cricket was based on a positive outlook. In Rugby, Sandman was perhaps unfortunate. He was in competition with P. J. Burns (Albion) and H. M. Taylor (Old Boys),

generally recognised as New Zealand’s best half-backs after the retirement of Fred Roberts. Sandman did not, however, always play second fiddle to these players, for he played his share of representative matches in 1912 and 1913, and on one occasion all three were, in the same side. Two other well-known Merivale players, W. A. Ford and E. W. Hasell, were in the New Zealand Army team with which Sandman visited South Africa. He was one of the best performers. Back with Merivale after the war, he played for the South Island in 1920 and seemed certain to be in the next team for Australia but_ apparently “kissing goes by favour” and Sandman missed out—the unluckiest half-back ever to miss New Zealand honours.

Don Sandman was a great halfback, and long before the dive pass was introduced by Danie Craven, Sandman had something better —the flick pass. He would dive at a ball out of reach and with a flick of his powerful wrists would send off a pass to keep the five-eighths moving. Courage Not all newspaper references to Sandman were of his success at sport. Some 20 years ago a railcar on which he was a passenger was derailed and badly wrecked between Greymouth and Hokitika. Sandman and another man worked furiously to extricate the other passengers. They carried 17 of them out to the embankment and they were all taken to hospital. Sandman himself thought he had hurt his neck. Seven years later he discovered that he had a spinal dislocation, but he “got it fixed.”

In a sporting age rich with personalities, Don Sandman stood out. Now he is 70; and he brought an interview to an end by standing, straight of leg, and touching the floor with his fingers, his full palms, then the backs of his hands. The little outlaw.