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Benson & Hedges Cup Final: Hollioake humbles Kent

Surrey (215-2) beat Kent (212-9) by 8 wickets

AS an occasion the Benson and Hedges Cup final exuded the im- pression that this was a competition whose time had come and gone. But by the miracle that is the constant rejuvenation of life, English cricket was granted the advent of Benjamin Caine Hollioake, aged 19, al- ready as audacious as could be.

The younger Hollioake had already starred at Lord's this sea- son when he had hit 63 off 48 balls in the international against Aus- tralia in May. It is possible, however, to climb one high peak through the sheer exuberance of youth. To climb two demands skill which is extraordinary.

So the curse is not upon this Caine. Not yet a regular member of Surrey's championship side, he is as precocious a batting tal- ent as English cricket can have seen: without the defence of Hutton or Compton when they made their promising Test debuts, but with the same velvet touch that David Gower had at 21.

The speed of the scoreboard operators at the Oval is leg- endary, but even they are going to be taxed in the years to come. For Ben Hollioake is an all-rounder, which the eminent com- parisons were not, and with the licence to attack that they did not enjoy. In yestetrday's final he fell two runs short of a hun- dred against Kent, for whom it was another cup final, another failure.

The next question is not whether he can go higher - it should be a close contest beteen him and the Mars rover on the Pathfinder mission - but by what route. He is in the party to attend Eng- land's next motivational course before the Headingley Test. He is not in the England Test XI, although he is in the England six to play un- der his brother Adam's captaincy in Hong Kong (''one country, two Hollioakes'').

For the moment he is the toast of Surrey, for winning them their first cup final since 1982, to go with last year's Sunday League, and perhaps of Jack Russell too. England have been forced to make Alec Stewart their all-rounder, although the signs continued yes- terday that the duel job may be getting the bet- ter of even his redoubtable spirit. Russell would have a fine chance of returning if Ben Hollioake, given time, matures into an England number six.

Kent were unlucky in more ways than the unenviable comparison between their batting and Hollioake's, with Stewart in support. Kent's batting was marked by commitment, courage and enthusi- asm, but not quality, as they managed to total some 50 runs short of par, given early movement no more than customary off an al- most white pitch. Surrey, not lapsing into excesses as they bowled and fielded, were sober and seri- ous in following the lead of their opening bowlers.

Kent were also unlucky in that of the three lbw decisions awarded against them, the one against Trevor Ward looked to be right, that against Alan Wells marginal, and the one against Matthew Flem- ing both too high and too much directed down leg- side. But it was predicatable that the lack of quality would make itself felt if the pitch or bowling did anything untoward. It is significant that if bats- men do not make it at Kent, they do not make it anywhere.

Kent were 56 for three after 15 overs, against Surrey's 80 for one, and they lost Ward soon afterwards to a slower ball. Nigel Llong should have been caught by Stewart when Kent had reached 86. Ian Salisbury joined Saqlain in the attack but though Graham Cow- drey was kept back to tackle them, Chris Lewis was brought back and an- gled his way through to Cowdrey's leg stump.

As Kent had lost six wickets, Surrey were through to the best of their batting but only 14 full overs remained for Mark Ealham, Paul Strang and Steve Marsh. While Ealham made the most of his ability with the bat, as he does for England, Strang shook off the discomfort of a broken left little finger as far as he could and Marsh, though tied down and up by Salisbury, made sure the allotment was fully used, like an industrious gardener.

It was mundane stuff, though, except for the Kent supporters who noisily outnumbered Surrey's - mundane both by the stan- dards of a cup final and of the younger Hollioake. He played and missed, he played and edged, yet he also played and hit the ball as sweetly as could be.

There was something of the rubberiness of the West Indian Richie Richardson in his youth when Hollioake whipped Martin McCague through square leg, and when he ran between wickets. He was fallible when he exceeded his young brief outside off stump, particularly when he sauntered towards Ealham or Dean Headley; off his legs, to ei- ther side of mid-wicket, he was princely.

Stewart, the most dashing specialist batsman England have had since Ted Dexter last drove, played some shots of his own while he kept a sensible end up, but could make no more headway than one run per over while the young pup helped himself to three. The Lord's score- boards could not keep up, and one of them finally went blank.

Fleming had two appeals against Hollioake that looked more ``out'' than the one given against him. But nothing overtly dis- turbed Hol- lioake until he had reached 98 and went for his landmark with an on- drive that did not clear mid-on. Stewart ac- celerated to knock off the runs, with eight wickets and five overs to spare.

Colt bucks the trend to bring Lord's to life
Peter Roebuck

Thank goodness Mr and Mrs Hollioake did not consider one son to be sufficient. Not until their second offspring walked noncha- lantly to the crease did this match spring to life. Hitherto, it had been as middling as a suburban street in some confounded conurbation. Spectators watched and waited and tried to rouse the players but nothing much happened, just a washing of cars and a cutting of lawns. And the mundanity of everyday life.

Every time Kent had tried to cut loose they came upon a red light and fell back again. A series of inadequate strokes were played against opponents who are Chelsea trying to be Arsenal but secretly wanting to be vintage Tottenham. Kent struggled in vain to escape the ordinariness to which they were this day doomed.

It might have lasted until dusk. Sometimes cricket goes that way. Sometimes no one does arrive to awaken the scene. After all, the target was routine. Kent's slide had ruined the specta- cle. Few teams could survive losing as many early wickets as had Kent.

A mixture of careless strokes and misfortune had betrayed them, inhibiting their lower order in a way calculated to dismay Os- car Wilde. Only a robust contribution from Mark Ealham had given hope to the Hoppers. And so the crowd sat yawning in their seats, fearing the brown-capped brigade would step with professional ease towards their meagre target.

It was into this vacuum and on to this stage that Ben Hol- lioake walked at the fall of Alistair Brown to a blinding catch taken at point by Matthew Fleming, a redoubtable cricketer and an amusing and perceptive writer.

No sooner had the colt taken guard, than he was playing strokes of the highest calibre, disrupting his opponents with a stream of thrilling shots. His glides through midwicket, played off either foot, had about them the ease of the Orient, his strolls up and down the pitch told of the leisure of the Caribbean, and his sense of occasion had about it the timing of a considerable cricketer.

Admittedly, Hollioake had fortune upon his side. Twice he might have been given leg before to Fleming, who had not been as lucky earlier in the day. Also he spooned a catch to mid-on that somehow fell safely as Ealham charged. Meanwhile, Hol- lioake had absent-mindedly wan- dered up the pitch as if antici- pating his dismissal, a circumstance that did not seem to concern him.

Accordingly he was not well placed when the ball landed, espe- cially since his partner had long ago rejected the possibility of pinching a run. Alerted, Hollioake turned, hurried and dived and still failed to beat a throw wide of the target. It was schoolboy howler, and a young cricketer's birthright. Utterly unflustered, he continued in his adventurous way, flicking bound- aries as if he were wiping sweat from his brow.

His ease of manner and creative hands rapidly put the innings beyond Kent's control. His opponents knew they had not scored enough, knew they had to bowl and field like men possessed if the day was to be saved. And here was an opponent, a youngster in his 20th year, playing as if he had not a care in the world. Such batsmen are partic- ularly dangerous because they know the mis- chief of our world but not its devilry.

This was not the greatest innings played on these occasions. Viv Richards has strutted his stuff on this stage, and so have Clive Lloyd, Aravinda de Silva and their like. But it was remark- able to watch, not least because one never quite knew what the fellow might do next. It was an innings of a cricketer enjoying the licence of youth, an innings of hope rather than expecta- tion, of challenge rather than duty, of joy rather than con- cern, of opportunity rather than fear. It had about it more the flavour of champagne than whisky.

Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about Hollioake's effort is that it did not come as a surprise. Surrey needed 213 to win and some chaps were bowling. It was a cricket match. He might have been play- ing on his back lawn. After his early adven- tures, he settled into a more thoughtful game, showing immaturity that will sit well beside his hidden competitiveness. And yet it is Hollioake's straight driving, glides, clips and suddenly delicate cuts that will linger in the mind. He gave his team the match upon a plate, or rather he con- firmed Kent's worst fears about the feebleness of their total.

England must not wait too long for a player of this sort. One senses that he yearns to get after his opponents. And he does like to win. In all probability some scrapes lie ahead, but these will be outweighed by the good sense of the family and the de- termination and emo- tion to be found within. Like most noncha- lant types, Hollioake is more impassioned than he appears.