![]() achieved the proletarianisation of cricket.”Īt his moment of triumph, Packer was also reflective, and intently entertained a cross-section of his world: the day-time television favourite Mike Walsh, celebrity sportscaster Mike Gibson, the telethinker Bruce Gyngell and agent Harry M Miller mixed with Lillee and Marsh, Sobers and Lloyd. “That Packer at that moment, so absolutely removed from the hoi polloi, should have. He had enticed sports fans out of the pubs… transforming the subtleties of traditional cricket into the spectacular that is night cricket.” “The incongruity of it all,” Adrian McGregor wrote. “That Packer at that moment, so absolutely removed from the hoi polloi, should have… achieved the proletarianisation of cricket. Packer’s Fairfax rivals gave their syndicated copy grudging space, although the organisation’s National Times a fortnight later carried Adrian McGregor’s colourful, intelligent tribute. The local press contingent was three-strong: the Australian’s Phil Wilkins had only two news agency companions. Match reports were revealing, not so much in what was written but what was not. When the target narrowed to 34 runs with 20 overs remaining, three cheap wickets stirred the Hill’s “C’mon, Aussie” choir, but robust blows from Davis and Marsh clinched the match by 9.20pm. Ian Davis, striking Bernard Julien for three smart fours, joined his captain in an even-time stand of 42. “As I looked out in the gloomy light I got a tingling feeling through my body.” Tony Greig, arriving late after a cross-country flight with the Amisses and Woolmers, choked back tears.Ĭhasing 128, the Australian batsmen never had to touch the heights. ![]() ![]() “There were hordes of people and cars as far as the eye could see,” he wrote. JP Sport’s first client, 4-12 in the bag, had never visited the executive room before and admired the view with awe. The 2.15pm toss was transacted for Ian Chappell and Clive Lloyd by 15-year-old Glen Michelic, a WSC coaching find from Fairfield, and the Australians fanned in the field to the strains of “C’mon, Aussie” hurling giveaway white balls into the 5,000 early arrivals.Ĭolin Croft bowling in the first match of World Series Cricket McDonald had called Packer before gates opened to describe lines of spectators twisting down Anzac Parade. But it upset a few people when they thought I was pooh-bagging the whole thing.” For many in attendance, WSC had become more than cricket, more than business, an end in itself. “I really had anticipated a big crowd,” McDonald recalls, “so I was quite underwhelmed. Their frivolity actually caused some offence in the party. “After all the hype and the publicity,” said ticket manager Bruce McDonald, “I would have been disappointed with anything less.” ![]() “So,” he drawled, “what do you think of my crowd?” It was 8pm on Tuesday November 28, 1978, and WSC had 50,000 rocking, rollicking converts. Like his brother Kerry he suffered from heart and kidney problems, and had a kidney donated from a close associate (in his case, his architect).Gideon Haigh relives the night that changed the game forever, as a near-capacity crowd turned out for a floodlit match at the SCG between the WSC Australia and West Indies sides.īill Macartney leaned back in parodied self-satisfaction as his companions looked down on the sea of faces beneath the SCG’s executive chamber. In America, Clyde pursued interests in film, surf culture, and magazine publishing.Ĭlyde was married twice, to Angela Money and Kate Clifford. In 1976 he sold his quarter share of the family business for A$4 million to his younger brother Kerry, who went on to become Australia's richest man.Ĭlyde was also a Liberal member of the New South Wales Legislative Council from 1964 to 1976.Īfter his resignation, Clyde became briefly involved in the counter-culture (famously wearing a kaftan), before moving to California in 1976. He resigned his posts as managing director of the Nine Network and general manager of Australian Consolidated Press after his father refused to air an interview with then union leader, Bob Hawke. In 1972 his first marriage broke up and he had a public falling out with his father. Clyde was the eldest son of media baron Sir Frank Packer.
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