Tuesday, March 5, 2002 These are heady days in Australia. For weeks, the selectors have been clamouring for several seasoned cricketers' heads. The nation, meanwhile, has been clamouring for the Governor-General's head. The selectors showed some belated restraint yesterday by limiting their cull of Australia's one-day team to two players - Mark Waugh and Andrew Symonds - who palpably deserved to be dropped. How long the prime minister, John Howard, can show the same restraint and let the Governor-General keep his job is more problematic.

The Governor-General, for those unfamiliar with the arcane world of monarchical Australia, is the Queen's representative down under. He is a man (no sheila has ever had a look-in), with the power to boot out any prime minister who does not toe the line - as happened, in 1975, to a chap called Whitlam who cared neither for cricket nor for stringent fiscal policies.

Anyway the present Governor-General, a bloke called Peter Hollingworth, is in trouble for showing a dead bat to numerous child sex-abuse cases back in the days when he was a Queensland archbishop. Various potential successors have been nominated. There's Germaine Greer, the homeward-bound prodigal daughter. Peter Cosgrove, head of the army. Janette Howard, wife of the PM - a blatant case of nepotism, sure, but by no means the most shocking in modern times (Trevor Chappell and Glenn Trimble both played cricket for Australia, remember?).

The name Steve Waugh has also cropped up. On the surface it seems a good idea, especially now that he has a bit more spare time every January and February. But problems would soon emerge. Imagine him embarrassing the Queen by refusing to take off his baggy green at official functions. Picture him humiliating the cricket-crazy Howard with his diary revelations: "Day 2. Had to get my phone number changed after he rang for the 42nd time in two days. John the PM is a bigger nuisance than John the bookmaker." Then there is the ticklish difficulty, one Australia's selectors are familiar with, of how to get rid of Steve's little brother Mark, who would constantly be heading down to the G-G's.

One obvious candidate, meanwhile, has been shamefully overlooked. He is a man who fought proudly for his nation against enemies from Asia, Africa and the mother country. A man who is a masterful leader, an erudite speaker, a thinker. A man who has campaigned against such evils as match-fixing, throwing and the front-foot no-ball law. A man whom the Bradman family asked to deliver the eulogy when Sir Donald shuffled back to the pavilion for the last time.

He is a man who - like Sting, Mandela and Jesus - is known to a grateful galaxy by one name. And the name is Richie.

Who better to don the vice-regal robes than the man who for decades has worn the cream, white, off-white, bone, ivory and beige jacket with such panache? Australian Governors-General have traditionally been drawn from four areas: politics, the judiciary, education and the military. Richie has the diplomacy of a president, the fairness of a judge, the discipline of the sternest schoolteachers, and the courage in his convictions of the greatest military strategists.

Yet he is no fuddy-duddy; witness his pioneering role in the commercialisation of cricket. He is not afraid to gamble: it was Richie's brinkmanship during Australia's last-day run-chase that stopped the 1960-61 tied Test, the match that resuscitated cricket, from petering out into yet another dreary draw.

More crucially, Richie has none of the key character flaws that threaten to bring down the current G-G. Hollingworth's biggest problem is the mountain of dirt his critics have on him. Richie is cleaner than Mr Sheen. Hollingworth is largely unknown to the population; Richie is more recognisable than Kylie. Hollingworth is a horrifyingly inept media performer; Richie wrote the book.

For the past year Richie has silently but gracefully filled the role of cricket's eminence grise. It was a position held by Bradman for 60 years and, before him, by WG Grace for about 40. When Bradman died Richie was the only possible successor. Many modern cricketers have made superb coaches, selectors, commentators and general media dogsbodies (see Jeff Thomson). But apart from Imran Khan, who is devoting his talents to matters beyond the boundary, they somehow lack Richie's mix of flair, gravitas and authority. Sobers doesn't have it. Viv Richards is too barmy. Mark Nicholas too smarmy.

Besides, none of them are loved in the way Richie is. Richie would create an air of excitement around the office of Governor-General. Crowds would flock. Children would hang on every word. Speeches would be recorded and reprinted in the next morning's newspapers. Channel 9 could even televise proceedings from Richie's official residence: "Welcome to Yarralumla for the first time today. Before we get underway let's cross to Tony Greig in the kitchen, where's he whipping me up some fried eggs and a bit of bacon, and a mmmmarvellous strip it looks like tooooo."

It remains to be seen how Australia's one-day cricketers will fare in the post-Waugh period but it is hard to imagine the side being any stronger for the twins' absence. Life in Australia, however, would be immeasurably richer with a bit more Rich, please. It's a wonder John Howard didn't think of it earlier. Let the campaign start here.

Chris Ryan is former managing editor of Wisden Cricket Monthly and a former Darwin correspondent of the Melbourne Age.

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