WHAT made Richie Benaud unique was his mastery, through sheer professionalism, of both playing the game he loved and commentating about it.

Today's commentators include several who had more natural talent for playing the game, but none comes close to matching Benaud's delivery in front of a microphone.

That's mainly because they have gone straight from the Test match arena into the commentary box, whereas Richie dedicated himself to learning the craft.

He was already working for The Sun in Sydney when he came to England for the 1956 Ashes series and stayed on afterwards to do a course with the BBC.

It was said of him that he was very much a fringe member of the Australian side on his first two tours, but he mastered the difficult art of leg spin through hard work.

Possessing a shrewd cricketing brain obviously helped in both careers and, as captain, he was credited with playing a big part in re-igniting interest in Test cricket during the epic 1960-61 series against the West Indies.

It began with the famous tie at Brisbane and continued to produce thrilling battles, leading to lifelong friendships with members of the opposition such as Frank Worrell and Wes Hall.

Another famous series, the 2005 Ashes, proved to be Benaud's last as a BBC commentator and it was also the last to be shown live on terrestrial television. The technology may have improved markedly since, but those who have aspired to be Benaud's successor, such as Mark Nicholas, have fought a losing battle.

The great man once said the key was “to put your brain in gear and if you can add to what's on the screen then do it. Otherwise shut up.”

Among his list of phrases he declined to use was “of course”, “you know” and “I tell you what.” Bland statements of the obvious were anathema to him, although he would probably also have shied away from words like anathema as he rarely sought to give outspoken opinions. When he did, it meant they carried all the more weight, as when he condemned Greg Chappell for ordering his brother, Trevor, to bowl an under-arm delivery.

In contrast to Brian Johnston's fits of giggles, Benaud's wit was dry. When Mike Atherton was once struck in the nether regions fellow commentator Richard Hadlee said: “That ball bounced, Richie.” “Which one?” replied Benaud.

His professionalism also persuaded him to dress smartly and he regretted that as a player he often had his shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest and rarely wore a cap under the blazing Australian sun.

Later generations of Aussies smeared themselves in sun block, but Benaud knew little of skin cancer until it was too late. Perhaps the need to protect against it will be part of his legacy, but he will be chiefly remembered for his informative and entertaining commentary, which appeared effortless only because of his dedication to perfecting it.