The Underarm Bowl — Cricket's Most Infamous Moment

The 1981 Benson & Hedges World Series Cup was a triangular tournament involving Australia, New Zealand and India. Australia and New Zealand were contesting the final series, and by the time the third final arrived at the Melbourne Cricket Ground on February 1, the series was level. The match had been a tight, tense affair, and as the final over approached, both teams knew that everything was on the line.

Trevor Chappell was a perfectly capable international cricketer — a competent batsman, a useful medium-pace bowler, and a professional who had represented Australia with distinction. He happened to also be the younger brother of Australian captain Greg Chappell, a circumstance that on this particular evening would define his entire public legacy for the rest of his life. No amount of solid professional performance before or after this moment would ever outweigh what he was about to be asked to do.

New Zealand needed six off the last ball to tie — not to win, to tie — and send the match to a super over. Brian McKechnie was on strike. There was nobody on the ground, in the stands, watching at home, or listening on the radio who imagined that what happened next was about to happen.

As Martin Snedden finished the penultimate ball, Greg Chappell called his brother Trevor over for a conversation. From a distance it looked like a routine tactical discussion. Greg was telling his brother to bowl the last delivery underarm — rolling it along the ground so it was physically impossible to hit a six. It was, technically, still legal under the existing rules of the game. It was also, in every other sense imaginable, an act of pure sporting cowardice.

Trevor Chappell's body language during this conversation has been analysed extensively in the decades since. He looked deeply uncomfortable, like a man being asked to do something he knew was wrong but felt unable to refuse. He was playing under his older brother's captaincy. The instruction was clear. He walked back to his mark with the gait of a man heading towards a gallows of his own family's construction.

Wicketkeeper Rod Marsh, who was standing behind the stumps, was reportedly furious when he realised what was happening — his expression visible on the broadcast as he watched his captain issue the instruction. The crowd, initially confused about what was happening as Trevor began his run-up in a crouch, went quiet, then understood, then erupted. The noise that greeted the underarm delivery was not applause.

With New Zealand needing six off the last ball to tie the match in a 1981 ODI at the MCG, Australian captain Greg Chappell instructed his brother Trevor to bowl the ball underarm — rolling it along the ground so it was physically impossible for Brian McKechnie to hit a six. It was technically legal at the time, but it was about as sporting as stealing candy from a baby, and about as popular as a skunk at a garden party.

Trevor Chappell, clearly uncomfortable with the instruction — his body language screamed "please don't make me do this" — rolled the ball along the pitch with all the enthusiasm of a man being forced to perform community service. McKechnie blocked it in disgust and then hurled his bat away in protest, the bat bouncing across the turf as a physical manifestation of every New Zealander's fury. The New Zealand team was furious. The crowd booed with the kind of sustained intensity that usually only accompanies political decisions and parking violations.

Even the Australian players looked embarrassed, their expressions suggesting they would rather have been anywhere else — a dentist's waiting room, a tax audit, literally any situation that didn't involve watching their captain instruct his brother to cheat in front of 50,000 people and a national television audience.

New Zealand Prime Minister Robert Muldoon called it "the most disgusting incident I can recall in the history of cricket" and suggested it was "an act of true cowardice" — words that carried extra weight coming from a man not known for diplomatic understatement. Even Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser called it "contrary to the traditions of the game." Richie Benaud, commentating, called it "disgraceful." When both prime ministers and Richie Benaud agree something is wrong, it is very, very wrong.

The incident was so universally condemned that the laws were changed to ban underarm bowling in limited-overs cricket. The moment has been referenced in every trans-Tasman cricket match since, and New Zealand fans have never let Australia forget it. Forty-plus years later, it remains New Zealand's most effective sledge against Australia — no comeback required, just two words: "underarm" and a meaningful look.

“It was a gutless act. I hope I don't see anything like it again.”

“I consider it to be contrary to the traditions of the game.”

“I'm not sure that's quite in the spirit of cricket.”

“I regret the decision and if I had my time over I would not make the same decision.”

The reaction was immediate and universal. New Zealand were furious — understandably so — and the diplomatic fallout was extraordinary for a sporting incident. Both prime ministers weighed in, which is not a common occurrence in cricket controversies. New Zealand PM Robert Muldoon's suggestion that the yellow Australian uniforms were appropriate for the act of cowardice was delivered with the precision of a man who understood exactly how much it would sting.

Greg Chappell later admitted it was a mistake — one of those decisions made in the heat of competition that looks obviously wrong the moment you remove the competitive pressure. He maintained that his primary obligation was to win the match and that he had made a legal, if ungentlemanly, choice. History has not been especially sympathetic to this position. The apology, when it eventually came, was accepted in theory but has never quite neutralised the incident's power as a symbol.

Trevor Chappell, who had simply been following his captain's instruction, suffered the most disproportionate legacy of all. He was a solid international cricketer who played 3 Tests and 20 ODIs for Australia, took wickets, scored runs, and did his job competently. None of that is remembered. He is remembered for one ball, bowled underarm, on one evening in 1981. His career average, his catches, his bowling figures — all erased by two seconds of rolling a ball along the grass.