The Cricket Media Club was deeply saddened to hear of the passing of Rob Steen last week at the age of just 67. Please take a few minutes to read this touching obituary by Matthew Engel in memory of a fine cricket writer, colleague and friend of the game.



By Matthew Engel

In the early 1980s a wannabe journalist with no experience whatever was sent by the Hayters news agency to a Birmingham City reserves’ away match. One of the Brummie papers wanted a report on the form of one of the team’s star turns, Mark Dennis, who was recovering from injury. The young man grabbed an interview with Dennis, wrote his story and went home contentedly. It could easily have been  the last piece he ever filed as well as the first.

Dennis had made comments about the Birmingham manager, Ron Saunders, that were deemed libellous and the piece was spiked. For three months the greenhorn was blacklisted by Hayters before being given a second chance. Eventually, he became one of the most extraordinary characters on the cricket reporting circuit which at that time was full of them.

He was Rob Steen and I have never met anyone even remotely like him. Rob died on 19 September, aged 67, in a Rotterdam hospital having failed to regain consciousness after suffering a heart attack in the street.

The first and most important fact about Rob is that no one could possibly have disliked him. He was immensely compassionate. David Hopps recalled the England A tour to Sri Lanka in 1991 when Rob was working as a freelance on a rock-bottom budget while – in those halcyon days – the staffers had money coming out of their ears. So they helped him out. But they were a bit miffed when they saw him giving it away to the local beggars.

I witnessed Rob’s passion for the underdog in another way. He and I went on several trips to the US to watch baseball, a shared pleasure. He supported the New York Mets but if they were playing a really bad team he would change allegiance and cheer for the perennial losers.  I have never, ever met anyone else who did such a thing.

Even amid the hurly-burly of deadlines, he could be thoughtful. When subbing on The Guardian, according to Paul Weaver, Rob was the only person on the desk who would habitually ring him up if the piece had to be cut and ask which sentence he would least mind losing. And another word crops up from almost everyone: “enthusiasm”. He always had a  flair for new ideas.

He was born in London to a Jewish family and grew up in Chigwell and then Stanmore, where he won a scholarship to John Lyon School and bowled “over-flighty off-spin” (his words) for Stanmore Colts. His further education came from the University of Life – trainee accountant, estate agent, baker, theatre publicist and dole queuer.  He once told me he had thought about becoming a rabbi; that was definitely not one of his best ideas.  

Instead, he survived his disastrous debut with Hayters, the basic training ground for hundreds of sports writers (the boss, Reg Hayter, also played cricket for Stanmore which may have helped) and went on to work across the gamut of up-market sports writing: The Guardian, Sunday Times, Telegraph and Independent. He was given a leg-up by David Frith, then editor of Wisden Cricket Monthly; Frank Keating said he was “one of the brightest of a new crop of excellent young cricket writers”. But not everyone was a fan of Rob’s work.

He loved music, as did his father John, whose tastes were more classical. Rob was different, and furthermore seemed to think everyone else was familiar with  his latest passion. One critic said reading a Steen cricket report required “a working knowledge of the oeuvre of Steely Dan” He could have added Todd Rundgren and Joni Mitchell’s jazz phase. Some subs were inclined to get out the blue pencil whenever his copy landed.

All writers have their faults and Rob’s may well have been self-indulgence but, looking through the files, his work reads well. He was at his best, I think, in the Sunday Times, which had the time and space for long features and also in his books. There are 13 in the MCC Library, which does not include his biography of Sonny Liston. And he did have many good ideas. The MCC also has the four editions he published of The New Ball, a forum for long cricket reads, which he started in 1998. It did not last, but was the precursor to The Nightwatchman which with the Wisden imprimatur has now passed its half-century. It was a good idea before its time.

His best cricket book was  surely 500-1, The Miracle of Headingley ‘81 – written in 2001 with his friend Alastair McLellan, which was ground-breaking in taking a single match and putting it in its cricketing and social context. This was an idea that really worked. “He was obsessed with originality,” said Alastair. “So much so he never read novels in case he accidentally picked up something that had been done before. He left a very distinct body of work and I think he will be rediscovered.”  

In 1999 I had dinner with Rob in an Italian restaurant in Islington. He told me he and his wife, fellow journalist Anne Taylor, had decided to move from their flat in Alexandra Palace to Cornwall. On one level it made sense:  a family of five was swapping a small flat for a seven-bedroom house in Falmouth. And it was an adventure. But Rob was irredeemably metropolitan. I am not entirely sure he could have identified a daffodil. And the move meant about three hours to the nearest county ground. He continued covering cricket, which sometimes involved the night sleeper. All this may have contributed to the (amicable) break-up of his marriage.

The plus was that he found a new niche: teaching sports journalism at what is now Falmouth University. Later he moved back nearer his comfort zone to do the same at Brighton University. “He had no grounding in academia,” said Rob’s colleague Jed Novick, “and his teaching was, well, eccentric. But he took it very seriously and the kids respected the fact that he knew more about sport than anyone else around. And also that  he cared about them”.

That rings true but so does his disdain for orthodoxy. He was one of life’s scruffs, even if invited to the formal Wisden dinner; he hated driving; he was always much keener on spliffs than booze. His move to Rotterdam was characteristically quixotic. But he soon became a well-known local character. His son Joe, now a journalist himself, explains: “He befriended the manager of his favourite cinema in Rotterdam, which he visited pretty much daily. A lovely chap called Arthur. He said he loved Dad’s passion for film and got him to write brochures with reviews of the films being shown. Dad even curated a mini film festival which will be screening there next month. He really did make things happen, that man.”

Rob leaves his mother Shirley, sister Jane, and the children he adored – Laura, Joe and Evie. Anne and the children attended a private cremation in Rotterdam on Tuesday serenaded by Van Morrison’s Everyone. There will be a memorial event in London on a date to be announced. It is unlikely to be a traditional one.