Because the teams were never fully representative, I don't believe that the World Series Cricket (WSC) statistics should be included in a player's Test record. However, I would make an exception if it meant the bravery and batting skills of Australia's Bruce "Stumpy" Laird were fully recognised.

The Test records show Laird with no centuries. He made 92 on debut against the powerful West Indies pace attack in 1979-80 but never produced a higher score; at least not in Test cricket.

He did score three centuries during the WSC Supertests, two in back-to-back innings in Australia and then a match-changing innings at the Queen's Park Oval in Trinidad. His scores were identical - 106 - in those successive innings. The first knock was against WSC West Indies at Football Park in Adelaide and he followed that with a century against the World XI at the Sydney Showground.

It was after that knock at the Showground that Laird and I came to an arrangement. I told him, "In future I'll call everything, Stumpy, regardless of where the ball goes."

Bruised but not broken: Laird receives treatment after being hit on the hand by Michael Holding during the 1979-80 Melbourne Test. He went on to score 69 Alan Gilbert Purcell / © Fairfax Media/Getty Images

My comment came as a result of a good partnership coming to an abrupt end when Laird mumbled something incomprehensible and, in the ensuing mix-up, I was run out by the length of the team bus. Afterwards Stumpy was profuse in his apology; at least I assumed that's what it was, because his dressing-room speech was no easier to understand than his mumbled call on the field. Laird is not loquacious. He never said any more than was absolutely necessary - still doesn't - and when he does speak, his lips hardly move. He would make a great ventriloquist.

Anyway, the arrangement worked. We were never again involved in a run-out when batting as partners.

Laird's third century - the one against WSC West Indies in Trinidad - is the main reason why I'd accept his WSC statistics being included in his Test record.

On a sporting pitch and up against a powerful pace attack that included Andy Roberts, Michael Holding and Colin Croft, Laird crafted a magnificent fighting hundred that kept Australia in the game. Batting first, at one stage Australia had slumped to 32 for 5, but when Laird was finally out for a magnificent 122, the scoreboard showed 232 for 8.

The disappointed Australians look on after losing the World Series Supertest final to the World XI at the SCG in February 1979. Laird sits third from right Adrian Murrell / © Getty Images

Laird was not a batter with a wide range of shots. He knew those he played well and stuck rigidly to them, so for him to accumulate more than 50% of the Australian total was an indication of the class of that innings. He not only scored a high proportion of the runs while at the crease but also shepherded the lower-order batters through some vital late-innings partnerships.

His mastery that day was confirmed when, after play, we went to the West Indies dressing room for a drink. As I entered the room, I was beckoned by a wagged finger belonging to West Indies opener Roy Fredericks - a man of similar linguistic traits to Laird. When I reached Fredericks, he simply said, "Tell Bruce I wish I'd played that innings."

Any tribute from an opponent is regarded highly by a player, but when it comes from one who performs a similar role, it's the ultimate accolade. Fredericks knew just how difficult it was to navigate the new ball at any time, but during WSC, it was even more challenging, so scoring a century against that attack on a tricky pitch was a feat to be admired.

Back in the Australian dressing room when I passed on Roy's compliment, Laird produced a soliloquy: "Did he really say that?" he gushed.

I've had the pleasant task of passing on a few compliments to current players from past champions and it's one of the more satisfying jobs in life.

Laird hooks Pakistan's Sikander Bakht on his way to 85 at the WACA, his home ground, in 1981 Alan Gilbert Purcell / © Fairfax Media/Getty Images

In 1972-73 at the Bourda ground in Guyana, Max Walker and Jeff Hammond bowled throughout a session to take four wickets each in a feat of great skill and stamina. Their efforts were above and beyond what any captain can reasonably expect in hot, humid conditions.

As we left the ground for lunch, my arm was firmly gripped by a hand that appeared through the crowd gathered on the wooden steps of the pavilion. "Ahem, tell Hammond and Walker I'm extremely proud of them," came the voice attached to the arm.

The voice belonged to former great Australian allrounder Keith Miller. The exhausted pair of Australian quicks were re-energised in the dressing room when I passed on Keith's compliment.

In 1997, many years into my commentary career, I was walking onto The Oval for the sixth Test of that Ashes series when I was stopped by former England wicketkeeping genius Alan Knott.

"Do you ever see Ian Healy?" he enquired.

"Occasionally," I replied. "Why do you ask, Knotty?"

"Please tell him," Alan said, "I think his wicketkeeping in this series has been top-class."

I assured Knott that I'd be delighted to, as I departed for my on-field commentary duties.

From left: Laird, Marsh, Jeff Thomson, Ray Bright, Kim Hughes and Graeme Wood along with the team masseur at Cape Saunders, New Zealand, 1982 Stevens / © Fairfax Media/Getty Images

On my way off the ground half an hour later, I ran into Godfrey Evans, the former England keeper, who at that stage was the gregarious Ladbrokes odds-maker. He relayed virtually the same complimentary message for Healy as his fellow England keeper.

I made a point of seeking out Healy to convey the two messages and he was overwhelmed to receive such glowing tributes from two highly regarded glovemen.

In Trinidad, the self-effacing Laird was obviously chuffed to receive the compliment from Fredericks, but he was downright embarrassed by the profuse congratulations from his team-mates.

These congratulations were offered both as thanks for keeping Australia in the Test match and as a tribute to a much admired team-mate. The gritty West Australian opener was respected as much for his courage as his ability, and he acquired a seemingly unflattering nickname, "Bruised" Laird from his team-mates, for never taking a backward step when on the receiving end from the fearsome West Indies pace attack in that period

The nickname was even more applicable when you consider his occasional off-field behaviour. I could never understand the need for his wrestling matches with the nuggety wicketkeeper Rod Marsh. It must have been a West Australian thing.

Laird sweeps offspinner Albert Padmore in a Supertest semi-final in Sydney in 1979 David James Bartho / © Fairfax Media/Getty Images

Despite a weight advantage to the wicketkeeper, Laird generally held his own in these pointless bouts. During one of these melees, Stumpy shoved Marsh, whose subsequent collision with a mirror resulted in a broken nose. Unfortunately this didn't bring the wrestling matches to an end and Marsh probably extracted retribution at some point.

Although Laird had a promising start to his Test career after a successful stint in WSC, he never again quite attained such heights. He followed his Gabba first-innings 92 with an equally gritty 75 in the second innings, and it seemed as though it would only be a matter of time before he reached the magical three-figure mark.

He passed a half-century another nine times in Test matches - generally against the top fast-bowling attacks - but never got a hundred.

Inexplicably, considering his defiant style of batting, suited to Test cricket, his ODI record does include one century. For one night at the SCG, he let his hair down, scoring at the then acceptable strike rate of 73 while scorching ten boundaries and battering West Indies into submission. His 117 not out was almost 50% of the winning total and helped Australia win with two overs to spare.

Typical of Laird's career successes, this innings was played in 1981, against a top-class pace attack of Roberts, Holding, Croft, Malcolm Marshall and Joel Garner, all at or near their peak. There surely cannot have been an ODI century made against a stronger pace attack.

Not content with just seeing off the fast bowlers with the bat, Laird also fielded at short leg for them. Here he takes a catch to dismiss Bill Athey off Len Pascoe at Lord's in 1980 Adrian Murrell / © Getty Images

In the Test arena, 11 half-centuries without reaching a hundred will be considered by the statistically minded as a very poor conversion rate. However, try telling that to Laird's team-mates and you might have a fight on your hands.

They greatly appreciated his toughness and willingness to see off the new ball against the best pace bowlers.

There are two types of openers whom team-mates really appreciate. First there's the opener who, once he gets a start, goes on to record a three-figure score. This type generally sets the scene for a substantial first-innings total, which often leads to victory.

Laird was the second type of opener, who rarely got out early, ensuring that the batters who followed didn't have to negotiate the new ball while the fast men were fresh. These openers don't show up so well in the statistics column but earn the appreciation of their fellow batters, who benefit from not paying an early visit to the crease.

It is an injustice that Laird doesn't have a century in the Test record book but he has the satisfaction of three in his WSC statistics. More importantly, he has the undying gratitude of his team-mates and the respect of his opponents.

Former Australia captain Ian Chappell is a columnist

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