In 2019, while covering the Ashes in Manchester, I had an unforgettable experience at the Malmaison hotel. After dinner, I stopped by the bar for a drink. I’m a bit fussy about beer, especially English bitters, and I asked the bartender if they had any ales. She offered me a European pilsner but eventually brought me a Deuchars IPA.
There were a few cricketers in the bar, so I was chatting with them, distractedly tapping my card to pay for the beer. The bartender said it didn’t work, asking me to try again and enter my PIN. I did, and she then asked if I wanted a receipt. I typically don’t ask for receipts, as I tend to be careless with money and wasn’t wearing my glasses at the time.
Initially, I declined, but something about the interaction felt off, so I asked for the receipt. When she printed it out, she covered her mouth with her hand. I asked her what was wrong, and she muttered, “Oh no!” She showed me the receipt, which listed the charge as just over £55,000. I was stunned. “You’re going to fix this, right?” I asked.
Several months prior, my bank had called me about a fraudulent attempt to purchase a six-pack of beer in Sydney, so I didn’t think a bank would ever authorize a charge that large. I immediately spoke to the bar manager, who reassured me it was a mistake and that I wouldn’t be out of pocket.
The next morning, my wife called, asking what I had done the night before. She thought I had put a deposit on a house in Manchester. It turned out that nearly A$102,500 had been withdrawn from our bank account, including the £55,000 for the beer and additional bank charges of A$2,500. I returned to the bar the next evening to discuss the issue, but when the staff member who made the mistake saw me, she quickly ran away.
It appeared that while I was entering my PIN, extra figures were accidentally added to the total. While the error was the bar’s fault, I probably should have been more attentive and worn my glasses.
At the time, I was the chief cricket correspondent for a major Australian newspaper. I called them to explain what had happened, thinking it would make for an amusing story. They weren’t too interested, so I tweeted about it instead. The response was overwhelming. Media outlets from the UK and Australia contacted me, and even CNN picked up the story. I found the attention a bit awkward, as I had always been taught that “you are not the story.”
Many were surprised by the amount of money in my account, but it was an overdraft attached to my mortgage. I ended up paying off the front half of my marital house with that beer. After about two or three weeks, we finally got the money back, though it didn’t all come through at once.
Now, I host a podcast called Cricket et Al with fellow journalist Gideon Haigh. Last year, during the Ashes, we revisited the hotel to record an episode from the same spot. It felt strange to return. I ordered the same beer, but now I’m more cautious about what I’m being charged.
This story has followed me ever since, and I can never mention the price of anything without someone joking, “At least it’s not a $100,000 beer.” In a way, I’m glad it happened. It’s the one thing that sets me apart. I’ve written books, been a cricket writer, and raised children, but on my gravestone, it will say: “Here lies the man who paid $100,000 for a beer.” It’s the most significant thing that’s happened in my life, and while it might be better to be known for something more noble, this is my legacy.
