The Wrong 'Un, page 11
I was fielding close to the bat, and I was absolutely amazed to see Boon up close. I couldn’t believe he was this podgy bloke with a big moustache. Making it even more amazing was that I had heard he was one of the fittest guys in the Australian team. I couldn’t stop looking at him, and I was thinking, How can this fat little thing be so fit? I was just in awe of him, and I kept staring as he prepared to face the next ball.
He looked straight back at me. ‘What are you staring at?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you keep looking at me?’
‘Dunno,’ was all I could say. I was genuinely dumbstruck, not meaning to offend with such a childish answer.
Between deliveries, he turned around to me again. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said, “I don’t know.”’
After he faced the next ball, he turned and said once more, ‘What did you say?’
‘I dunno,’ I repeated, embarrassed.
And he got out the next ball.
As a bowler, I was pretty pleased that I now had a wicketkeeper who I admired and respected, and who seemed to understand me. In Adam Gilchrist I had an important, reliable ally, who was exemplary behind the stumps and understood the importance of encouragement. He soon realised I thrived on adrenaline, and that I was sometimes manic, sometimes infuriating, sometimes difficult to control. He could see that if I channelled all that energy in the right direction, I could be a game-changer.
We developed an excellent understanding, and when he was keeping I was never scared of experimenting. I knew that if the delivery was rubbish, Gilly would clean it up behind the stumps.
Gilchrist was crucial to Western Australia making the Sheffield Shield final that year. He collected 50 catches and four stumpings – a record for any state. His batting was also of the highest order, marking him as the obvious successor to Ian Healy in the Test team. Whether I would be with him in the Shield final was doubtful, though, as I could no longer hide my frustrations with Moody.
In our last match before the final we were again playing Tasmania, this time in Hobart. On the flight over, Tom came up to me and said, ‘I want you to relax and get more involved in the team.’
But I still felt uneasy about my place in the team; everyone else had played for Australia, and I didn’t know how I fitted in, or how I should be acting. Was I accepted as an equal? No, I couldn’t be. So what was my role off the field? Was I allowed to be myself, or was I expected to be respectful and keep my distance?
After that Tasmanian game, we were having a whale of a time, enjoying some victory brews in the change rooms as we celebrated making the Shield final. On one of the buses taking us back to the hotel, Brendon Julian was sitting in the seat behind me and grabbed me around the neck. We were play-wrestling, but I somehow managed to pick Brendon up and flick him over. Moody was sitting nearby, and he grabbed me and told me to grow up. It wasn’t the first time that I copped the brunt of Moody’s wrath for someone else’s misdemeanour.
I was furious and I didn’t hold back. When I got off the bus, I steamed up to my room, opened the door and flung in my bag and shoes. One shoe sailed through the air and smashed the window. I stuck my head out, and saw that the team bus was right below the window. Next to the bus was a brand-new Mercedes-Benz with glass all over it. At least the shoe hadn’t gone flying out the window – it got stuck in the curtain. I did throw it bloody hard.
I walked straight down to Tony Mann, the team manager, and Wayne Clark, the coach, and said, ‘Okay, I’ve broken the window up there.’ At first I said I’d flicked the shoe off my foot, rather than throwing it, but they didn’t believe me so I admitted I had thrown it.
‘I knew you threw it,’ Tony said, ‘because there’s a piece of glass about 230 metres down the road.’
I knew that my spot in the Shield final, to be played in Adelaide the next week, was now in jeopardy. I was in such a bad mood that I didn’t really give a shit if I was picked or not. I was stinging from being treated unfairly. I was not enjoying this trip, and I had lost respect for the captain. If he wasn’t going to give me a go, I thought they might as well send me home. In some ways, I did deserve to be sent home.
Tony and Wayne calmed me down, and I went down to see the hotel management and said I would pay for the damage. Fortunately, the WA selectors stuck by me and agreed I could play the final, on the proviso that I behaved myself. I knew Moody was watching me, but I also knew that having an impact in a Shield final would go a long way towards fixing my relationship with my captain.
*
South Australia had finished on top of the Shield table, so all they had to do was draw the five-day final to win the competition. It was up to Western Australia to dominate right from the first ball.
We won the toss and batted. Most of the top order got starts but didn’t go on with it, but the lower order, including me, responded well, enabling Moody to declare our first innings at 9 for 520. Adam Gilchrist and I had combined in a cavalier 168-run eighth-wicket partnership, scored in better than even time. Gilly, as usual, was the dominant partner, but I tried to keep up with him, enjoying attacking the shorter midwicket and cover boundaries of the Adelaide Oval, and whenever possible getting him back on strike. We urged each other on, and for a while it appeared we had struck a serious blow to our opponents.
Now the West Australian bowling attack had to get the South Australians out twice. We were confident we had the required bowlers, with the pace and guile of Jo Angel and Brendon Julian, Moody’s medium pace and my ability to get something out of a typically flat and unreceptive Adelaide Oval wicket. The pitch provided little turn, and I failed to dismiss anyone in my 34 first-innings overs. Angel and Julian were more effective, giving WA a 173-run first-innings lead.
Then another declaration by Moody in our second innings set South Australia a target of 343 runs for victory. We had four sessions to get them out, which would win us our first Shield title in four seasons. I dismissed opener Paul Nobes late on the fourth day, one of two wickets that fell in the last session. With a fine final day forecast, we were buoyant about getting the remaining eight to take victory.
Then South Australia went into survivor mode. Their only interest was in drawing the match. We simply could not chisel out Greg Blewett, who blocked his way to 72 in five and a half hours. I revived our hopes midway through the day when I caught-and-bowled James Brayshaw, and Blewett finally fell not long after. The normally adventurous Jamie Siddons exasperated us, scoring just four runs in 166 minutes. Tim May lasted more than an hour without scoring a run.
We pressed on, and with just 40 minutes of play remaining, one of my leggies didn’t turn and Siddons somehow edged it to Justin Langer. Now just one more wicket stood between us and victory. But South Australia’s last batting pair, Peter McIntyre and Shane George, held on. In the final moments of the game I felt I had McIntyre caught in close, but we didn’t get the decision. There were chaotic scenes as the South Australians celebrated their first Shield triumph in 14 years.
I was devastated but took some solace in my performance across the season. I’d bowled 340 overs and taken 21 wickets at an average of 44.85 – expensive, admittedly, but I’d showed I could dismiss batsmen consistently. Even Wisden had taken interest, describing me as one of the state’s better performers.
Promise was one thing, but as any professional sportsperson will say, you can never underestimate the importance of a lucky break. Mine came when the wear and tear of being Australia’s premier bowler finally got to Shane Warne, and he was forced to have finger surgery.
Suddenly, the Australian selectors were in search of a spinner.
9.
FIRST TEST JITTERS
‘Hoggy is good. He’s young, he’s keen, but it is a very difficult art bowling from behind the wrist, very difficult to perfect.’
Bishan Bedi, 1996
I had a baggy green cap on my head. I was being offered the ball in a Test match. I was officially Australian Test representative number 367. Luminaries such as Mark Taylor, Steve Waugh and Mark Waugh were actually showing interest in what I had to say. I constantly asked myself: Is this really happening?
With Shane Warne injured, Australia’s tours of Sri Lanka and India, between August and October 1996, became the perfect time for the selectors to give someone new a chance. Apparently, they had toyed with the idea of taking me on tour alongside Warne, as a learning experience, in case the master could not overcome all of his injuries, but in the end Warne couldn’t make it at all.
The first leg of the tour saw us head to Colombo for a one-day series against Sri Lanka, India and Zimbabwe over several weeks. After a brief return home, we were off again to India, for a one-off Test and five one-dayers against India and South Africa. The Sri Lankan tour was essentially a goodwill gesture, after Australia had forfeited a World Cup match to Sri Lanka earlier in the year due to security concerns. Australia’s relationship with India was also fragile, after it had lobbied against an Indian official becoming the next chairman of the International Cricket Council.
After the Shield final concluded in early April 1996, I expected that my next appearance on a cricket field would come the following summer. As winter progressed I heard that Warne’s finger operation had forced him out of the Sri Lankan tour, but I never thought I would be seriously considered as his replacement. I had simply not done enough and was still learning my trade. I went back to my usual routine, doing odd jobs at John XXIII College in Perth, and spending any spare time bowling in a nearby net.
My only inkling that something was up came when I was driving a tractor on the college oval, and I saw a horde of media people coming my way. I had no idea I had been picked for the tour, so I had to take the media’s word for it that I was now an Australian player. I gave yet another umming-and-ahing interview, feeling completely out of my depth once again.
I was pooping myself – I had only been bowling chinamen for about a year. I kept wondering if I would have to give my gear back if I went on tour but didn’t get a game.
A few weeks later I was at an Australian team training camp, introducing myself to the likes of Michael Slater, Ricky Ponting, Michael Bevan, Stuart Law and the man in charge of the first leg of the tour, Ian Healy. Having Ian as my first national captain put me at ease. I had great admiration for him. Ahead of my first Shield match in Queensland, I met him while I was walking to the nets for a batting session; he was practising his wicketkeeping out in the middle. He stopped what he was doing, ran over and said, ‘It’s great to meet you, Hoggy. Welcome to first-class cricket.’
I thought, Fantastic. I’ve got a new friend. But the next day, when I went out to bat, things were a little different.
‘How did you get a game?’ Healy immediately started calling out. ‘You must be Swampy’s mate.’
And I thought you were a nice guy, I was thinking. Eventually I realised it was all just gamesmanship, and that I had to harden up.
To be selected for an Australian tour was an enormous honour, but I was still uncertain of myself and felt intimidated by my teammates. I hadn’t exactly set the world alight in Shield cricket, even though I did show a bit with the ball during the final. The Australian players were all welcoming, but there is nothing worse than being in an environment where you don’t feel you actually are a part of it. I simply didn’t feel worthy of my spot. I also knew I was just there to keep Warne’s seat warm, and I told myself that I would not consider that I had truly represented Australia until I had been selected on my own merits.
I really did want to fit in, though, so I joined the guys at a Brisbane nightclub a few days before we left for Sri Lanka. In a corner was a mechanical bull. As I was a country bloke, it wasn’t long before I was enticed into giving it a go.
So I went on, and I enjoyed it so much that I stayed on for over an hour. That wasn’t a smart move. I wore off all the skin between my legs, and I also found myself covered in cuts. I didn’t feel it because of the grog, and it wasn’t until I tried to peel off my jeans when I went to bed that I realised I had dried blood all over my legs. Terrific. I was off to represent Australia and I was in great pain. I was also paranoid about picking up any sort of disease overseas.
My agony continued when we arrived in Sri Lanka. All my anxieties about floundering in unfamiliar territory returned – it was like being back at secondary school. Due to a recent terrorist bombing on a train, we were surrounded by security guards and police. It was so strict that we were confined to our hotels for most of the tour; we even had to take a bus to a restaurant that was only 50 metres away.
About an hour before we landed in Sri Lanka, I was busting to go to the toilet but decided to wait. I thought the team hotel wouldn’t be too far from the airport. Bad move.
We got off the plane, sat around waiting while the customs people did their thing, and then we were herded into another room. We’d been there a fair while, and finally at around 11 p.m. we got onto the team bus. The night became stranger when I sat next to our Sri Lankan liaison officer, who seemed to know everything about me. He knew all my cricket statistics – and not just the ones at Shield level. He even knew I came from Tarwonga, which threw me a bit. It took me a while to appreciate the passion for cricket the people in that part of the world have.
At the hotel, I discovered that my first Australian team roommate would be Michael Bevan. When we got to our room, I suggested that if he wanted to use the toilet, it would wise for him to go first. He went in, and then I went. It was just like my Aquinas days, when I held it all in for several days before exploding. I clogged up the dunny – it wouldn’t flush. Needless to say, this did nothing for my relationship with my new roommate. The next day there was loud construction work going on outside. Michael tried to change rooms but couldn’t. He was not impressed.
It was interesting rooming with Bevan, who did spook me a little. One time I woke up and saw him lying on his side, staring straight at me. I was shitting myself, because he looked like he wanted to kill me. Finally, I worked up the guts to put my hands out and wave them in front of his face. There was absolutely no blinking. He was sleeping with his eyes open.
Discovering the other players’ habits was a constant source of fascination. I found Paul Reiffel one of the hardest roommates to relate to. He and I just had completely different personalities.
This was a typical day for ‘Pistol’: Sleep; get up five minutes before we had to go to training; go downstairs to the breakfast room; get two pieces of toast; get on the bus; eat the toast; fall asleep on the bus; get off the bus; train; get back on the bus; sleep; get back to his room; close the curtains so it resembled a bat cave; call room service to order a burger and chips; sleep; wake up when the room service arrived; eat the burger and chips; go back to sleep. Later at night he’d get up and go out.
His nocturnal habits absolutely threw me. I didn’t know what to do. As I was the new guy, I didn’t want to disturb him. For the first two days we roomed together, I’d go into the bathroom, put my pillow in the bath and try to read there or attempt to go to sleep.
One morning when Pistol went in for a piss, he found me in the bath, trying to read. When I explained that I didn’t want to disturb him, he said, ‘Don’t worry about me. Just turn the TV on – I’ll still sleep.’ It worked.
The rest of the team soon found that I was very, very green, and they had a bit of fun with me as a result. Future Test captain Steve Waugh was one of the first to set me up.
I was extremely nervous about personal hygiene. For days I refused to go anywhere near the hotel’s swimming pool, worried that the sores caused by my mechanical bull ride would become infected. When we went to our first warm-up game, Errol ‘Hooter’ Alcott, our team physiotherapist, was handing out some tablets.
I was sitting next to Steve, who told me, ‘Mate, these pills are very important. You’ve got to take them. I’m going to go in and deal with it now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve got to put them up your anus, mate.’
So I went to the toilet and shoved them up my clacker. Steve had advised me I had to put them in really deep, so they didn’t come back out. So that’s what I did, getting the love finger right up there. What I didn’t know was that they were simple vitamin C tablets, and of course were meant to be taken the usual way. My teammates had great delight telling that story, and I just had to cop it. I felt uncomfortable for a few days, but I never got a cold.
Gradually I relaxed, and grew more accustomed to our new surroundings. But some very strange things still happened. In the nets one day Darren Lehmann and I were bowling to Mark Waugh. Mark came down the wicket, attempting to launch the ball out of the ground, only to hit one of the local workers right on top of his scone. Hooter ran over to check him out, and we followed. The guy was sprawled on the ground for about five minutes, and we all thought he was dead. Then he just got up, shook himself off and walked away.
Thankfully, the Singer World Series began and I no longer had to worry about dead bodies, fatal diseases or strange bedfellows, especially when I was picked to play in the opening match: Australia against Zimbabwe at Premadasa Stadium in Colombo.
I only have faint memories of that match. I do recall sitting outside the change room at the start of play, looking up at the scoreboard, seeing my name there and thinking, Is that really me? We batted first and I came in for the last couple of overs, scoring 11 not out. When we took the field for the evening session, I took my first wicket for Australia: that of Zimbabwean opener Ali Shah. I don’t remember it, but I had him caught by Mark Waugh for 41. My figures ended up as nine overs, two maidens, 1 for 26. All in all, I thought it was a pretty creditable first-up effort, and as a bonus I got to enjoy a victory on debut, as Australia won by 125 runs.
Jason Gillespie was given a chance in the next match, against Sri Lanka, and I returned for our first game against India. I was taken off after five wicketless overs, while my appearance at the crease was short and sweet, as I scored just two. For the final, against Sri Lanka, I was once again a spectator, but I was relieved to be told I would be returning in a few weeks to be part of a serious one-day series, and what loomed as my Test debut in the one-off match against India.
