My Family's Keeper

by Brad Haddin

  Over the winter of 2001, Stumper ramped up the NSW team’s training even further. He felt that there were critical games at the pointy end of the previous season’s Sheffield Shield tournament that we’d lost through lack of fitness. He wasn’t going to let that happen again and he had a new six-day-a-week training schedule for us. He brought in fitness specialists who had us running up and down sandhills at first light and swimming off Bondi on bitingly cold mornings (I had flashbacks to Rod Marsh’s steely approach at the Cricket Academy). Given my views on training, it’s no surprise I was one of the players who supported the new approach. But it was a big change and it didn’t please everyone, particularly the older players, as some of them made clear. However, Stumper held his ground and nearing the start of the 2001–02 season almost everyone was prepared to admit how much difference the new regime had made — you had only to look around the change room to see it.

  I was raring to go, and warmed up by scoring 191 for Northern Districts in a grade game. A week later, playing Tasmania in what had become the ING (rather than Mercantile Mutual) Cup, Mark Waugh and I forged a 228-run opening partnership for the Blues, during which I reached a ton off 74 balls, equalling the record for the fastest domestic one-day century. It wasn’t the only record in that game, played at Bankstown Oval on a perfect batting wicket. Our winning total of 4 for 397 was the highest first-class one-day score ever in Australia (and the third highest in the world). Stumper’s new approach was off to a good start.

  I copped the first of the season’s broken bones not too long after, when I chipped my left thumb, and then had to miss a Shield game because the Blues’ manager and physio were concerned about my ability to bat. But I pushed through and was back in the team 10 days later when we were away to Victoria. We lost the toss and batted on a wet wicket and damned if the second ball I faced didn’t smash into my right hand. I could feel the forefinger sticking out at a strange angle in my glove. I figured it was just dislocated, so I grabbed it and rolled it back over. I heard it click and thought I’d fixed it, but it just got more and more painful. Of course it was broken, and I went into the next innings wicketkeeping with breaks in both hands. I could manage one without an anaesthetic block, but not both. I had the needle and went out and did the job, feeling every slam of the ball into the gloves.

  The problem with blocks is that they wear off all of a sudden, hours later. That night at the hotel I was in bed when sensation in the newest break returned with a vengeance. The throbbing was so bad I couldn’t sleep. Eventually I gave up trying, got up and dressed and went downstairs to the bar. It’s a given that you just don’t drink during a match, but I had to do something to take the edge off, so I had a beer. I was halfway through a second when Stumper walked past, looked in and saw me sitting there. He came in and said with a shake of his head, ‘What are you doing?’ I thought, This isn’t going to end well, but I told him the truth. ‘Mate, my hands are cooked. I can’t get to sleep for the pain.’ I don’t know how many coaches would have understood, but he was a fellow wicketkeeper. ‘Good point,’ he said, ‘I’m buying.’ Then, turning to the barman: ‘Two more, thanks.’ We sat there for an hour and a half talking, until I was ready to turn in.

  The Blues’ momentum in the ING Cup continued and we powered through the season with only three losses to seven wins, getting us into the final against Queensland on 24 February 2002. They won the toss and sent us in to bat. Corey Richards and I opened, and at 0 for 82 we were feeling pretty good, but Stuart Law got me out with a huge diving catch and Corey was gone in the following over with no runs added. We got to a scrappy 204, which seemed well within the Bulls’ grasp, especially when Martin Love got his half-century. But we regrouped. With the game on the line I took one of my best catches, off Shawn Bradstreet to dismiss James Hopes. It was one of those catches you train hard for, the kind I’d visualised ever since I’d first picked up keeper’s gloves: a full-stretch one-hander just like the ones I was imagining when I hurled myself horizontally into the pool as a kid. We had no slip fielder in place to stop it, and if I’d missed it would have gone for four and changed the momentum of the game. But I didn’t miss. I had it, safe as houses. Shawn and Dom Thornely then tore through their middle and lower order, and we got their last five wickets for 36 runs, keeping them to a total of just 185. For the second year in a row, we claimed victory in the Cup.

  That win felt great but the one-dayers weren’t the problem. It was in the four-day Shield games that the cracks showed, and unfortunately that was exactly what happened yet again. We started the campaign fairly well, with a draw against Tasmania followed by strong wins against South Australia and Victoria, but it was all downhill from there. Those victories were the only ones we had in the whole series; the other eight games were evenly split between draws and losses and we finished right at the bottom of the ladder.

  I was still following Dad’s advice not to worry about what the selectors were up to. But Stumper became worked up when the selectors chose WA’s Ryan Campbell as Gilly’s replacement for a one-dayer against New Zealand at the SCG early in 2002. He told a journalist that he was so shocked about the decision that he’d called the selectors to find out what they were thinking. He was a lot more worked up about it than I was — I really wasn’t fussed about Ryan’s selection or anyone else’s for these one-off opportunities. My entire focus in that regard was getting myself ready to step up when the real opportunity came.

  The thing I found most difficult whenever there was public speculation about what the selectors had done or were likely to do was having people around me talk about it. Not my family, who took the same view as I did, but acquaintances who probably thought they were being supportive when they said, ‘Oh you should have been picked instead of so and so . . .’ What on earth are you supposed to say to that? It just made me uncomfortable. The chairman of selectors, Trevor Hohns, on the other hand, made a comment I found helpful. He took me aside at one point and said, ‘You’re going well; we can see that. You’re getting some runs and you’re keeping well. But we want you to win more games with the bat. We want to see more of you scoring those tough runs under pressure.’ Specific feedback given in a direct, straightforward manner: perfect.

  The following season, 2002–03, turned out to be an amazing one for the Blues. Simon Katich had come over to us during the winter, leaving WA after five years during which they’d twice won the Sheffield Shield. He had made his Test debut a year before he came to NSW but hadn’t been selected for the national side since. With Michael Slater still struggling with the bat and not certain of a call-up, and Steve Waugh on international duty, Kat came into the Blues in the very strange position of captaining a side he’d never played for.

  In our first six Shield games, we claimed three wins (plus a draw and two losses), which was more than we’d achieved in the whole previous season. Based on recent form, our campaign still could have gone either way, but our next game, in which we took on WA in Newcastle in late January 2003, changed everything. Despite some solid work by openers Greg Mail and Slats, we were 4 for 131 after lunch on the first day, with Kat out for a duck (the first of what would be seven dismissals by Ryan Campbell) and Steve Waugh gone for 20. We got back on track thanks to the steady hand of Mark Waugh, whose satisfying 73 included partnerships with Michael Clarke (69) and me (39).

  WA went in on Day 2 chasing 370 and, despite strong bowling by Stuart Clark, Doug Bollinger and Stuart MacGill, got to 388, mostly thanks to a 194 fourth-wicket partnership from Michael Hussey and Geoff Marsh’s son Shaun. Our second innings saw Kat get 50, Junior 83 and Pup 116 (I contributed 20) for a total of just 316. WA came out strongly in reply, hitting a ton before they lost their first wicket. At 4 for 272, they only needed 27 runs for victory. It was obvious to everyone there was no way they could lose — everyone but us. Instead of yielding, we dug deep.

  Kat was up against his old Warriors teammates, but on the field there was absolutely no doubt where his loyalties lay. First he set up a
Stuart MacGill catch on Justin Langer, then he got Callum Thorp out lbw for a duck. WA’s next three wickets, including Huss, went for just 20 runs. At this point, with three runs needed to win and just five balls remaining, the atmosphere was electric. Beau Casson tried for a big six off a MacGill ball — and sent it straight into Michael Clarke’s hands. It was an incredible win for us against all the odds. In fact, Steve Waugh, who at this point had 73 Sheffield Shield games and 150 Test matches under his belt, said afterwards it was one of the best wins he’d been part of, domestic or otherwise.

  The entire side came out of that game with a whole new self-belief, which was put to the test when we went in to bat against Victoria on a difficult MCG wicket. Opening as usual, Greg Mail found runs steadily but Slats and Kat each went for a duck. Fortunately, Tugga pulled out one of his trademark innings-saving performances, striding out to the pitch in the fourth over and ending the day there on 125 not out. His final 211 included partnerships with Pup (78) and me; inspired, I reached my first century of the season in a 117 knock that included 10 fours and four sixes.

  Our 544 first innings total was looking pretty decent until the Bushrangers started whacking us all around the MCG. Jason Arnberger got his century and his opening partner, Matthew Mott, got a double. Peter Roach, batting down at number eight, decided to chuck one in for good measure. Then, on Day 3, as we headed for the draw, our side accidentally did what the other side hadn’t been able to — nobbled Steve Waugh. We were coming up to the third new ball, which would normally go to Stuart Clark, nicknamed Sarfraz or Sarf because his bowling reminded people of Pakistani player Sarfraz Nawaz. Stuart and I were good mates and had played together in the Blues long enough to be confident of our positions — confident, mind you, not cocky. We were both still very respectful of the senior players, Steve Waugh most of all. Steve was the very last person we would ever want to annoy.

  Sarf was fielding on the boundary when he grabbed the ball and threw it back to Tugga in covers. Unfortunately, his throw was off and the ball hit our revered skipper fair in the temple. Sarf naturally rushed in to see if Tugga was hurt. He was physically okay (although he got taken to hospital for a scan as a precaution), but he was not a happy camper. He left some instructions before departing the field and, pointedly, the ball didn’t go to Sarf as expected, it went to Greg Mail, an opening batsman no less. I felt for my mate but, you know, never let a chance go by. Walking past Sarf shortly afterwards, I said, ‘I don’t think you’re ever going to play again.’ ‘Me neither,’ he said with a nervous laugh. Of course he did, but it was a long time before we let him forget that chuck.

  The dominance we’d exerted over the one-day competition for the previous two seasons continued, and we went into the 2002–03 ING Cup final with seven wins and a tie under our belts, against just three losses. I contributed a quick 34 to our win and it felt terrific to be tournament champions for the third year in a row.

  On paper, it looked as though I’d had a poor season in the one-dayers, with 70 my highest score and all the others below 20. But numbers don’t always tell the full story. With players from the national team coming in and out, I hadn’t had a consistent position on the batting order but instead had moved up and down according to need, being sent in to ‘pinch hit’ and chase bonus points. That’s what the team required of me and I was happy to do it. Yes, it affected my personal statistics, but I have never been one to dwell on stats. It’s true to say I was craving more responsibility and accountability, particularly in the short-form games. However, I was cemented in the team, performing the role I’d been given, and there was no chance I would be left out the following season.

  We followed the ING Cup victory with wins in our remaining two Sheffield Shield matches, one of them a 241-run thrashing of the Queensland Bulls. We were through to the final, playing at the Gabba against Queensland, who had won it for the past three years. The Blues hadn’t made a Sheffield Shield final since 1993–94, when Phil Emery guided a team including Michael Bevan and Shane Lee to victory over Tasmania. But it was an even earlier finals game that was on the minds of Steve Rixon and Steve Waugh. In March 1985, precisely 18 years earlier, the two had been part of a NSW team that took on a Queensland line-up led by Allan Border and featuring bowler Trevor Hohns well before his selector days. Stumper was already a veteran by then, but it was Tugga’s debut season in the state side. They’d fought hard right to the end to claim the win in that game.

  The two Steves talked a lot to us young blokes about the importance of backing ourselves and never letting up. Too often we’d seen Queensland as unbeatable at home, but what we’d achieved over the season showed us that nothing was out of our reach if we wanted it enough. Heritage and tradition were honoured when Tugga took the field in the Baggy Blue cap he’d worn in his first season.

  Queensland won the toss and sent us in to bat. We were fired up all right, but if it hadn’t been for our senior players we would have been in all sorts of trouble. Michael Slater and Greg Mail opened. The second over wasn’t even done before Greg was sent back to the pavilion on two. But Simon Katich, who took his place, crafted a 191 partnership with Slats. Joe Dawes claimed Tugga for nine and Pup for a duck, both lbws. Michael Kasprowicz got Junior for one then I went down to Dawes, another lbw, for just one, putting us on 6 for 215. Don Nash and Stuart Clark added some much needed runs, giving us a first innings total of 282 — a good total on that ‘sporty’ (in other words, bowler-friendly) Gabba wicket.

  Our bowlers were on fire and the endless hours of fielding drills Stumper had put the team through paid off. Don Nash’s 2 for 4 was a sight to see, but Stuart MacGill was the man of the hour with an incredible 5 for 16, including three ducks, in a mere 32 balls. Just 122 minutes after their first innings had begun, Queensland were all out for 84. Our second innings total of 263 was more evenly spread across the team and we benefited from some sloppy fielding on their behalf, although to my shock I was caught by Wade Seccombe for a duck off an Ashley Noffke ball — I’d been attempting to leave the ball, only to have it hit the toe-end of my bat. Queensland tried to fight back in their second innings but they didn’t have much chance against Stuart MacGill and Simon Katich, who each took 3 for 43, keeping the Bulls to a total of 215. We’d won: the coveted Sheffield Shield was ours!

  Every one of us was thrilled with the victory, even the old hands who’d been in numerous winning teams at the World Cup and Test level. Yes, this was a purely domestic competition but delivering a win for their beloved NSW meant a huge amount to them. It brought home to me more forcefully than ever what an immense privilege it was to play for the Blues. It was especially sweet to have claimed victory in both domestic competitions.

  The reasons to celebrate kept coming outside cricket too. Things were going really well with Karina. Over the summer we’d started living together — the first of the many ‘house moves’ she took care of because I was off playing. It was time to take the plunge and ask her to marry me. I did the traditional thing and spoke to her dad, Phil, about it and he gave the idea the thumbs up. Buying the right ring took me less than five minutes. But then I had to get up the courage to pop the question. The ring in its box was like a time bomb hidden away in the flat and I worried the whole time she was going to find it before I came up with some kind of plan. Finally it just had to be done. I booked a table for the Saturday of the Easter long weekend at a lovely restaurant overlooking Sydney Harbour Bridge. I had the whole thing planned: dinner, then a walk along the foreshore under the bridge, where I would propose.

  Walking into the restaurant with the box in the pocket of my pants, I was more nervous than I’ve ever been on a cricket pitch. We happened to be seated so that I was on a bench running along a wall, facing the view over Karina’s shoulder. At the end of the meal she decided to come and sit next to me to enjoy the sights for a few minutes — a perfectly reasonable thing to do, except unknowingly she came and sat right next to my loaded pocket and rested her hand on my leg. I was sure she was abou
t to discover my little surprise, inadvertently creating a situation where I had to do the deed in front of a restaurant full of people. Just the thought of that made me break out in a sweat. I blurted out the first thing that came into my head, ‘Move. I’ve got a cramp.’ Romantic, I know, but what can I say, I was in a state of panic.

  The rain that had been threatening when we set out had arrived while we were eating, but I was a man with a plan. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ I said. ‘Let’s not. It’s pouring,’ came the sensible reply. Fine, I thought, we’ll get a cab home but before we get there the rain will have stopped and I’ll divert us down to a favourite beachside promenade. Not only did it not stop, it became torrential. But I was fixated. ‘C’mon,’ I said, ‘let’s go to Balmoral and get an ice cream.’ Karina looked at me like I was crazy, so we went home. I’d worked myself up so much that I couldn’t stand not to do it, even if the harbour lights had to be replaced by the lounge-room light. Frankly, if Karina had said she was so tired she was heading straight to bed, I’d have thrust the ring into her hand and said, ‘Take this with you,’ though fortunately it didn’t come to that. I went down on one knee, managed to get the words out and she cried with happiness as she said yes. My relief at having it all over was indescribable. Give me a big, fearsome West Indian fast bowler any day!