My Family's Keeper

by Brad Haddin

  The tour was serving as a warm-up for the ICC Champions Trophy being held the following month and the 2007 World Cup four months after that, so a larger squad than usual was sent and we trained more than you normally would on that kind of tour. It was really enjoyable, pushing one another to do our best, knowing that we all had our eye on the prize of a spot in the World Cup squad.

  We were in Kuala Lumpur for a good chunk of September 2006 and it felt great to be part of it all, be able to have in-depth conversations about game strategy based on what I observed, and interact with the other players in an informal way, just as I had on the Ashes tour. The senior members of the team had some sage advice about what not to do on the field. Going into the games against the West Indies, we were specifically warned not to try any gamesmanship on Brian Lara: ‘Whatever you do, don’t engage him. Don’t say anything to him. Do not switch him on or you’ll regret it.’ I’d already seen him close up, including playing against him in an Australian A game where he had scored a double century. I took the advice to heart.

  We played five games, two against India (who were being coached by Greg Chappell) and three against the West Indies, including the final. Our second Windies game was our only loss. Despite Matthew Hayden’s strong opening effort, we were 4 for 64 and things weren’t looking good, but Michael Hussey and I worked hard to save the game. We found a great rhythm out there together and our 165-run stand was a new Australian one-day record for a sixth-wicket partnership, a record that still stands. Huss, taking over captaining duties from Ricky Ponting, got his first ODI century, finishing on 109 not out, while I went for 70, which was my highest ODI score to that point.

  Unfortunately, the West Indies got past our 272 total with three wickets to spare, thanks in large part to Brian Lara getting fired up. We had a young spinner called Dan Cullen who was trying to make his name. He bowled to Lara, who blocked the shot. Dan picked the ball up and said something I couldn’t catch. I saw the response it got though. Lara turned around to glare at me. I immediately found a fascinating bit of dirt to stare at, thinking to myself, I’m not looking him in the eye. He can talk to the top of my head. Do not engage, do not engage. He turned back to Dan and said loudly enough for my benefit, ‘I’m going to teach this kid a lesson.’ The sleeping giant had awoken and it was on: whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, all over the ground, until Huss finally caught him off a Brett Lee ball for 87.

  I was pleased with my performance in Malaysia with both bat and gloves, and came home fired up for the domestic season ahead. It started well. November was an especially productive time for the Blues, with a win in the Sheffield Shield and three in the Ford Ranger Cup (as the domestic limited-overs comp previously called the ING Cup was now known). One of the latter was in a match at the SCG against WA in which I scored 115 off just 102 balls. My knock, which included nine fours and three sixes, was part of a 146-run partnership with Dom Thornely; and we needed every single one of those runs in a game that was definitely not for the faint-hearted. Warriors’ tail-ender Brett Dorey managed to drag victory back within reach, needing two runs off the last ball. He skied it to deep square leg and Daniel Christian, in his first season with NSW, grabbed it and hung on to win us the game. You don’t see a finish like that every day.

  My parents continued to give me incredible support, coming to every Blues one-day home game. They would drive up from Queanbeyan early enough to be there in time for the warm-ups so Dad could walk around the ground and get a feel for how each team was looking before play began. Karina and I enjoyed attending the 2007 Allan Border Medal presentation in early February feeling very much the interested onlookers as paparazzi snapped shots of the big names. Then in February I went to New Zealand as part of the Australian one-day team to play the three-game Chappell–Hadlee Trophy series. This was another one Gilly was sitting out, as was Ricky Ponting, with Michael Hussey again taking on captaincy duties. There’d been a lot of talk in the lead-up to the series about how much the team’s senior players had left to give. Their playing schedule was one concern, but so was the intensive training regime instituted by John Buchanan, with recently retired Warnie being particularly outspoken on the issue. Unfortunately, our performance in New Zealand did nothing to answer the critics, as the Kiwis beat us 3–0.

  I returned home for the end of the 2006–07 season. NSW had been leading the Ford Ranger Cup league in the first part of the summer but, unfortunately, we had lost every game after that thriller against WA (including one against Victoria at Canberra’s Manuka Oval, despite the enthusiastic support of family and friends) and we finished right at the bottom of the domestic one-day ladder.

  In a marked change from the previous season, this time it was in the Shield that we did our best, pulling ourselves up from a mid-season slump to make it into the final against Tasmania at Bellerive Oval. However, the Devils dominated the game from the start, winning by 421 runs. There wasn’t any single reason that explained the Blues’ up-and-down performances in the two domestic competitions — it was frustrating that we rarely had a season where we did well in both. Consistency was certainly one big factor though, both in terms of the team line-up and in terms of different captaincy styles. Because NSW traditionally has so many players in the national teams across the various formats, these are challenges that have affected the side for a long time. It’s not unknown for the Blues to have three captains across the course of a season as players come and go on international duty. That’s not conducive to building a cohesive culture.

  I couldn’t be in Hobart to play. It’s a tough call to miss a Sheffield Shield final — there’d better be a pretty good reason not to be there helping out your team. There was. I’d been named as part of the Australian squad for the World Cup and I was in the West Indies, along with Tassie Devils’ captain, Punter. There’s always good banter on tour about which state is better (for cricket, footy and in general) and when you’re up against each other in a final like this it’s taken to the next level. The game was being played overnight our time, and we were getting regular updates. I came to breakfast the morning after things had turned Tassie’s way to find Punter had arranged it so that the only vacant seat was next to him, allowing him to rub in the result at his leisure.

  Karina and I had been engaged for almost four years by now. We hadn’t intended to have a long engagement; we both wanted to get married and start a family. We just hadn’t been able to find a clear space in 2005 or 2006 to hold the wedding. First, I’d gone off to England in the Ashes squad, then there had been Malaysia and my Australia A duties — there always seemed to be something. Finally we set a date in May 2007 and booked the reception venue. But then my World Cup call-up scuppered that plan, since I’d be in the West Indies from February to the beginning of May, assuming Australia made the finals, which we had every expectation of doing. In fact, we were going into the tournament aiming to do something no team had ever done before: win it three times running.

  Being chosen for the squad was fantastic in its own right but it was even more special because I wasn’t just there as a back-up wicketkeeper. As a leading scorer in the Ford Ranger Cup, with an average of 67.66, I’d been selected on the strength of my batting abilities. As it turned out, I played only a couple of practice games in the preparation period, not in any of the games in the tournament itself. But just as I had 18 months earlier on the Ashes tour, I enjoyed every second.

  Sportswriters had started saying that if there wasn’t such an extraordinary once-in-a-generation cricketer as Gilly already doing the job, I’d have been in the national team a year earlier, although there was always talk about other sharp batsman-keepers, including Queenslander Chris Hartley. I tried to tune it all out. I understood that journalists had space to fill and everyone was looking for an angle they could work, but I didn’t have to buy into it. If I spent time worrying about what other people said, good or bad, I wouldn’t have my head in the game. And if I expended a whole lot of nervous energy worrying about if or when the spot
was going to open up and who else would be vying for it, I’d be selling myself short as a cricketer and, frankly, as a person.

  My mindset was never that Adam Gilchrist was an obstacle to my career. He was an inspiration. His giftedness as a batsman as well as a keeper raised the bar for all who followed. But there is a big difference between being inspired and trying to become a Gilly clone. I think a lot of spinners fell into that trap with Shane Warne — instead of developing their own style they tried to mimic his. That approach never works. All I could do was keep challenging myself to be the best I could possibly be. If in the end that wasn’t good enough, I’d be able to look anyone in the eye and know I’d done everything I was capable of. If it was, I’d get my chance.

  So I didn’t get frustrated not playing in the World Cup. Just the opposite: I thought it was a brilliant opportunity to learn and to contribute to the team’s success. It was great being able to watch other wicketkeepers in action and chew the fat with Gilly about the craft when we met down by the pool at lunchtime or at training. And it wasn’t just me as the younger bloke who felt that way. Gilly had the hunger to keep on learning that marks out the best in any field. As he wrote in his memoir True Colours, ‘There is a mentality in cricket that only wicketkeepers share and knowledge that nobody else possesses . . . I loved having another gloveman around, and we helped each other become better keepers.’

  The conversations I enjoyed most were the ones when we talked about how to get out of ‘quicksand’. Everyone has a bad day at the office from time to time; quicksand is my name for a bad day on the cricket pitch. It happens to every player, be they a bowler, batsman or keeper, and it generally comes out of the blue. The day starts fine. You wake up in the hotel, you have breakfast, everything’s normal. You go to the ground, you warm up; it’s just like any other day. Then the game starts and one or two things you try don’t quite go to plan. You start feeling the worm of doubt deep inside yourself. You try harder, but the harder you try the more you tense up and the worse it gets. Your hands feel stiff, your legs stop working, your feet don’t go where you need them to go.

  It’s a horrible feeling whenever it happens, but for me it’s a thousand times worse when I’m keeping than when I’m batting. I’d rather get 10 ducks in a row than drop a catch. When you’re in quicksand behind the stumps you dread the ball coming to you, and that’s a very bad place for a wicketkeeper to be. Because it all starts in the mind, the way you’re playing sometimes doesn’t look anywhere near as bad to an observer as it feels to you. Your whole team is out there with you, but you feel so alone and exposed. If you can’t arrest it, you go into a kind of self-perpetuating death spiral, where everything you try just makes you sink further.

  It’s easy when you’re looking up admiringly at the greats of the game to assume they turn up every week and perform without being troubled by insecurities and doubts — that they never experience the feeling of being in quicksand. So it was a real revelation for me to gain access to that inner sanctum and find out that every single one of those top players experienced those feelings from time to time; every one of them had days when they were vulnerable. What made them greats is the way they dealt with that. I already had the skills I needed with gloves and bat but my time as a member of those squads gave me knowledge that made all the difference and allowed me to become an Australian cricketer with longevity. The camaraderie was fantastic. Going into a match, everyone in the squad who wasn’t playing would do any little thing they could to make life as easy as possible for the 11 guys on the sheet so they could focus purely on the game. Whether it was running gloves out to them, making sure their drink bottle was topped up or just paying attention in case they called for something, everyone knew their place and worked hard for each other. And everyone was part of celebrating the individual successes and team wins.

  There were a lot of wins to celebrate. The 16 teams in the tournament were split into four initial pools; the top two teams went into a ‘super 8’ round robin, from which came the four semi-finalists. Weariness and doubts were shaken off, the team galvanised, and Australia did not lose a game all the way through to the finals, where we went up against Sri Lanka.

  That game was memorable for its highs and lows. The highest of the highs was Gilly’s flowing 149 off 104 balls. The farcical lowest of the lows was the way the rain-affected final ended. Sri Lanka had batted for 33 overs when the revised total left them needing to score 61 off 18 balls. But then the umpires decided it was too dark to continue and suspended play, which meant that because Sri Lanka had completed their required 20 overs the game was finished. Australia had won the World Cup! We were all jumping around celebrating when the umpires told Ricky Ponting that no, it wasn’t over yet — the remaining three overs would need to be bowled the following day (even though Sri Lanka had no hope of getting the required runs).

  Sri Lankan captain Mahela Jayawardene said this was not necessary, but the umpires insisted the remaining three overs had to be played and so they sent the teams out in pitch darkness, after first calling a halt to the crew who had already started erecting the podium up on the field for the following day’s presentation ceremony. Not wanting anyone to get hurt playing under these ridiculous conditions, Punter and Jayawardene agreed to have spinners Andrew Symonds and Michael Clarke bowl the last balls and keep them gentle. (The umpires’ decision, which was a major embarrassment for West Indies Cricket and the International Cricket Council, was based on a complete misunderstanding of the rules; ICC boss Malcolm Speed later formally apologised for it.) When it was finally over — this time for real — the celebrations were mighty.

  The tournament was Glenn McGrath’s last. He’d retired from Test cricket after the Sydney New Year game and announced then that he would bow out completely after the World Cup. He was a real genius of the game as I’d seen for myself during the tournament, with his contribution to the team meeting before Australia played South Africa providing a great example. He said, ‘I’ve watched Ashwell Prince and when he first gets out there he likes to hook even though he doesn’t yet have a feel for it. He hits it high and the ball drops a metre behind the square umpire. I’m going to give him a bouncer early; he won’t be able to resist it and if we’ve got someone there he’ll be gone.’ Not everyone was persuaded, but he knew what he was talking about. Sure enough, Prince hooked it, Matthew Hayden was where Pigeon said he needed to be and the South African was out for one. It felt beautifully appropriate that Glenn’s record 26 wickets in the campaign saw him named World Cup Player of the Tournament — one more brilliant moment in what had been an extraordinary couple of months in the Caribbean.

  That trip had also given Karina her first taste of touring life when she flew over for the two-week visitor period organised by Cricket Australia. These periods helped partners understand the demands put on players by the long distances travelled, the official functions and other commitments, but also allowed them to enjoy being fêted guests, watching the game from a corporate box, and get to know the other partners on day-trips or over meals.

  Home in Sydney again, it was time for me to get the procedure done to fix the knee injury I’d received in 2005. It was day surgery, in and out, but it did stop me playing or even training properly for more than a month. Karina, who had been patient for a long time, seized the moment and organised our wedding. With so little notice, the only available spot at the reception venue was a Thursday evening, 2 August. Among her other qualities, Karina is a very good organiser. So she took care of everything. I had to do only two things: be there on the day and front up to dreaded dance lessons beforehand so we could get through the traditional bridal waltz without tripping over. I’d rather have taken ice baths — and I hate ice baths — but I did it. I still took the precaution of saying to my brothers, ‘As soon as I get up on that dance floor, make sure you get out there as quick as you can.’

  Both Karina and I love to entertain people and make sure they’re having a good time. We didn’t want to have the ce
remony then leave the guests hanging about while we went off for photos, so we took care of that first. We met in our finest down at Balmoral, where I’d tried to persuade her to go on the night of our engagement. This time we got lucky with the weather; it was a stunning winter afternoon — almost as stunning as my about-to-be bride. We had the photos taken then went separately to the historic Gunners Barracks nearby, were married in the courtyard outside and then went straight inside and got the party started. It wasn’t at all how we’d imagined it when we had first talked about it years earlier, but it was perfect in every way and our guests kept telling us it was one of the best weddings they’d ever been to. We had a four-day honeymoon on Lizard Island, where amid all the relaxing I was able to do some running to help get my knee back into shape for the coming season.

  My duties with the Blues were, however, going to have to wait, since I’d had the brilliant news that I was going to be touring India in late September and October as part of the Australian one-day side — not as a back-up for Adam Gilchrist or in his place, but in addition to him, as a batsman. The tour covered seven ODIs and a T20I. Australia had come a long, long way in terms of success on Indian soil by this point, having won the 2006 Champions Trophy and only losing two of the last 15 one-dayers on the subcontinent.

  Conditions for travelling teams had improved enormously, although ‘Delhi belly’ was still a risk. (And, indeed, Michael Clarke needed to call on the team doctor to make it through the first game of our tour. He was lucky; it was the first time in 20 years the team had travelled with a doctor.) We had it all to play for and when Ricky Ponting injured his hamstring I was put into the batting lineup at number six for the opening encounter, in Bangalore.