My Family's Keeper

by Brad Haddin

  I told my parents and we swapped disbelief, anxiety and reassurances back and forth. But I knew that to get out there and play the next day I was going to have to put all of those feelings in a box to deal with when my innings was over. Mia was in good hands (this frustratingly avoidable mistake notwithstanding) and there was nothing I could do to help her. I had to find a way to clear my head and do my job. Mum and Dad were the only ones who knew what was going on. I didn’t breathe a word to anyone else because I didn’t want anyone to lose concentration on their own task because they were worrying about me, and I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for us, as kindly as that might have been intended.

  At the start of the day’s play we needed 137 to win. We started strong but, although I dug in, wickets kept falling at the other end. When our number 11, James Pattinson, came out, we still needed 70. A more colourful way of putting it is that we needed a miracle. The pair of us did our very best to deliver it, hitting hard and fast, and getting lucky at one point to avoid a run-out. Our deficit was down to 24 when I was dropped on 64 at deep square leg. England did a bit of time-wasting and then it was the lunch break. James and I came back out full of fight, but on 71 my luck ran out. England wicketkeeper Matt Prior thought I’d got an inside edge. Umpire Aleem Dar hadn’t seen it, but they used one of their remaining DRS (Decision Review System) referrals. While we were waiting on the decision, Matt Prior looked me in the eye and asked me if I’d hit it and I answered honestly, ‘Yes.’ Our run was over but against all odds we had pulled the game back, coming within 14 runs of victory, which was a huge achievement.

  It would have meant nothing if things had been going badly at home, but, to my immense relief, when I spoke to Karina after the game she told me Mia had pulled through yet another close call, and was doing just fine.

  England punished us all the way through the four days of the Second Test at Lord’s, beating us by 347 runs. Our draw in the rain-shortened Third Test at Old Trafford meant that England retained the Ashes, but we were starting to have more good days than bad and there was the justified feeling in the change room that if it wasn’t for the horrible British weather we’d have had a very good shot at winning. The Fourth Test, at Durham, showed that we still weren’t recognising key moments in the game quickly enough, or doing enough to swing the momentum back to us. England won it, but we probably should have done. Stuart Broad bowled a spell that threw us much more than it should have: the team as a whole still didn’t have the game awareness to recognise that we simply needed to push through that spell and come out the back end of it.

  Before training in the lead-up to the Fifth Test at The Oval, Darren pulled a group of senior players aside — me, Michael Clarke, Ryan Harris and Peter Siddle — and said that while there had been definite progress, England were getting away with standing over our young blokes too much. We needed to aim up and make sure we were sticking up for the junior players; if England tried to make things uncomfortable we’d do the same. We were a better team by then than the results showed. We’d lost the series and that was never good, but we all had our eyes on the prize of the return bout in Australia in four months’ time. We went into the final game ready to push ourselves and lift to a new level, and while the risk we took to make a game of it ultimately didn’t come off, so that we walked away with a draw, there was a feeling of renewal in the air.

  The match brought me a personal milestone: a world record for the most dismissals in a Test series. Going into the game, one of the sportswriters had noted that if I got four dismissals I’d pass the record of 28, which had stood since Rod Marsh set it 30 years earlier. I took three in the first innings. Our second innings declaration brought the Poms back out and in the fifth over Joe Root feathered one and there it was — I’d done it. When I got back to my room I found that Rod had left me a bottle of champagne and a very nice note, which was a classy gesture. Even so, I think he’d understand better than anyone when I say that while it felt good to have set a new record I’d have traded it in a heartbeat for overall Ashes victory for the team. Ah well, we’d have our chance to try to claim back the urn soon enough. And it would mean everything to be able to do that on Australian soil in front of the family who made it all worthwhile.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE GREATEST VICTORY

  SKYPE IS A TERRIFIC invention, but there is nothing in the world to beat picking up your kids and hugging them tight, especially when you’ve been away for months. There were lots of changes to take in when I got back from England at the beginning of September 2013. Being the youngest, Hugo had changed the most. I’d left an 11-month-old baby; now he was a curious toddler getting ready to talk. Zac was full of beans, mad for cricket, with endless news from preschool to share. And cheeky, gorgeous Mia was doing well enough that Dr Luce thought she might be able to have her central line out in a month or so. Karina had done a wonderful job in my absence and, with a nanny providing hands-on help, our mothers had been able to ease back into being beloved grandmas rather than carers. Spring was in the air. The underlying knowledge that things could change without warning was always there, but I felt cautiously hopeful that perhaps the worst was behind us.

  Soon after I returned we got the terribly sad news that Mia’s closest friend in hospital, Katie Tarpey, had died. It was a stark and painful reminder that, no matter how hard they tried, the doctors couldn’t save everyone. There’s a very real sense of understanding and support between almost all the parents in a children’s cancer ward. When other people learn what your child is going through they make more or less the same remarks in more or less the same order; it’s a conversation you have over and over and over during the long months of treatment. But in the ward everyone is way past that. Instead of, ‘Oh dear, a two-year-old undergoing chemotherapy, how awful!’, you ask what cycle each child is up to and swap tips about what helps with the mouth ulcers. Even the briefest conversations by the microwave come from a place of shared experience far removed from the ‘outside world’. But every now and then you make an extra special connection, and Katie and her family were in that category.

  Katie was almost the exact same age as Mia and she, too, had neuroblastoma, although hers had made its presence felt not long after she turned two. Soon after Katie started treatment, Karina met her mother, Serina, and other members of their close and loving family — her twin, Elyse, another sister, Georgia, who was Zac’s age, and her Nana. When they were well enough, Katie and Mia loved to spend time together in the Camperdown playroom and the girls’ friendship had drawn the two families close together. But, while Mia responded well to her treatment, the therapy for Katie sadly failed to produce a response, despite 10 rounds of chemo and surgery.

  Her funeral would have been terribly sad under any circumstances, but seeing Mia and Katie so happy together in the photo montage and knowing that Karina and I could so easily have been in Serina and her husband Troy’s places, and they in ours, made it absolutely heartbreaking. (The connection between our families remains strong: Serina is overjoyed each time we get a clear scan result and Mia often talks about Katie ‘up in the clouds’.)

  By the beginning of October, 18 months after Mia first had a central line inserted, she was doing well enough to have it surgically removed — a huge milestone. Eating was still an issue and she had a nasal tube delivering nutritional supplements and medicine. She also started weekly ‘occupational therapy’ sessions to encourage her interest in more types of food and build up her confidence tackling different textures. But having the central line out greatly reduced her chance of infection, so when I left for a six-week ODI tour of India, it was on that very positive note. However, there was no chance of becoming complacent, as Mia was admitted to hospital just a week later with a temperature-raising virus. Fortunately, after treatment, she was back home again in time to celebrate her third birthday, though of course I wasn’t able to be there to celebrate with the family.

  There were seven games in the series and India won 3–2 (rain accou
nted for the other two). The wickets were paradise for batsmen and a bunch of records were set although, the way games went, I didn’t have many opportunities to bat for long periods. This made me concerned I wasn’t getting the preparation I needed leading up to the coming Ashes so I sat down with batting coach Michael Di Venuto and we came up with a plan of things for me to work on.

  I was feeling strong and ready for the summer ahead. Cricket NSW had made the smart move of reappointing Trevor Bayliss as coach. He asked me to take on the captaincy again. With so much on my plate, both at home and as vice-captain of the national team, I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else, but for TB I said yes. We knew that my having to be away with the Australian team would limit the number of games I could play, but I was there for a lot of the preseason and that enabled TB and I to work on the changes in the team’s standards and approach needed after the disappointing previous year.

  I’ve commented previously about the intense scrutiny surrounding every Ashes campaign. But after the events of the previous 10 months, from the failures on the field and the dramas off it in India, to the replacement of Mickey Arthur and the changes that the team had subsequently made, the external pressure surrounding the 2013–14 Ashes was multiplied by a factor of 10. And yet, because the team had put in the work and rediscovered the way we wanted to play, we were settled and ready. Darren had talked a lot to us about creating our own story. We’d had great Australian teams in the past; now it was our turn to take our place. We were primed for the challenge.

  Personally, I was as comfortable going into that series as I’ve ever been. I was still extremely competitive; more so, in a way, because I felt I had a point to prove to those who thought that at 36 I was too old, the wrong choice for the role. But I had a different perspective now. I’d seen life and death and this wasn’t it. This was a game. A great game, yes. The greatest game of all, in my opinion. But just a game. So I went into it feeling both sharp and loose: keenly focused but not tense, just clear and ready.

  The Brisbane game, which started on 21 November, was a huge occasion for me. Not only was it my first Test match back on home soil since I’d rejoined the national team, it was my 50th Test, a milestone that seemed so unlikely 18 months earlier. So many people who mattered to me were there to cheer us on, including my parents, my brother Chris and his partner, Jenna, and a contingent of my old ANUCC teammates — Peter Solway, Greg Irvine, Simon Mann and Colin Smart — which meant a huge amount to me. My manager and friend, Peter Lovitt, was there with another dear friend and Mia’s godfather, Paul Byrom. Most wonderfully of all, Karina, Zac, Mia and Hugo were all there, with our friend Kim Starkey lending a hand. Mia was in great form, bossing everyone around and sending Dad out to buy her chicken nuggets with sweet and sour sauce, her latest obsession.

  We won the toss and went in to bat on a good Gabba wicket. But Stuart Broad was in form and 30 overs in we were 4 for 83 and, not long after, when I went in to partner Steve Smith, 5 for 100. It was one of those true tests of character. The game was not yet lost, but it would be if we couldn’t change the momentum right away. Nine overs later, Steve was caught and Mitchell Johnson came out. The bowling was alternating between Broad and Graeme Swann. We’d planned for this, but when you’re in the crucible in front of 42,000 people and commentators have already started writing off the entire match with comments like ‘Australia are the same flawed team with a penchant for self-sabotage we saw a few months ago’, panic can set in. We couldn’t let that happen.

  Johnno said, ‘We’ve just got to get through Swann.’ But that wasn’t the strategy we’d agreed on. With the fielders at mid-off and mid-on up close, the plan was to hit Swann to get him out of the attack. We thought if we milked the strike and hit Swann for singles, there was a very strong chance that after a couple of overs England captain Alistair Cook would be tempted to bring his fast bowlers back; then we could go for it. It was a good plan; now all we needed to do was follow it. I reminded Mitchell of what we’d agreed. It was a big moment between us, with things hanging in the balance. I said, ‘We have to trust ourselves and our plan, otherwise we’re reverting to those bad habits we’ve worked so hard to change.’ He looked at me, nodded, and we got down to it.

  If the plan hadn’t worked we’d have looked like idiots and copped it from all sides. But it did work and Johnno and I put on 114 runs before Broad bowled him for 64, not long before the end of play on the first day. I was on 78 at stumps and I wasn’t done yet. I made it to 94 the next day before I got run out trying to protect Nathan Lyon from the strike, so he didn’t cop one on the head. The questions I got afterwards from the media showed that some people expected me to feel disappointed about not having reached a century, but if I had to pick a single innings from my entire career as the most special to me and the most important to my team it would be that one. As I walked to the pavilion and compared the position we were in to where we’d been when I went out to bat, I felt just as good as after a win. I told the journos truthfully that I was actually glad I hadn’t reached my ton, because doing so knowing my children — all three children — were there to see it would have been too emotionally overwhelming. Friends and family in the grandstand didn’t have to hold back, however, and they wept openly, including Paul, not caring what anyone around him made of a bloke in RM Williams boots and checked shirt with a TAB ticket poking out of the top pocket and a schooner of beer in his hand having tears run down his cheeks.

  On the field, England had no answer to the searing form of Johnno and Ryan Harris; then David Warner and Michael Clarke both got centuries in our second innings and I got 53 as we went on to win by 381 runs. That game was a real turning point for the team. It’s where we started to genuinely trust in our own abilities, to see that the changes we’d made were working, to wholeheartedly enjoy each other’s successes and to be accountable to ourselves and each other. It gave us a self-belief that we carried right throughout that incredible, memorable summer.

  Our luck with the coin toss continued in Adelaide, enabling us to bat first. We started better than in Brisbane, reaching 155 before the second wicket fell. But then we faltered, losing the next three for only 19 runs. It was, once again, a pivot point when the game could go either way. Michael Clarke started to accumulate much-needed runs, but Monty Panesar got Steve Smith cheaply. George Bailey put on 53 but, even so, when I came out in the 85th over, at 5 for 257, we were a long way from where we wanted to be.

  In a leadership role, what you say is important, but it’s what you do that really counts. Michael and I wanted the team to remember the lessons of the Gabba and put them into action. It was time to lead by example, which we did with a 200-run game-changing partnership. This time around I got my century and as I pulled the ball through mid-wicket for a four I felt the energy in the crowd surging towards me. It literally took my breath away. I felt an enormous sense of achievement and I was so proud to be Australian.

  By the time I nicked a Stuart Broad ball after tea on Day 2, I was on 118 and we had reached 9 for 529. We declared eight overs later for 570. Both Michael and I batted powerfully and extremely well that day, but we also benefited from England’s sloppy fielding, with my near misses including a dropped catch when I was on five. There was an even closer shave when I seemed to have been caught on 51 off a ball from Ben Stokes, who was making his debut in the game. I nicked it and it was caught, no argument about that. I was walking off when the umpire called me back, saying he thought it was a no ball. I looked up at the big screen as we awaited the decision and, sure enough, Stokes’s foot had been over the line.

  Stokes had already shown a couple of signs that he might slot in at the ‘fiery’ end if anyone was classifying redheads. (And sure enough, a few weeks later he performed well enough in an ODI against Australia to get Player of the Match, but chucked enough abuse around to get fined 15 per cent of his match fee.) I knew how much hard work it took to get to your Test debut and how emotional that day was, how badly you wanted that first wicket. I
also knew those things made Stokes vulnerable to attempts to get under his skin. He was making his unhappiness about the decision known when I walked past him back into position and said quietly, ‘Congratulations on your first Test wicket. I know how hard that is to get.’ He instantly blew up at me but I’d already passed him and I just kept walking. Down at the non-striker’s end he was fielding next to me and whenever the umpire turned away I did it again: ‘Psst, well done on that first wicket.’ I was using gamesmanship, trying to play on Stokes’s emotions and get a reaction out of him because the more his mind was on me the less it would be on the game, and up he went, every time.

  The more the Adelaide Test went on, the more England got rattled as they fell further behind. Our bowlers bamboozled them and we didn’t miss the chances when they came. We won by 218 runs and went into the Third Test in Perth knowing the Ashes were ours for the taking. All we had to do was stay the course.

  The big contributions to our WACA first innings 385 were David Warner’s 60, Steve Smith’s rock-sold 111 and my 55. Again, England had no real comeback and they went into their second innings chasing 504. I was so in the zone with the bat and the gloves that it all felt almost effortless. I took four catches in the first innings and another four in the second, including a couple that went straight into my top 10 list. The first was a diving one-hander in front of first slip to get Joe Root’s wicket. That was definitely the one that drew the attention. But my favourite was the one that got Ben Stokes out.

  Stokes was one of the few members of the England team who had any fight left in him by the time we got to the fourth day. At stumps he was on 75 and looked ready to come back with more of the same the following day. Darren Lehmann’s spray let the team know he wasn’t about to let anyone turn up on the last day offering any less than they had on the first. Stokes got his century on the fifth morning and added another 20, but then we had him. Nathan Lyon was bowling and I was keeping up to the stumps when Stokes tried to sweep a delivery, only to connect on the bat’s bottom edge. In that situation the keeper is blind. Your natural reaction is to stand up, which is why a catch like that is such a pure test of keeping skills. You have to hold your position perfectly and know that this is the microsecond all your training has prepared you for — nailing that kind of catch is one of the greatest sensations a wicketkeeper can have.