Underneath the Southern Cross

by Michael Hussey

  But I did not consider myself a part of the Test picture for the upcoming series against the West Indies. I felt the pressure was off me and I wasn’t on trial every innings. Hayden and Langer were ensconced. If my destiny was to be an Australian one-day cricketer, and not a Test player, I felt that I would be happy.

  On 29 october, that all changed. We were playing a domestic one-dayer against Victoria at the Junction oval in St Kilda, and Gerard Denton got one to jump at Justin Langer. It hit him in the ribs and he had to retire hurt, which was unusual for JL, but he said he would be fine and I didn’t think about it anymore.

  Justin went up to Brisbane to prepare for the first Test, while I returned to Perth with the Warriors. JL was a tough nut. Even a broken rib, let alone a mere bruise, wouldn’t stop him playing.

  The next day, Amy and I took Jasmin for a long walk on the beach. When we’d got back to the car and were driving home, my phone rang. Trevor Hohns, the national chairman of selectors, was on the other end.

  ‘Huss, how quickly can you get to the airport? We need you in Brisbane on standby for Justin.’

  I nearly drove off the road.

  ‘I can be there as quickly as possible,’ I said. I raced home, packed and went to the airport, where camera crews converged on me. I felt like a bit of a rock star until, when I lifted my suitcase onto the conveyor belt at check-in, my zip broke and my clothes went all over the place, in front of the world.

  On the plane, I was sitting next to a guy who asked what I was doing. I said, proudly, ‘I’m joining the Australian cricket team.’ He must have had twelve or fifteen scotch and Cokes on the flight, and by the time I was in Brisbane some of the fumes were sticking to my shirt and I smelt like a distillery.

  When I got to the team’s hotel, they were having a team dinner. As I walked in, they were very warm, shaking my hand and making me feel welcome. It was different from joining the one-day team: here were all the legends, Warne, McGrath, Ponting, Gilchrist, Hayden, guys I knew individually but had never been with before as a collective. I spoke with JL, who was drugged up on painkillers.

  ‘How are you going, mate?’

  He said, ‘Huss, it’s a waste of time you being here, I’m 100 per cent fine to play.’

  He was determined, of course, but it was obvious that he was feeling the effects of the painkillers. I saw the physiotherapist, Errol Alcott, and discreetly asked him how Justin was really going.

  ‘He’s really struggling, Huss. I’d be ready to play if I were you.’

  The next day at training at the Gabba, we started with some fielding. I was watching Justin like a hawk. He didn’t do a lot, but didn’t show too much discomfort. I was here now, fired up to play.

  We went to the nets, where again I was trying not to be too obvious in the way I was watching him. He batted beautifully, playing all his shots, timing the ball well. My heart sank. So near, yet so far. He smashed all the bowlers everywhere. He’d be fine. That was that, then.

  As his session finished, I was next in. We crossed as Justin came out.

  ‘Huss, I just want to let you know, I’m out, mate. Good luck, you’re in.’

  I went to the crease and thought, Holy cow, I didn’t expect that. My mind was all over the place. The first five balls, I think I got out four times.

  I stepped aside and thought, You’re playing in a Test match – switch on!

  I was told officially after the session that I would be making my Test debut, and from there the circus started. I had to do media interviews all afternoon, and was organising family and friends to fly up. I’d promised Ian Kevan when I was eighteen that if I played a Test match for Australia I wanted him to be there. There was Mum and Dad and Amy, my uncle Brian Rogers and some cousins. I thought, I should really be concentrating on my first Test.

  Congratulations from Brett Lee and Adam Gilchrist during training at the Gabba in Brisbane on 1 November 2005, after Justin Langer was injured. (Photo by Hamish Blair/Getty Images)

  We had another day’s practice before the Test match, and I put all the other stuff aside and had a good hit in the nets. I felt calm and happy and ready to go, but sleeping was a problem. Sleep was a big part of my preparation. Normally, if I hadn’t slept well, I didn’t function. If I got a good eight or nine hours, on the other hand, my mind and body worked well and I batted better. I wouldn’t compromise on that full night’s sleep. As I lay in bed, my mind was very active thinking about the game, and I needed some help getting off to sleep. I had to take a sleeping tablet to get off, something I’d done since starting my one-day international career. I woke up in the middle of the night and had to take another. Two sleeping tablets the night before my Test debut was not ideal, but I just had to get some rest.

  Waking up, I felt pretty relaxed and excited about the day. I got to the ground feeling happy. During our warm-ups, Bill Brown presented me with my cap. It was a real honour getting it from the oldest living Australian Test player, a member of the 1948 Invincibles. Bill didn’t say a lot, just, ‘Good luck, you deserve your chance, I hope you play very well.’ I wanted to rip the Baggy Green out of his hands and get it on my head.

  Being presented with my Baggy Green cap by Bill Brown, Australia’s oldest living Test cricketer, before day one of the first Test between Australia and the West Indies in Brisbane.

  I warmed up well. Ricky went out and, to my consternation, won the toss and decided to bat. That’s when things started flipping around inside me. I’m going to be facing my first ball in Test cricket in half an hour.

  We went into the dressing room, and I went to the toilet for about the twentieth time that morning. Warnie was in there, in nothing but his underpants, smoking a cigarette. He could tell I was extremely nervous. Warnie was one guy I’d had some fierce battles with in Shield cricket, and even though I’d made that double-century in Perth I wasn’t sure if he rated me. I was pretty much in awe of him. I wanted to impress him and be liked by him, but he hadn’t given much away about whether he thought I was up to this level. Now, he pulled me aside and said, ‘Huss, you’re good enough to be here, you don’t have to prove anything to any of us. Just go and play your way and you can’t fail, mate.’

  It made an enormous impression on me, getting that endorsement from one of the greatest bowlers to play the game. When you get a vote of confidence from someone of his stature, you feel like you have the respect of all your teammates. For anyone coming into the Australian Test cricket team, it’s a test of your nerve as much as anything else. Do you belong? I made a pact with myself at that moment, if I stayed in the team, to try to make any new player feel the way Warnie had made me feel: protected by the team. I wanted to pass that feeling on to others.

  I padded up and went out for the national anthem. The crowd really belted it out, but I had the sense of a disaster enveloping me. I lost feeling in my legs and my heart was pounding. I thought, I’ve got to pull it together or else I’ll be in real trouble. I’m batting in five minutes.

  I hadn’t studied the West Indian bowlers much. I’d had a quick chat with some of the guys, who noted that Jermaine Lawson and Fidel Edwards were quite quick. I hadn’t watched a lot of footage of them or done much homework. I was worried about Corey Collymore’s accuracy and ability to move the ball, but to be frank I was just pumped to be out there, and there was only enough room in my head for coping with my own game.

  Walking out with Matthew Hayden, I wasn’t conscious of much except the complete loss of feeling in my legs. Haydos, taking pity on me, said he would take the first ball. I said, ‘Yes, thank you.’ off the third ball he got a single, and I was facing Fidel Edwards. It’s amazing how the mind wanders. He was at the top of his mark and I was thinking, I can’t believe I’m at the Gabba about to face my first ball in Test cricket. I forced myself into my routine: Stance, relax the arms, clear the negative thoughts out of your mind, watch the ball. And then, another part of my brain wandered back through the years to back yard games with Dave, how I’d dreamt of play
ing for Australia. Then the other side screamed: Huss, concentrate, watch the ball! Then I thought about all the trials I’d been through with Western Australia, being in and out of the team … And a voice in my head belted out: Concentrate! He’s about to bowl!

  All this while I was waiting for the first ball. As Edwards was about to get to the crease, I was welling up with tears. I thought, You can’t cry before your first ball in Test cricket. CONCENTRATE!!!

  He bowled a bouncer. It was a quick one, whistling past my eyes, but I thought, I’m lucky he didn’t bowl on the stumps, because I didn’t see it. My mind was all over the place. I doubt I’d have been able to move. The West Indian boys were saying things like, ‘Welcome to Test cricket, man!’

  I was still blinking away the tears. It was like my life had flashed before my eyes, a near-death experience. For the next few balls I faced from Edwards and the other new-ball bowler, Daren Powell, I was all over the place. My bat felt like a toothpick.

  In the fifth over, the thirteenth ball I faced, I pushed one past short leg and called: ‘No!’ But then it got away from the fielder and I screamed, ‘YES!’ Haydos stuttered, but we got through for the single.

  I was exultant. I had a run! No matter how much money you’ve got in the world, you can’t buy a run in Test cricket. It was overwhelming. I felt like a king.

  Haydos played out the last three balls in that over, and then I was facing Daren Powell again. He bowled a short one and I went for a pull shot, but top-edged it straight up in the air. It was hard walking off. My family, relatives and friends were sitting right above the tunnel. I had my head down, but peeked up and saw them sitting there. The disappointment was written on their faces. I felt like I’d really let them down. I’d played a terrible shot. They’d made the effort to come here and watch me, and this was all I’d been able to give them.

  About half an hour after I got out, however, I was settling down, thinking over what an amazing experience it was, something so many people would love but don’t experience. The other guys were batting well, and by lunchtime I was pretty happy again. Ricky scored a century in the afternoon, and I thought, I’ve made a run in Test cricket, I’ve got a baggy green cap. Hey, it’s not the end of the world.

  I didn’t take notice of any commentary on my performance or the fact that hundreds of thousands were watching. I felt I was representing those people, more than being the object of their criticism or praise. I wanted to do well for them as their representative.

  When I got to the hotel that night, Mum, Dad and Amy were waiting. When I saw their excitement, that made me feel that I’d succeeded. Dad was desperate to look at my Baggy Green cap. I don’t think he could believe he was touching one, and he didn’t want to let go of it.

  We were in the field by the second afternoon, with 435 on the board. It felt good to be fielding, much more relaxed than batting and having the whole spotlight on me. McGrath, Lee, Nathan Bracken and Warne had the West Indies under pressure, so it was fun to be out there. We got Lara for 30, the big wicket, and were on top from there. When we were circling the batsmen, I was thinking, How good is this? I misfielded a drive and it went away for three runs, which was embarrassing, but otherwise I was very happy.

  But then, on the third morning, as the last wickets fell I started getting nervous about going out and batting again. Haydos and I were facing up before lunch for just one over, a really difficult assignment. This time I took the first ball, from Edwards. I got his second ball through covers for three and hit another in the middle, which took the edge off my nerves. After lunch, I worked my way quite nicely to 29 until they brought Chris Gayle on to bowl his part-time off-spinners. He dropped one short, and I pulled it hard, above midwicket’s head, but Collymore put his hands up and snatched it. I’d batted quite well, but was very disappointed not to kick on after a good start.

  Scores of 1 and 29 weren’t the greatest start to my Test career, but I was on a high. Ricky made another hundred, we went back out and Nathan Bracken bowled brilliantly to seal a pretty comfortable win. Having a cold beer with the boys, I was over the moon to have played in a Test match and been in a winning team. But inside, a burning feeling was starting to niggle away. Now that I was here, I wanted to prove to myself and the world that I could perform at this level. But would I get the chance? We all expected JL to be back for the next Test match. A voice in my head was asking if this was to be my only opportunity. Shivers, I might not get this chance again.

  There was this terrible swirl of positive and negative voices. I might be another of those one-Test guys. Nobody could take that away from me. I could be proud of it, even if it was my only chance. But I would be disappointed too.

  Making it harder was knowing my destiny was in Justin’s hands. Knowing him, he would fight through any pain to be right for the second Test in Hobart. We went home for a few days, and I was at the WACA for training. JL came up to me and said he wouldn’t be at Hobart either. I felt for him but I also thought, You beauty, at least I won’t be a one-Test wonder.

  The Warriors flew to Adelaide and won a domestic one-dayer easily – and then I went on to Hobart with Gilly to prepare for the Test. Arriving a day before the rest of the Test team, we settled in, went for a nice long walk, had a laugh and a chat. The whole preparation was completely different from Brisbane. Hobart’s smaller and more relaxed, and I didn’t have the wall-to-wall media scrutiny or the fuss of organising flights. I felt infinitely calmer. In the nets, without the intensity of Brisbane, I felt my emotions were in check and I was batting quite well.

  Things didn’t go completely to plan, though. The last training session was optional. I decided to go down to Bellerive, have a quick hit and get my gear all ready. Afterwards, I told the manager, Steve ‘Brute’ Bernard, that I would walk back to the hotel myself. In my general daze, I hadn’t realised how far Bellerive was from the city. I thought it would be a half-hour walk. From the first few minutes, as I looked down the Derwent, I could see it was going to be a lot longer than that. I took a short cut, and got lost. Two and a half hours later, I staggered into the hotel, exhausted, wondering if I’d gone crazy. I relaxed throughout the afternoon, though, and had a good night’s sleep.

  In the team minivan the next morning, the song that was playing was ‘I’ve Had a Bad Day’. Coincidentally, the last time I’d heard that was the day we got hammered by Victoria at the Junction oval and JL had broken his rib. Gilly joked, ‘That’s not a good sign.’ I said, ‘Gilly, don’t remind me of that day.’

  On a beautiful batting pitch, we lost the toss but bowled the West Indies out for 149. Haydos and I had to bat through the last session, and I got off to a streaky start, until Powell, trying to get me out the same way as in the first innings in Brisbane, bounced me. I pulled it for four and thought, That’s the best shot I’ve played in Test cricket. I can do it at this level. It’s amazing how one shot can loosen everything up. Throughout my career, I played innings when my confidence went from zero to full-throttle just from one or two shots. After middling that one, I felt like a different person. I was 26 not out at stumps and was happy to have got the team, along with Haydos, to the end of the day without losing a wicket, but I knew I had a big chance here.

  The next morning was one of those sessions when everything fell into place. I played shots all around the ground and even outscored Haydos, which I couldn’t believe. We rattled along and in the 50th over my hundred came off a clip off the pad off Fidel Edwards. I ran down the wicket punching the air and yelling and screaming. I gave Haydos an enormous hug and carried on for another five minutes or so. I was going so crazy, he couldn’t stop laughing. I’d had that sinking feeling in Brisbane about not proving myself at this level – and now I’d done it.

  Matty also made a hundred, and almost as exciting to me was being able to hit the winning run in the second innings. It’s true that our opponents weren’t the feared West Indies of the past. Their attack was workmanlike but not intimidating. They gave you balls to hit boun
daries off, and if you stayed patient you’d get a four-ball every over or two. It took the pressure off someone like me, who usually struggled to turn the strike over. But it really wouldn’t have mattered to me who we were playing. Two weeks earlier, I’d been celebrating one Test run. Now, beyond belief, I had a hundred.

  At the end of the Hobart Test, we knew Justin Langer was coming back in. I thought I would be the one to make way, but the selectors dropped Michael Clarke for the first time in his career. As the celebrations started, I saw Michael get pulled aside and given the bad news. That made for a very awkward dressing room. He was devastated, and I was ecstatic while not wanting to show that too much to my teammate. This is always the way in cricket: balancing individual with team results, when they go in opposite directions, can be a delicate thing. I felt sorry for Michael, as I had for Damien Martyn and Simon Katich, who had paid the price for the Ashes loss. The selectors had now cleaned out the whole middle order, replacing Michael, Damien and Simon with me, Brad Hodge and Andrew Symonds.

  All of a sudden, I was batting number five. I’d done the middle-order job in one-day internationals, but still saw myself very much as an opener. But I was so excited to have kept my place after Justin’s return, I didn’t care where I batted.

  We already had the series won at 2–0 before the third Test in Adelaide. The guy we had really been worried about all series was Brian Lara. We managed to get him out without much damage in Brisbane and Hobart, but in Adelaide the West Indies batted first and Lara made 226, passing Allan Border’s Test match run record. He batted out of this world, like the genius he was. He played everyone with ease: McGrath, Lee, Warne and MacGill. But the other West Indians didn’t contribute a lot; we restricted them to 405 and on a typically beautiful Adelaide strip we felt confident. I sat beside Andrew Symonds, very relaxed listening to his usual hilarious nonsense, while our top order dug in. Justin Langer got to 99, a gutsy comeback innings, and with a couple of overs left in the day we were two wickets down and the boys were asking if I wanted a night watchman. I said, ‘No, no, the pitch is good, if someone gets out now it’s only one over.’ I wanted to show I could take the responsibility. Sure enough, Justin gloved a hook down the leg side and I had to go out there to face Fidel Edwards.