That last over, I did not see a ball. I played and missed and nearly nicked a couple. Another few whizzed by my eyes. I felt rather than saw them, and don’t know how I survived. I felt like Glenn McGrath with the bat in my hand, and maybe that’s unfair to Pigeon. I resolved that if I was ever offered a night watchman again, I would take it.
But the next morning, as so often, was a different game. I saw the ball clearly and felt great (all the more reason to get a night watchman, unless he’s the type who’s going to spoil it for you and bat all day). Soon, though, we were in trouble. Dwayne Bravo, who I found very difficult, was reverse-swinging the ball and the scoring slowed down. We suddenly lost five wickets, and were 8/295, well behind in the match, when Stuart MacGill came out.
I went over to him and asked how he wanted to play it. Magilla was adamant. ‘I do not want to face a single ball. I want you to face the first four balls each over, smack a four or six, and then get a single.’
I said, ‘okay, mate, I’ll do my best!’
I blocked a few balls and the crowd started booing, because the field had been pushed back and we weren’t running. Magilla said, ‘It’s okay, you stay down there. I don’t want to face.’
Lara would bring the field back in after the fourth ball to try and keep me on strike and bowl to Magilla the following over. So I had a slog at the fifth ball and snuck a cheeky single off the sixth. This went on for ten, twenty or thirty minutes and the momentum swung. The West Indians weren’t sure what to do. They brought the field in, and I hit fours. They left it out and I wouldn’t run. My theory was to show faith in the lower-order batsman. Magilla didn’t want that, but sometimes he did have to face a couple of balls an over, and he gained confidence. The West Indies grew extremely frustrated. I began to enjoy it more than just about any partnership I had ever been in, playing cat-and-mouse and coming out on top.
When Magilla got out, I was in the 90s. Glenn McGrath came in, and we put on another 40, using the same tactic. It’s such an enjoyable time to bat in Test cricket, because fear goes out the window. You’re just getting bonus runs for the team. If you get out, it doesn’t matter, you’re doing the right thing by the team. You’re a hero if you score runs, and nothing’s at stake if you get out. And you’re driving your opponent insane – just like in the back yard! To get another Test hundred, at my favourite place to play cricket, was a wonderful feeling, and we edged in front of the West Indies’ score.
By the fourth innings, we were chasing 182 to win. It wasn’t easy. In the dressing room, the boys were nervous. Adelaide can be very tricky when it breaks up on the last day; the ball was reversing and there was a lot of spin. Luckily, the West Indies had only chosen Ramnaresh Sarwan and Chris Gayle as part-time spinners. We lost a wicket early and then a couple more before Haydos decided to take a few risks and smacked a couple. I chipped it around at the other end and we got away with a third win in three starts.
We snuck off for a one-day tour in New Zealand, which we won 5–0 and then came back to host South Africa for a three-Test series. The first Test was in Perth: my first home Test match, against tougher opposition than the West Indies.
We were really up for the challenge as a team, but on our first day we were bowled out, on a toughish pitch, for 258. I was one of several batsmen to make a start, before I was caught playing a terrible pull shot off Ntini. At the end of the day Ricky said, ‘That’s the worst day of Test cricket we’ve had for a long time. These guys aren’t going to let us off – we have to improve.’
Improve we did, getting them out for 296 before posting 8/528 in our second dig. The highlight was Brad Hodge’s fantastic unbeaten 203, against Pollock, Ntini, Nel and Charl Langeveldt. After he’d made mountains of runs for Victoria and waited for his Test chance, Hodgy’s career looked like it was about to take off. But over the next few years, even though he generally did well – I remember a brilliant one-day 90 at Eden Park and a very good half-century in the West Indies at Jamaica in a Test – he was in and out of the team. Whenever someone else was coming back in, he seemed to be the one who missed out.
I’d known Brad since playing against him in an under-19s carnival in Melbourne. He was in the Robbie Baker class as a batsman, the best in our age group. He was also bowling off spin. I skipped down the wicket once and hit him through covers, and he said something like, ‘If you do that again I’ll break your legs.’ So I was pretty intimidated by Brad from the start. He wanted to kill me just for hitting one through the covers. I thought, That’s a bit harsh!
He played for Victoria at a very young age and was totally dominant in the junior carnivals. When we played together in Australia A teams, I got on well with him. If we were on a long tour, people inevitably got a bit bored and down, and Hodgy could complain a bit. I remember a Test in Antigua, when he was twelfth man and I was next in to bat. Brad was talking about the bowler: ‘This guy’s a pie thrower. You can’t get out to him. If I was batting on this, I’d be 150 not out.’ Now, when you’re worried about getting out first ball, it’s not the type of thing you want to hear!
After his great innings in Perth, we declared with a day and a half to bowl South Africa out. But the pitch had flattened right out and Jacques Rudolph wouldn’t let us find a way through, even with Warnie bowling like a Trojan. We’d got into winning ways, so that draw felt like a loss. It was my first Test that we hadn’t won. I felt a bit flat. Conversely, the South Africans were very happy. Sometimes when you hang on for dear life and get through for a draw, it feels like a win. You’ve got away with one. You also think you’ve got a lot of improving to do, which is good for you, whereas the team that has dominated starts thinking that all they need to do is maintain that level. This same situation would affect us adversely in England three years later, and against South Africa in my last season.
We had a couple of days off and then Christmas in Melbourne to revive ourselves after the disappointment of Perth.
My first Boxing Day Test was another amazing experience. My preparation is important to me, but everything went wrong in the lead-up. Amy, who was pregnant with our second child, started having complications and we had to race to the Women’s Hospital the day before Christmas Eve. I was shocked and scared. They got her into a hospital bed and said she had to stay there. I asked her, ‘What do you want to do?’ She said she had no choice: she had to do what they told her.
I remember trying to catch a taxi with Jasmin on the street outside the Royal Melbourne Women’s Hospital at 2 am. The Gilchrist family were a great help while Amy was in hospital, looking after Jasmin while I was at training the next day. When Amy came out on Christmas Eve, the doctors had given her strict orders of complete bed rest. She was scared and I was worried, but at the same time trying to train and get ready for the Test. For Christmas Day, we stayed in the room together rather than go to the big team function at Crown, and on Boxing Day her dad would come over and escort her back to Perth. At least I didn’t get nervous for the Test match: I had more important matters on my mind.
The other big distraction from the Test was that Kerry Packer passed away. I was on the executive of the Australian Players’ Association, and we were always very thankful to Packer, who had changed the game for us through World Series Cricket and the financial security it brought cricketers. I couldn’t believe he’d passed away. We had a minute’s silence and wore black armbands on match day.
For some reason, the pitch had been watered for too long before they’d put the covers on the night before the Test, so it was very wet on the first morning and they delayed the start by half an hour. Since the infamous Test at Edgbaston in 2005, when Australia had lost after sending England in, Ricky was determined always to bat first, and so when he won the toss, he decided to bat on a pitch the consistency of plasticine.
When I went out to bat at 3/176, I thought about Kerry Packer a lot, about what he’d done for the players, and set myself to honour him with a Boxing Day century.
The other big fella I had to than
k was Glenn McGrath. After Ricky made another century, Big Nelly sparked a major collapse and we were 9/248 when Pigeon came out to join me. I was only 27 at the time. I was dropped by Jacques Kallis going for a cut shot, and then it was cat-and-mouse again, just like in Adelaide. I chipped singles, Graeme Smith brought the South African fielders in, and then I hit the ball between or over them for four. Glenn showed great courage to hang in there for two hours. The South Africans were getting very grumpy, particularly when I lobbed a few shots just between the fielders.
Playing a Test in Melbourne brought back many memories. When I used to run up sandhills with Dad, I’d think, This is for a hundred on Boxing Day. I loved watching that Test on TV at Christmas time. It got me out into the back yard to play with Dave, and later, the hope of one day playing on Boxing Day motivated me through my toughest times and toughest training sessions.
And now, in the middle of the MCG in the biggest Test match I could dream of, I was charging down the pitch uncaringly, wanting to slog the bowlers into Bay 13! Could life get any better? There was no pressure on me at all. I’ll never forget that day.
Pigeon was pretty relaxed, and made some funny comments. After half an hour, he went for a massive cover-drive on the up. I came down and gave him a spray. ‘No, Pigeon, you’re not to play big shots! Just survive!’
He gave me a puzzled look. ‘How am I supposed to score any runs?’
I had to stay on his hammer. I said, ‘Leave the run-scoring to me!’ I went back to the other end and thought, I can’t believe I’ve spoken to Glenn McGrath like that. It should be the other way around!
He was always amusing. When I was finally bowled for 122, after a 107-run partnership (McGrath 11 not out), and we were walking off, Pigeon was saying, ‘I can’t believe how tired I am. I’m exhausted from all that concentrating. I don’t think I’ll be able to bowl.’ I was in hysterics: this guy can bowl 35 overs without getting a sweat on, and here he was exhausted by a couple of hours’ batting, which he’d probably never done before.
Sweeping a ball away on the way to a century against South Africa in the second Test match against South Africa at the Melbourne Cricket Ground on 27 December 2005. With tailender Glenn McGrath we put on 107 runs for the last wicket. (Photo by William West/AFP/Getty Images)
That partnership had let the air out of the South Africans. The momentum of the game had changed, and even though we’d only made 355 we held the whip hand in the match from then on. The bowlers then just ground them down with relentless pressure. Andrew Symonds got a couple of lbws in the first innings and Brett Lee bowled really fast. When I was fielding at short leg, Brett bowled a bouncer that whistled past Jacques Kallis’s head. I could see the shock in his eyes. The next ball was a searing yorker that cleaned up the stumps. It was quite an experience to see, up close, this great batsman rattled by Brett’s pace, accuracy and aggression. Warnie was also at his best, and in the end we won comfortably.
A few days later, the Sydney Test match was Ricky’s 100th Test. He was in absolute supreme form in my first few years in the Australian team, and it was a real education for me to watch him. Ricky approached his net sessions like they were a Test match. He wanted the bowlers to be steaming in, and he’d be looking to dominate them. He brought total intensity to practice. When we did fielding drills, he would never drop a ball, and his throws hit the stumps more than anyone else’s. He wanted to be the best at everything, and got dirty at himself if he missed a single throw. I’ve never known a more competitive bloke. Even friendly games of cards or mucking around, he’d be trying to crush you.
As a captain, what was so good about him was he had so much belief and backing from the players, and it was mutual. If you were struggling, he’d come up and tell you he had total trust in you, and a good score was around the corner. Once we were on the field, he wanted to win so badly he would try everything, even when the game was fading away. He was geeing the boys up – ‘Just one wicket here and we’re through!’ – and getting into the opposition, leading every charge.
In Sydney, where he was indomitable year after year, he scored a hundred in each innings. To this day I’ve never seen anyone bat as well as he did in that match. I’ve seen Sachin Tendulkar on days when his bat seems to be the width of a king-size bed. I’ve seen Lara and Kallis at their best. But from ball one in Sydney, against very good bowlers, Ricky was just belting everything out of the middle of the bat.
I honestly thought he was playing a different game. The way he could come out and smash his first ball over square leg, taking on the best bowlers in the world with supreme confidence, it helped everyone else to relax and think, It can’t be too bad out there. It was infectious. Whereas if your number three is playing and missing and nicking through slips and getting hit on the body, you’re thinking, Gee, it must be tough. But Ricky made batting look easy, the best gift a number three can ever give to his middle order.
He and I put on 130 in the first innings, and I played the ‘McGrath role’, scoring 45. Batting with Ricky felt like I had the best seat in the house. I got to stand at the other end and chat with him between overs, and then to hear the grunts and groans of the bowlers, their screams of frustration that they had to keep getting smashed by him. His straight drives were the best – all you had to do at the non-striker’s end was get out of the way and listen to the ball whistle past.
It was also beneficial to bat with him because when he got off strike, the South Africans automatically lost focus. So I began getting loose balls from tired, frustrated bowlers. I was proud to be on the ground with him. As a cricket fan as well as a player, I’d been privileged to be on the ground when Lara passed Allan Border’s record, and two years later would feel the same way to be on the field at Mohali when Sachin passed Lara’s record. I felt honoured to be on the field with those great players and to be a part of history.
South Africa were desperate to level the series with a win, and in the fourth innings set us nearly 300 to win, but Ricky simply went out and blazed. It looked like a comfortable 8-wicket win, but wouldn’t have been anything like that without his batting.
It was the end of my tenth summer in first-class cricket, but what a change. After so many years of struggle, I was a Test player, and in my six matches for Australia just about everything seemed to have gone my way. We had won two series, and I’d already scored three hundreds.
Captain Adam Gilchrist and me, as vice-captain, talk tactics during the VB Series between Australia and Sri Lanka played at the WACA in Perth on 29 January 2006. (Photo by Hamish Blair/Getty Images)
In the home one-day series, we beat Sri Lanka in the finals and I was having unexpected success in the lower middle-order ‘Bevan’ role, needing to accelerate from ball one. Considering the way I saw myself as a batsman, it was bizarre to be scoring quickly. In a funny way, at the end of a one-day innings I thought the pressure was off me. Obviously the plan is, simply, to get as many runs as you can as quickly as you can. I could feel like a hero if it came off, and no great loss if I got out. It was a position where you had to think about the team’s position more than your own. I enjoyed the challenge of working out what to do in each situation. I had a couple of areas, over cover or midwicket, where I thought I could hit a boundary – every left-hander needs a good cow-corner slog – and if it was anywhere else I’d just try to get bat on ball and run hard between wickets. Bowlers hadn’t mastered death bowling yet, and I think batsmen were ahead of them. So I became the aggressive batsman I’d wanted to be, without trying. I didn’t change my game to be a more attacking player. It just happened. That’s how well things were going for me.
Receiving the One-day International Player of the Year trophy at the Allan Border Medal dinner on 6 February 2006. (Photo by Kristian Dowling/Getty Images)
Then the summer ended with the best news of all, the birth of William on 23 February 2006, after a successful home one-day series and the team’s departure for a three-Test tour to South Africa.
I stayed at
home for the birth, which went smoothly. We organised an induce date again, and the process was like checking in to a hotel. William popped out healthy and happy, the biggest of our babies, eight pounds one. He did have one night in the neo-natal ward as precaution but generally speaking, he was in good shape.
But after one night in hospital, I was off to South Africa the next morning. I felt torn, wanting to be at home to soak it up and support Amy, but also desperate to get into my first overseas Test tour. Amy had been through a lot and could have done with someone to support her and share the joy for more than just one night, so it was really difficult to rush off. At least I was there for the birth. I’ve spoken to cricketers who haven’t met their child for the first three or four months. It’s time you can never get back.
At least I was rushing off to do something I loved. We had a T20 and five one-dayers to kick the tour off. Being late joining the squad, and having seen my son born, I was unusually pumped up for the first one-day game at Centurion. I was batting with Michael Clarke, and we needed a partnership. During a drinks break I was carrying on. ‘Come on, Pup! Remember what’s on your head! Don’t give these blokes anything!’
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