Underneath the Southern Cross

by Michael Hussey

  Then it came to light that he’d snuck off to Sydney, along the way writing a retirement letter to James Sutherland, the CEo of Cricket Australia.

  If this talk about him retiring was correct, I was stunned. I tried messaging and ringing him. His phone was off. Nobody could get in touch with him, not even Ricky, who was not only his captain but probably his closest mate in cricket.

  I was never close enough to Marto to get to the bottom of his reason for quitting the game in that way. It was said that he was beginning to worry about going through the acid bath of public criticism over his form, and retired so that he wouldn’t suffer the pain of being dropped again. I couldn’t understand that. I thought he was playing very well, and a big score was around the corner. The selectors generally showed faith in guys in a winning team.

  I thought about his strange demeanour when he came out to bat with me in Adelaide. Had he decided to retire already? Was being demoted below me in the batting order part of it? I doubt it but I don’t know. Part of the trouble was, he wasn’t letting anybody know what was going through his head.

  When the team got together in Perth a week later, I was still knocked about by the episode and thought, Gee I hope this doesn’t damage our momentum and have an effect on the team. I was totally focused on that next Test win that would get us over the line for the Ashes.

  The WACA pitch was tending to seam and swing and bounce unevenly on the first day or two. On the first day, we were scoring quite freely, but my old mate Monty Panesar had been brought in for England and he was taking wickets. Batsmen were being deceived by the pace and skid in the wicket. You get out in different ways there from other places. You feel like you’re in, but there’s that one ball that can bounce a bit more and you’re out.

  Monty got Justin in the last over before lunch, and once he gets his confidence up he can be a dangerous bowler. For me facing Monty, I wasn’t worried about the spin so much as the bounce and skid. He was bowling a wider line trying to get me to drive and nick it to slip. I had the advantage of having played most of my first-class cricket at the ground, but I had to pay extra attention to every ball. I made 74 not out, but it was a real struggle, and we were all out for 244, a similar score to the one we’d made on the first day in Perth against South Africa twelve months previously.

  England saw this as their great opportunity to get back into the series. They really believed this was it, if they batted well. We had a great attack, though, so even with a low score we had a lot of confidence. When we turned up for the second day and got them out for 215, that was a huge blow to them. They’d missed their opportunity.

  We knew batting was going to be easier in the second innings for both teams, so we needed a really big score. We got off to a horrible start, JL getting out first ball of the innings. Late on that second afternoon, the determination of Haydos and Ricky was immense. Matty hadn’t had a big score in the series. He’s a very proud man and was desperate for runs. He and Ricky got us through to stumps at 1/119, and sprinted off the field. From the viewing area, I saw how bemused the English were, watching the batting pair sprint off, pumped about what a good day we’d had. It left a deep imprint about how we were here to drive it home.

  The third day was a scorcher, about 55 degrees Celsius on the field. Ricky was out quite early for 75, and I had a partnership with Haydos, who was yelling at me between overs, ‘Don’t give these Pommy bastards anything, grind them into the dirt.’ It was intense.

  The English were pushing really hard before lunch, and got Haydos before lunch for 92. Monty, his old Northants teammate, was dancing around like a pink flamingo. Haydos went off cursing himself.

  Michael Clarke and I batted through the middle session. I really enjoyed batting with Pup, because he was similar to me, very nervous and talkative, and we clicked as a pair. I was having a fair bit of luck, top-edging a hook off Harmison that fell between fine leg and the keeper, nicking a drive between the keeper and first slip, and being caught in close off Monty but given not out.

  I said to Pup, ‘I’m having a lot of luck today.’

  ‘Mate, just go with it,’ he said. ‘If it’s your lucky day, just ride it.’

  I thought, Stuff it, I will.

  We put on 137 runs in the session, and the English started to wilt in the heat. I certainly was. I made it to my hundred, but was given out caught behind off Monty, a decision I would definitely have reviewed if the DRS had been in place.

  Then it turned into the Adam Gilchrist show. I’d been working my backside off all day to get us in a good position, and Gilly scored as many runs as I had in a third of the time. A Test century in 58 balls isn’t something you see every day. It was brilliant to watch. Because the day was so hot, a lot of people went home at tea and missed out on one of the great Ashes innings. The amazing thing was, unbeknown to any of us, Gilly had been suffering a crisis of self-doubt during that match and had been considering retiring until his wife, Mel, talked him out of it. I guess self-doubt doesn’t discriminate between the supremely gifted few like Gilly and the rest of us.

  Ricky called them in, and Brett Lee got Strauss fourth ball that night, lbw shouldering arms. But in the back of my mind, I knew we were in for a tough slog. Jacques Rudolph had resisted us comfortably the previous year. This was a proud English team and they were going to make us fight. A draw would keep the Ashes alive, and in their hands for another match at least.

  Ian Bell and Alastair Cook put on 170 the next day, batting almost until tea. We respected Cook highly even though he hadn’t made many runs. We thought he had specific areas of strength: a very good cut and good off his pads. He was one English player who pulled well. But he wasn’t as good at playing through cover and down the ground, so we pitched up all day and tried to get him to drive. That was where we’d had him before, nicking the new ball, chopping onto his stumps or lbw. We admired his temperament and concentration, and he looked like he could bat forever.

  Could they even chase down 557 and win? Records are made to be broken. I had a pessimistic voice saying, This could be the day. In Test cricket, there’s so much time to think – enough time for doubts and clouds to come into your mind. I was thinking, Here we go again, are we going to lose? This will be a nightmare.

  But then I’d think, Hang on, we’ve got Warne and McGrath, just one wicket and we’re through. Ricky and Gilly always kept the group positive, but you couldn’t stop the black thoughts from creeping back.

  Warne and McGrath did get the breakthroughs, though. Flintoff was due for a big score, and he and Pietersen threatened to get going, but a good sign for us was that Flintoff was teeing off, trying to hit it over the top even when the fielders were back. Surely he would give us a chance. After Warnie bowled him, it felt like Pietersen gave up hope, not bothering to get the tail-enders to play cat-and-mouse, but just saying, ‘You bat, mate, and see how you go.’

  By mid-afternoon we had won the match and the Ashes. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Two years earlier I had been looking at a lifetime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, unable to get into the Australian team at its historic high-water mark. Now, I’d played in an Ashes Test at home, scored a hundred, been named man of the match, and won the Ashes. I could die a happy man.

  (L-R) Me, Matthew Hayden, Adam Gilchrist, Brett Lee, Stuart Clark, Ricky Ponting, Shane Warne and Michael Clarke after securing the Ashes with a win on the fifth day of the third Ashes Test match between Australia and England at the WACA in Perth on 18 December 2006. (Photo by Paul Kane/Getty Images)

  As we did our victory lap, I could see how much it meant to the guys who were in England for the Tests in 2005. Haydos and Justin had tears in their eyes walking around the ground thanking the fans. Ricky, Gilly, Binga, Warnie, Pigeon – I’d never seen them so excited about winning a series. It was a privilege to be part of. And probably Warne, McGrath and Langer knew already that it was their last series.

  When I came into the Australian Test team, there was a feeling of s
trength we had on the first morning, that sense that in four or five days we would be walking off with a win. The pressure was off me, because we had so many matchwinners. Anything I got was a bonus.

  That was about to change.

  I wasn’t in the loop on the retirements. Warnie was interviewed after the Adelaide game and said, ‘This is something I’m definitely going to miss.’ I thought, Hmm, I’ve never heard him say that. We knew he was close to the end of his career, but it set me back on my heels. Was he going to retire soon? That was the first time I thought about it.

  He didn’t call a formal team meeting to announce that he would be retiring. In dribs and drabs he told the boys. That’s not to say he didn’t like the drama a big scene. In fact, he was setting the stage for it: a Boxing Day Test, needing one wicket for his 700th, before his beloved Melbourne fans.

  England’s spirit seemed to have shrivelled up in the Perth heat, and they collapsed on Boxing Day, giving Warnie not only his 700th wicket but another four. Then it was the Hayden and Symonds show.

  Simmo, who had come in to replace Damien Martyn and had bowled very well in Perth, was loved in the dressing room. Everyone wanted him to do well. His breakthrough century felt like it was meant to be – him and Haydos, great mates, destroying England. I was a bit grumpy in the viewing area after getting out for 6, but I forgot all that when I was watching them. They batted like two boys in the back yard. They were hitting balls so brutally hard that even when it went to long off and long on, they had to scurry for singles. The English had no answers. Simmo hit a short-arm push over mid on that went twenty rows back, off Collingwood, to get to his hundred. I knew what it was like, to prove that you could succeed at the highest level after asking that question for so long, and when Simmo came in I gave him the biggest hug of all time.

  Having lost the Ashes, and now copped that onslaught from Symonds and Hayden, England capitulated. Brett Lee did not bowl one loose ball as he tormented Strauss. I could empathise with the English, having had this feeling on a cricket field many times before: it feels like your bowlers are bowling loose balls, and then you bat and you don’t know where your next run is coming from. It’s a different game. Hayden and Symonds had made batting look like child’s play, and now it was impossible. Eventually Strauss lashed at one and got a faint nick. That was how it was: all of our team put England under so much pressure, they had to crack.

  Ricky was determined to carry our momentum through to Sydney. There had been talk about how Australia struggled in so-called dead rubbers – not that I considered any Test match a dead rubber. In the team, Ricky and the senior players were still hurting from 2005 and wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than 5–0.

  We already had an added motivation to send Shane off well, but the retirements kept coming. McGrath announced his to the boys before training in Sydney. Three or four of us tried to talk him out of it. ‘You’re not allowed. We are not allowing you.’ He kept saying, ‘No, this is the right time for me, I’ve had a great time, I’ll miss you guys, but this is right for me.’

  A day after, JL came to me in the hotel and said, ‘I’m going to retire. This’ll be my last Test.’

  I said, ‘We need you to keep going.’

  ‘No, the time’s right. We’re not playing another Test until the end of the year. I’ve had enough.’

  I’d never had to deal with this. If someone had retired in the past, I was too young to know what they were going through. Now that these guys were going, first Marto and now Warne, McGrath and Langer, it was like a death in the family. I hadn’t had any real tragedies in my life. The worst thing that had happened to me was my nanna dying. I wasn’t prepared for this sense of loss and didn’t know how to react. In hindsight, I wish I’d given more to those guys. For the individual, it’s a huge time in his life. In my mind, I was kind of scrambled. I wanted them not to retire – but then I had to re-focus. We’ve got a Test to prepare for. Now, having gone through it myself, I understand better what Justin and the others were feeling.

  It’s always a long and evenly balanced Test match in Sydney. Bowlers have to work hard for their wickets, but the batsmen don’t have it all their own way. This one was evenly poised until an innings from Warnie shifted the momentum our way. He seemed like he was on too much Red Bull. He was teeing off at everything and sledging the fielders right, left and centre. He sledged guys at cover. He sledged Paul Collingwood, who was standing at slip. Paul told me later, in disbelief, ‘I didn’t even say anything and he started sledging me!’

  Warnie’s innings turned the tide, and then the bowlers closed in. The Barmy Army put aside their disappointment and added to the great atmosphere coming from the outer. Their team were getting beaten, but they kept turning up and singing their songs. We respected the Barmy Army, with their songs for different team members; they showed respect for our players and the game as a whole, and showed up in huge numbers.

  And finally, when Haydos hit the winning runs, it was over. 5–0. The crowd stayed on after the presentations and we did a lap of honour with the three retirees and their families. It seemed like no-one had left. I felt honoured to be with those three as they received what they deserved.

  Capping it all off was going back to the dressing room and seeing Damien Martyn there with a big smile on his face. We were all genuinely delighted to see him. He seemed content, and I thought, Good on him, he’s at peace. He went out in a bizarre fashion, but he seemed in a good place now.

  Our families came into the rooms for a while, which was great for them, to enjoy that experience. After an hour they left and it was time for the boys to be together. We sat and chatted about the series. Steve Harmison came in and got an autographed shirt. I chatted with Alastair Cook for a long time. He said, ‘Nah, I didn’t play well, I’m disappointed.’ I consoled him, saying how tough it would have been to face those bowlers, and forecast that he would be churning out runs for years. He said, ‘Let’s have a race to ten Test centuries.’ At that point, he had four and I had five. By the time of my retirement, he had well and truly outpaced me!

  It was good to catch up with the English guys, but as the afternoon wore on it came to a stage where we still hadn’t sung the team song. We’d been invited onto James Packer’s boat on Sydney Harbour, which we were all very excited about, but the song still hadn’t been sung. When I got back to my hotel room to change, under my door was an envelope with my name on it. It was a letter from Justin Langer, saying, ‘It’s my great honour and duty to hand over the team song to you. I can’t think of anyone better to take on this great honour. I want you to take it on with pride and lead it your way and celebrate with the guys.’

  My hands started to shake. I couldn’t believe he’d handed it on to me.

  I went downstairs, where the boys and their wives were waiting, and gave Justin a massive hug. He said, ‘Don’t say anything yet.’

  We had a great time on the boat. When it was very late and very dark, with Sydney Harbour Bridge behind us, Justin called the song. He pumped everyone up, got everyone yelling and screaming, saying something to each individual to make them feel special about things they’d done. He announced he was passing the custodianship of the song to me and dragged me into the middle. He led his last song and pulled me into leading my first. It seemed like he was recognising not only my results, but the values with which I played the game. It was an amazing moment, one of the proudest in my cricket life.

  A part of me was saying, Nothing this good can last forever. My Test average was hovering around 80 and I was asked all the time, ‘How long can you keep this average up? When’s it going to stop?’ I even got ridiculous questions like, ‘Do you think you can beat Bradman’s average?’

  I couldn’t believe myself how well things had gone. I said, ‘I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts. There will be times when I don’t score runs.’ And I was always a realist. The only way to preserve an average of 80 would have been to retire right then.

  In the dressing r
oom after that fifth Test, I said to Ricky, ‘This has been an awesome series, but looking forward things are going to get a lot tougher.’ We both agreed. Ricky said something along the lines of, ‘Let’s enjoy it while we can.’

  The momentum and euphoria of the Ashes carried us a certain way into the one-day series, but then we started to feel jaded. I’d given everything I had, and while I was still trying my best, there wasn’t a lot in the tank. It was a long summer. We came off the boil, physically and mentally, and grew complacent after belting England early in the series. And once you slacken a little bit, it’s amazing how badly things can go. England found some confidence and were going like a road train at the end of that series. We all felt it and were trying to fight it, but we were exhausted.

  The coaches had intensified our training program at the start of the one-day series, hammering us on the fitness side of things, explaining that it was all for the World Cup, but it didn’t go down well with the guys. Towards the end, it started to take its toll. The World Cup in the West Indies was still more than a month away, and we hated losing matches here and now in front of our home fans. I never liked the idea of micro-managing the distant future. You don’t know what’s going to happen with people’s form or injuries. We lost Brett Lee and Andrew Symonds, two of our main players, which threw many of the plans into disarray. I understand the theory, but was wary of taking our minds off the present and falling into the losing habit.

  Realising we were knackered, the selectors rested a lot of first-choice players for a three-match one-day tour to New Zealand. Michael Brown, the cricket operations manager, rang and told me I would be captain. All of my weariness fell away! Suddenly I was excited about going to New Zealand.

  We didn’t have much preparation time, but I took the captaincy seriously. I had a team of my own for a tour, and could impress my beliefs on them. I didn’t want to change a lot, as I was just filling in for Ricky and Gilly, but it did feel like my team. In Wellington, I addressed them at the team hotel before our first match. Wanting to make everyone feel important, I named the team and gave a little spiel about each player, listing their statistics, making a fuss. I wanted them to feel special about being picked for Australia in a one-day international.