by David Lloyd
Alastair Cook tends to play at a fairly sedate pace whether in form or out, and Trott was never much of an upgrade on steady; Compton seemed so intent on crease occupation and Robson in the 2014 series against India kept looking at every pitch like it was about to explode. Goodness knows what he would have made of some of them in 1964.
But when Pietersen arrived at the wicket at the Wankhede Stadium, the team run rate sat exactly at two, at 68 for two. By the time they dismissed him for 186, it was 3.4, and England had scored in excess of four runs per over while he was at the crease. He had moved the game on, in the manner he did at The Oval when he neutered Warne and Co and then hit England out of range, and that in a nutshell is why he’s so special.
He saved that Test by taking it away from Australia. Certainly, as a commentator I was making the point that survival was all well and good, but you need to score runs to get yourself out of dangerous territory. In that instance, it’s necessary to be the team dictating the terms. The requirement in that situation is to change the equation – to get the runs up and the minutes remaining down, to a point where the opposition cannot win.
Of course, it was Andrew ‘Freddie’ Flintoff who set up that brilliant 2-1 win in 2005 in what I have to say is the best series I have ever witnessed. He was immense across those five epic matches, confirming beyond doubt that he had fulfilled the enormous potential I witnessed in him when he was a young lad at Lancashire. He copped some flak over the years for his off-field transgressions, but Pedalo Fred was worth every minute.
During my time as Lancashire coach, he was a diamond in the club’s youth system who progressed through all the age-group sides. Later, it became obvious given his physicality that he was ready for men’s cricket – although he was tall and slim with powerful shoulders rather than the powerful force he was to become.
His plus points were there for all to see – a capable fast bowler and hard-hitting batsman with buckets for hands. However, it meant that others around the county circuit knew about him too, and he had already been made another good offer from a rival suitor when Geoff Ogden, chairman of Lancashire’s cricket committee, and I went to his family home in Preston to express our commitment to his future as a cricketer.
Northamptonshire were keen enough on him, in fact, to offer him support in his education by getting him placed in one of the region’s best schools for A-levels. Shortly before that visit to his house in 1994, I went to see him play for St Anne’s against Leyland when Malcolm Marshall opened the bowling and Andrew opened the batting. Uncharacteristically, he poked about and was cleaned up a few deliveries later. My presence had proved a distraction. Truth is, though, our decision had already been made at Old Trafford.
So to see this one-time teetotaller go through the England Under-19 system and then on to topple the big boys of Australia a few years later has given me immense pride. We always liked to see one of our own do well in Lancashire, and it has been an equal buzz to witness James Anderson, the shy boy from Burnley, transform into the world’s most masterful swing bowler and reach 400 Test scalps.
Perhaps too much too soon was expected of Flintoff, because due to his physicality and ability to get the ball through at a decent pace, we relied too much on his fast bowling to the point where we began to jeopardise his fitness. So, for a period as a young player we drew back from pressurising his developing body and played him as a specialist batsman. Only later, when the medical specialists that had advised us to reduce his workload gave the allclear, did we re-release him on his destiny to become a world-beater.
Some things never changed with him, though. Even in his teenage years, Flintoff had that problem with his front foot when he bowled – it landed at a funny angle and his entire body weight went across it. That’s some force on impact. Ideally, a bowler’s front foot points down the pitch but he never felt comfortable with it in that position. Duncan Fletcher’s England regime, primarily through Troy Cooley, attempted to realign his landing at the crease but to no avail. No matter how perfect it looked when he walked through his delivery and released the ball in slow motion, whenever it came to game-time that foot angled awkwardly again.
Alec Stewart and I considered him ready for England in 1998, and although there were not necessarily excellent results from the off, this is nearly always the case with young players. Seven years later he was in his prime, and Michael Vaughan used him as his chief weapon in a wondrous bowling attack. It had helped deliver seven Tests the previous summer between historic away series wins in the Caribbean and South Africa, and even Australia, the number one team of the decade, were forced into submission at the hands of Flintoff, Steve Harmison, Matthew Hoggard, Simon Jones and Ashley Giles.
Despite their stellar cast, whenever Australia batted in that series you expected to see wickets tumble, and you were rarely disappointed, with Flintoff leading the procession. The 2005 Ashes was completely different to every other series I have been involved in as a commentator, because you couldn’t take your eyes off five minutes of the cricket for fear of missing something memorable. This applied to when you were sitting at the back of the Sky Sports commentary box too. Usually, when you finish your half-hour stints on the microphone you nip off for a breather – a coffee, a chat, a flick through the newspapers. Not that summer.
From the moment Steve Harmison left his marker, in blood, on Ricky Ponting’s cheek of all places, it was compelling theatre. The devil was in the delivery – one that reared up into the grille of the batsman’s helmet – as well as just about every one that followed it from England’s pace attack over the five matches. This was Australia’s warning – Justin Langer is reported to have turned to his former Middlesex team-mate Andrew Strauss perplexed that no England fielders had rushed to Ponting’s aid. He later required the aid of a decent plastic surgeon.
But Flintoff was the spearhead, the leading wicket-taker, offering scant respite and no easy runs for an Australian batting order under siege. Even Giles, in the holding role as left-arm spinner, was not to be underestimated in that quintet. As captain, Vaughan knew he could rely on Giles to keep it tight whenever a partnership developed, so that his pace bowlers could recharge their batteries.
With Australia’s never-say-die attitude thrown into the mix, it made for some sensational finishes. Moments like Ponting’s wound at Lord’s; his run-out at Trent Bridge; Geraint Jones clasping that series-levelling, leg-side catch off Harmison to complete victory at Edgbaston; Flintoff’s double-wicket over earlier in that same match; Kevin Pietersen slog-sweeping Shane Warne for six during what was supposed to be a final-day rearguard at The Oval; and a barrow-load of others besides – this was the series of the lot from an English perspective. If the 1934 Australians were the Invincibles, our lot of 2005 were the Unforgettables.
As with all great dramas, though, there were twists along the way. Primarily when that champion of fast bowlers Glenn McGrath, whose disciplined five for not-many on the first evening contributed to Australia taking a 1-0 lead, trod on that loose ball in Birmingham before play on the first morning. As one wag suggested, it was the first loose ball McGrath had ever been associated with. Disruption like that scrambles a captain’s thoughts and perhaps that’s why Ricky Ponting opted to insert England minutes later.
As was the general pattern, England preyed on the mistake. Cyril Washbrook all those years earlier had given me the benefit of his wisdom on the subject and ensured that, if as captain I ever considered bowling first, I should think again. It was always the way for me as a general rule, even in one-day cricket when the onus was to pile up a score and defend what was yours.
England’s scoring rate of five runs per over in that first innings of 407 told another tale. They were uber confident despite the Lord’s setback. Here, Flintoff and Pietersen, a combination I for one wish we could have seen more, went into overdrive in trying to out-hit each other.
But it was with the ball that our Fred the Ped put his name in Ashes folklore. Virtually every spell he sent down
was spellbinding. For years, every English all-rounder had been bullied into submission by the ominous shadow cast by Ian Botham. Yet here, as was the case when he returned to Edgbaston for his heroics in the 2014 Twenty20 finals day, Flintoff had the Brummie crowd playing to his tune. There was plenty of the showmanship of Botham in the way he gently loosened his limbs to show he was warming up for another spell. With that, a gentle crescendo of anticipation would wash around the stands.
Now let’s get into them, he no doubt thought, every time Vaughan handed him the ball. For the Australian batsmen, it must have had a psychological effect. Flintoff would crash into the crease with the force of what must have felt like 20,000 people.
On commentary, I likened him to a steam engine during that second Test match. As it happens, I have been on the footplate of one of those and I wouldn’t have liked to have tried to stop its progress. In my youth, I was a trainspotter and used to take my bicycle on the train and go for a week’s spotting somewhere like Crewe. I’ve always been a big fan of the Princess Royal Class. Flintoff was as pristine in 2005.
A great source of satisfaction for Vaughan would have come from the fact that his team were relentless in going for the kill, no matter what time of day. Fatigue never became a factor, which is something I wasn’t able to say about my England team just half a dozen years earlier unfortunately. As a captain or coach, if your team is still harassing opponents at six o’clock in the evening, you are almost touching perfect.
England got under Australia’s skin in every way possible: the biggest example coming at Trent Bridge when Gary Pratt ran out Ricky Ponting during a short stint as twelfth man. Ponting was furious as he left the field, sharing his feelings publicly with the raucous crowd, and Duncan Fletcher, perched on the home balcony, added to his chagrin by refusing to engage in a verbal spat as he departed. England were focused on one thing by that point – getting over the finish line.
Not since the 1980s had an England team done so against Australia, and there were obvious similarities to the first of those three triumphs two decades earlier. In fact, the portents for England were good once you recognised that in 2005, just as in 1981, we had a dead Pope, a royal wedding and a victorious Liverpool team in the European Cup final.
The other was a good team with some gold-dust players. Flintoff certainly got a similar amount of credit to his replica Botham, and Vaughan’s leadership was favourably compared to that of Mike Brearley. Two of the men not to get as much credit as was due, perhaps, were the two fast bowlers Bob Willis and Simon Jones. Truly top-class fast bowling takes place in partnerships – you need pressure from the other end at the top level – yet Willis’s contribution is often overlooked, while Jones showed the value of a bowler able to reverse swing the ball at ninety miles per hour.
The key for England was continuity. Until the final Test, their first-choice XI stayed fit; there was no discernible weak link. The best teams prey on any sign of it in an opponent. The best teams also possess great depths of resolve, and it was a sign of Australia’s quality that they were in the shake-up for victory at Trent Bridge despite defending a modest target of 129. Australia and Ponting in particular did not give an inch. His rearguard hundred to save the third Test at Old Trafford was the ultimate captain’s knock and, typical of the ebb and flow, ensured that Australia saved that match with one wicket intact.
For those few short weeks the country was gripped by cricket, and it was similar to the 2012 Olympics in that regard. The gridlock on Manchester’s roads on that final morning of the fourth Test proved it. With people streaming into queues desperate to be part of history in the making, it gave me flashbacks of when the ‘sold out’ signs went up for Lancashire’s home Gillette Cup semi-finals. I remember Angus Fraser, who always liked a chunter in his playing days, grumbling away that morning after abandoning his car some distance from the ground and walking, because his first commentary stint of the day with Test Match Special was in jeopardy.
There were almost as many there in Trafalgar Square when the victorious team was paraded the following month, just hours after Pietersen’s innings well and truly drew him to a nation’s attention. In years to come, there will be people proudly saying: ‘I was there.’ Apart from one particular chap who was so nervous he couldn’t bear to watch.
He had made it into the ground through the turnstiles next to the Alec Stewart Gate, and was clutching a ticket as sought-after as one of Willy Wonka’s golden ones when he approached me as I made my way from one of our Sky Sports TV trucks into the OCS stand, the building where the commentary box was housed. There was a little bit of rain around and he was inquisitive as to whether play would start on time. When I informed him that in my estimation it would, his heart sank. Naturally enough, I asked him if everything was okay. Had he heard me properly? I said that I thought they would be starting at 11 a.m.
‘Oh, I’m not bothered about seeing them play,’ he told me. ‘I just want it all to be over.’
What shouldn’t be forgotten is that things could have been oh so different for Pietersen, English cricket and the history of the Ashes had Shane Warne not dropped him at slip on 15 in that momentous second innings. But then the very best players make the most of the slightest opening, and that is why I consider Pietersen to have been the best among England players. I was lucky enough to have played alongside one of the two other men to remind me of him, Caribbean kings both. To me, Clive Lloyd was the Kevin Pietersen of his day, a box-office player who made you feel like something special could happen at any moment. There were other similarities too: Clive was also one who could switch modes with a click of his fingers, they shared a similar gait at the crease, both standing over 6 ft 4 ins tall and with a work ethic. Practice was the secret to each player’s success. All spectators see is the flamboyance of KP’s trademark peacock flick through midwicket or Clive’s languid pick-up off the legs – Warwickshire, with four West Indian players in the opposition, saw it far too many times for their liking in the 1972 Gillette Cup final as the ball kept disappearing into the Tavern Stand during Clive Lloyd’s wonderful, match-winning innings of 126. But they don’t see the hours of tinkering with technique that precedes it.
For his personality at the crease, the other is Viv Richards. It sounds masochistic to admit it, but I used to love playing against Viv, because he was so exhilarating to watch. He had this menacing presence on the field, so that even when you were pitched against him, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. When I was umpiring, I used to be fascinated by him, standing there banging the butt of his bat, snorting. His mannerisms were so distinctive, and the walk to the crease was undeniably as intimidating as some of the deliveries from his fast bowling colleagues. I used to say that if I could have walked like that, I would be looking back at a career with thousands more runs; equally so, if I had possessed any of the other-worldly shots from the Kevin Pietersen repertoire.
CHAPTER 13
Climbing the Ladder
From my first day on duty back in July 1999, all I ever wanted was exactly what every other cricket supporter in the country desired, and what I had previously been trying to achieve. That quite simply was for England to be top of the pile when it came to international cricket.
Changing jobs had not changed my outlook one bit, and to witness the England team under first Duncan Fletcher and later Andy Flower climb those Test rankings, and reach the summit, has been a real joy. Our limited-overs cricket even promised greater returns for a while, certainly when the team under Alastair Cook briefly took over as number one in the standings, and when Paul Collingwood fronted the most dynamic short-format team we have ever thrown together to win the World Twenty20 in 2010. But these lofty perches have not been inhabited with any regularity, proving exceptions rather than the rule.
The England team I left, and immediately witnessed losing to New Zealand in its first series under the temporary tutelage of Graham Gooch, improved immeasurably over subsequent years as the effect of central contracts and a change
of emphasis, a modernisation if you like, from county control to a more natural order took hold. I have always loved county cricket but the tail was wagging the dog for too long, and only when it was addressed did we begin to see countries that had passed us by tracked down. It was with great satisfaction that I saw others reap the benefits of having rest and recovery periods for players, greater resources and true world’s-best ambition.
Not that the ascent was plain sailing. Far from it, in fact, and the pendulum of fortune has swung much in the same way as that of the Ashes. Its modern chapters have been fascinating, not least because after such a long period of dominance by the Australians, nothing can now be discounted when these two great rival countries meet. Just when England appeared to have an iron grip on the urn with four wins out of five, back came Australia in 2013-14. Never is there more intrigue, more drama, in terms of cricket than in an Ashes series. Bill Shankly once said football was not a matter of life and death, it was more important than that; and the way England and Australia have acted over the years has been like espionage. Think only of the England bowling plans that found their way into Australian hands in 2006-07, or the leaked Justin Langer dossier on the home team in 2009. Then there has been the hiring of double agents – men like Troy Cooley, Dene Hills, Graeme Hick and John Buchanan, whose own ‘consultancy work’ on Australia did not, like Langer’s, make the public domain.
Using his vantage point in the Somerset dressing room, Langer dubbed England ‘shallow’ and claimed they had a ‘sing when you’re winning’ attitude. In my opinion, it was pretty run-of-the-mill stuff, with a couple of glaring inaccuracies. I have always viewed James Anderson as a wholehearted performer, a real trier – certainly not a ‘pussy’ – and the way to bowl at Matt Prior was certainly not wide, as recommended.