Bucking the Trend

by Chris Rogers

  Fraser notes that Chris’s determination to succeed, even on the secondary grounds often used in the County Championship second tier, provided the ideal example for the team.

  ‘It was a good fit. He was what we needed at that point in time, a good experienced pro, a good example in the way he went about his work, trained hard, very competitive on the field, and certainly gave us some direction. He’d played in second division and … he’d obviously played at a higher level than that. Perhaps some overseas players might have struggled to get motivated on some of the grounds we played in second division because they’re not the Test grounds. But he was always motivated.

  ‘He made 14 hundreds for us, and I know that of his first 10 none of them resulted in a win. But the effect he had was saving us games that we’d have previously lost, so they were very important, because I think the first step you need to take to become a good side is to be a hard side to beat. The first hundred he got that won us a game was the 200 against Yorkshire [in 2014] when we chased down 480. That was one of the best innings I’ve ever seen by a Middlesex player. You have this image of him being a bit of a crab-like batsman, but when he opened up he could hit the ball hard and he was pretty destructive that day.’

  There is something different about playing the county game out of London, with its big-city travails and melting-pot sensations. Uniqueness abounds at Lord’s also, the home of cricket providing an environment steeped in history ‘that humbles you’ according to Fraser, and tradition that can be equal parts overbearing and inspiring – like London itself, which has challenged other overseas players. Fraser knows that this atmosphere can help shape an international cricketer, offering a little more of the pressure and sense of occasion than other parts of the country.

  ‘He deserved to have his name on the honours board at Lord’s for the hundred in the Ashes in 2015, and he’s on the Middlesex honours board here as a Middlesex captain. So the fact he’s got a presence in both rooms is something he can rightly be very proud of.’

  ‘BOYS, DON’T WORRY about this game. We can’t win it, so let’s go out and forget about the result. All I want to see is “fight”. That’s all we are going to think about.’ There are wins in a sporting career that stay with you. Titles of course, but sometimes just winning a game when you’re up against it can make a season. A 2014 victory by Middlesex over Yorkshire was one of those.

  Yorkshire hadn’t been beaten for two seasons and were sweeping everything before them, winning match after match. A team full of international representatives such as Joe Root, Kane Williamson, Ryan Sidebottom, Liam Plunkett, Gary Ballance, Adil Rashid and Adam Lyth formed the nucleus of an incredibly dominant side.

  Middlesex had a few good players though – Steve Finn, Eoin Morgan, Tim Murtagh and Sam Robson – but we knew we were up against it.

  Winning the toss, I put Yorkshire in and somehow we knocked their star-studded line-up over for 180. But then our turn came and something must have been up. We were rolled for 123 in a poor performance and then watched helplessly as Yorkshire, through Root, Ballance and Williamson, piled on the runs, setting us 470.

  It can be hard as a captain to stand up in front of your team and look them in the eye and ask for performance if you haven’t done it yourself – and I’d been found wanting in the first innings, making just the one run. So the pressure was on when it came to our second innings. I’d had time to think about it and recalled something Justin Langer had said to me all those years ago, and the words that the Middlesex psychologist Steven Sylvester said to me before my first Test in the UK had stuck with me (more on them later), which was what I drew upon when I talked to my team.

  The negative thoughts about the result will surprise many, but the attempt to negate pressure was the priority. And as Langer had instilled in me, fight is the most precious commodity when your back is against the wall. Clichéd perhaps, but too many times I’ve seen cricketers take the easy way out in these moments.

  What followed is one of the greatest games I’ve been a part of. Batting at Lord’s in the first innings can be hazardous because of the movement from the slope, but come second innings it can be the best place to bat in the world. Evenly paced and with little movement, all of a sudden the slope provides a blessing as angles can be created and scoring areas open up.

  Sam Robson and I got off to a flier. When he was out the score was 181 and the game had changed. The next two, Dawid Malan and Eoin Morgan, gave steady support with 30s, but it was Neil Dexter who came in and contributed 70 not out that helped win the game. I was playing a blinder, one of those few innings in a career where everything clicked and it almost felt like it was impossible to get out. I wanted the win. I wanted to show the guys how to fight, and I wanted to beat Yorkshire, who were the best.

  I’d scored many centuries for Middlesex in the previous three seasons, but this one was the first in a winning game. Surprisingly, I was proud of that statistic. I was making centuries when we had to fight against the odds and under pressure – and that was what I prided myself on. As a leader, I wanted my teammates to do the same.

  A special moment was to discover that the room attendant filmed the change room when Neil hit the winning runs as I stood unconquered at the other end of the pitch with 241. The pure elation of the Middlesex guys was clear to see. That’s why we play the game. We hadn’t won the title, but we had achieved something very special. This is why County cricket was such a lure. Playing professional cricket 12 months of the year doesn’t excite everyone, but I loved it.

  Derbyshire was my home county in England from 2008 to 2010. It was an enjoyable time, scoring runs and eventually captaining one of the smaller second-division clubs while learning quite a lot about leadership and maturing as a cricketer. Rikki Clarke had initially been captain, but performance and personal issues had forced him to take a step to one side, leaving me in charge. I worked well with the coach John Morris and took the club close to promotion in 2009. We were in it until the penultimate round of games, then in our final match my final-day declaration resulted in a successful chase for Essex and their elevation to the top tier by a single point – much to the annoyance of Northants!

  But the most indelible memory of that period was another brief encounter with the Australian side, this time for a tour match in 2010 during their visit to England for a series against Pakistan, who could no longer host series after that terror attack mentioned earlier. At the time, the whole affair infuriated me.

  This match was not even a first-class fixture, but a two-day affair to be played in the lead-up to the first Test at Lord’s. The club had sold out Derby’s County Ground several months in advance through a strong marketing effort (my girlfriend at the time, Kerry, even using her considerable marketing skills to approach local businesses), and we were all looking forward to seeing Ricky Ponting’s team up close.

  Around 8pm the night before the game coach John called me to say the Australians wanted to bring the match forward half an hour to a 10.30 start. It was much too late to inform all the club’s members and match-ticket holders about this, so a lot of spectators arrived on the first morning to find that play had already begun. Half an hour after the first call, John was back on the line to say that now they wanted to play 12-a-side, with provision for an extra bowler – Peter George. Given the match wasn’t first-class I was happy enough to wave that change through, but it would take on significance later in the game.

  On match morning I did the conventional thing in these games and quietly gave up bat-first rights to the touring team, the coin actually came down my way but I gestured to Ricky he had won it. Mark Footitt and Atif Sheikh used the new ball nicely and we had them three down inside the first 10 overs. We then had a close lbw appeal against Ricky turned down, and then missed a chance to run out Mike Hussey for a duck. From that point Australia took control of the day and pushed on to a solid total, with Tim Paine and a young Steve Smith also getting some runs down the order. Bowled out right on stumps, they lef
t us with day two to bat.

  Wayne Madsen and I had formed a decent opening partnership for Derbyshire, and we were able to fight our way through the new ball, past lunch and well into the afternoon on a friendly pitch. The longer our partnership went on, the more we could sense the frustration of an Australian team who, perhaps rightly, expected to knock us over quickly. Into the 80s, I gloved a ball down the leg side off Mitchell Johnson, watched it dip into Tim’s gloves and then turned around to see the umpire giving me out. About five metres into my walk off the ground, Mike called out ‘Buck, you’re not out mate, he didn’t catch it’. Resuming my innings, I then copped a mouthful from Michael Clarke, then Ricky’s vice-captain, for not walking immediately. While I understood his point, I found it a little bit odd he expected me to walk when I was still fighting for runs and my own international chance. Like Derbyshire as a club, I had to scrap for everything I was getting at that stage.

  In Mitch’s next over he found my outside edge to deny me a hundred. From the viewing area I got a different perspective on the day, how the crowd were enjoying our fight against an international team, and how the Aussie guys were starting to look more frequently at the clock. We were still only five down with a little more than an hour of the day to go when our wicketkeeper Lee Goddard started slogging. I remember exclaiming ‘what’s going on here?’ before the reason became clear. Ten minutes before the start of the final hour, the tourists are shaking hands with our batsmen and beating a quick exit from the field.

  Sitting next to me, John Morris jumped out of his seat yelling ‘what the hell is going on?’ as he knew we still had a capacity crowd in who would have happily stayed for another hour or more. Of course the Australians felt they had got all they could from the day and wanted to pack up, get on the team bus and head back to London. But my mind flashed back to the night before the game when they had asked for the extra bowler in the team. Why not use this time to get a few more overs into Peter George, Ben Hilfenhaus or Doug Bollinger?

  Over the next few days the club got absolutely hammered with complaints, about the early start and the early finish. Plenty of email and letter writers said they’d never pay to watch cricket again, and that they blamed Derbyshire for wrapping things up early. In that environment it was difficult for anyone to explain that if you want touring sides to come back and play at your ground you need to play ball with their requests. The whole episode re-affirmed to me that I was very much a smalltime concern in the world of cricket: Australia’s players had bigger fish to fry, and I was little more than a speed bump.

  Within three years, of course, I would be in an Ashes squad and using these same matches to prepare for Tests. From that angle it made sense to think primarily about getting yourself ready and not worrying too much about the match as a whole. But I still feel it is important for touring teams to acknowledge that the world of cricket is about much more than just the Test level. As much as it can be hard because there is so much cricket, there are still paying customers desperate to come watch them play, children eager for autographs and domestic teams trying to do their best on the fine margins of the County circuit. The whole week left me feeling quite steamed up at the time, but now, having played more international cricket, I can also see the perspective of a touring team with other goals in mind. Even so, it is a good example of the class structures that exist in County cricket, as domestic sides try to feed off scraps from international tours.

  Perhaps that week helped get me thinking about a move to a bigger County club. By the end of 2010 I had become eager to live closer to London, which was increasingly the place I enjoyed spending time, more than just about anywhere else. One night in particular I remember watching Australia against Japan in soccer’s World Cup in a pub with some friends and a whole lot of Aussie expats, and after that decided I would call my agent to say if there was any chance of going to a London county, let me know. But before I could make that call, he rang me to ask how I would like to play for Middlesex. Good timing.

  I met with the Middlesex director of cricket, Angus Fraser, at a pub near Leicester. He told me he’d spoken to Justin Langer, who had enjoyed a productive stint at Lord’s in the recent past, and had been told that while my batting would be top notch, he would have to decide whether I was the right off-field fit for the team. It was about this time that I was wising up to how to be around a team and striking a far better balance between work and play. Captaincy had helped that, and my rougher years with WA had long receded into the background. So there I was, signing on to play at the home of cricket for 2011.

  Once again, I was joining a club with some problems in terms of performance and leadership. Middlesex was a very different deal to Derbyshire, Middlesex played at Lord’s, had a tremendous history and offered the enviable opportunity to live in London. But at the same time there were similarities, as the club had slipped towards the bottom of second division and had a captain, Neil Dexter, who was battling his own personal demons. Within about three months of my arrival I found myself taking over the captaincy, and we were quite quickly able to turn things around with the help of some other recruits.

  West Indian Corey Collymore, also in his first year, was absolutely outstanding as a seam bowler and a leader around the team, and in Tim Murtagh he had the perfect offsider. Tim is a terrific bloke, who plays the game in the very best way – business on the field but ready to enjoy himself and not take life too seriously off it. Corey meanwhile was the epitome of West Indian cool, languid and effortlessly hilarious. Importantly, he was also a hugely dedicated trainer and a selfless bowler, showing the sort of ethic I imagine was the case when Caribbean sides were the world’s best. Having that pair of highly skilled operators at my command was a huge help in allowing us to top division two in 2011, rising up from second-last the season before, and build up the club in terms of confidence and expectation.

  The other factor in how we were able to improve was the way we were able to gel socially, to the extent that it quickly became the best environment I’d been around at first-class level. I’d got the impression that Angus wanted a leader who could be a social organiser as well, which I was only too eager to provide. We would invariably have a drink together after games at the Tavern next door to Lord’s or in West Hampstead near my lodgings. All the players’ wives and partners would come along, and we’d spend a lot of time out together. For 2011 and 2012 that atmosphere was sustained, and as captain but also a single man I was able to enjoy the company of the younger guys as much as those of my own generation.

  I saw a lot of cricketers get into relationships early because they wanted that safety blanket. You’re in such a competitive environment, particularly when you’re young, and some of the banter among players can be really hard to get used to – it’s pretty ruthless. A lot of the time you can leave the team environment feeling really self-conscious, lacking self-confidence. Sometimes you restore that via your family or your partner, who will be there to tell you they love you, particularly when you’re away on tour or playing overseas. For a while there I needed that as well. I had numerous long-term relationships because it was just nice to have someone there to reassure you of your place in their lives, and in the world.

  Over time, however, I realised that it actually suited me to not have that tie. The flip side of a relationship is the emotional difficulty of thinking about it while you’re in the game, whether at home or away. A lot of players do it really well, but I ultimately concluded that while I was playing it just wasn’t for me. Part of my thinking came from seeing guys I played alongside who were struggling with things going on at home. It is so vital as a professional cricketer to be able to turn up each day with a smile on your face and to bring positive energy to the team. If you’re not giving to the environment, you’re taking away. That might sound harsh, but it was the way I came to view things with the benefit of experience. And to do that is doubly hard if there is trouble going on at home. If your personal life is falling apart, it’s bloody hard.
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  This is not to say that I never wanted to be in relationships, or didn’t find someone I connected with. There have been several times in my life where I am happy to admit I fell in love, and did see a long future ahead with those women. But ultimately I found myself choosing my cricket before them, and breaking up. To sustain the roaming lifestyle you need to find someone who is enormously understanding, and also someone who can deal with long stretches of time apart. In a few cases I’ve found myself living with a girlfriend within weeks of meeting them, largely because if you don’t push things it will be time to fly to the other side of the world before you know it. In turn that could lead to me wanting my own space again, because we were living in each other’s pockets before we’d really had time to let the relationship grow.

  All this led me to where I am now, playing and living as a single man. Whether that changes when cricket is done remains to be seen, but at Middlesex it worked well for the group. Sam Robson was one young player who I was able to build a very strong relationship with, as opening partners but also friends. That was helped by the realisation that I was playing a very important role in how these guys grew as cricketers and young men. That meant finding the middle ground between educating them on the game but also helping them to enjoy themselves at the right times, and not get so intense as to make the whole experience more draining than exhilarating. Dawid Malan, a hugely talented batsman and sometime leg-spinner, was one guy who I tried to help get the game in perspective, finding a positive outlook so you’re adding more energy to the dressing room than you’re taking away. The wicketkeeper John Simpson was another.

  I learned a lot about the process of captaincy and leadership through dealing with Steven Crook, a talented all-rounder from South Australia who played at Middlesex before moving on to a successful career with Northamptonshire. ‘Crooky’ is one of the best blokes I’ve met in the game, but he could frustrate me at times by drifting off from a strong focus on the field – epitomised by a two-year hiatus from cricket, instead writing and performing music for his band Juliet and the Sun. He did have one hit that was played on Radio One in the UK, but he could never convince me his taste in music was anything but junk. I kept telling him, ‘grunge is dead mate!’