Bucking the Trend

by Chris Rogers

  What was in the back of my mind though was this: if our scores had been reversed in the first round of Sheffield Shield matches when Phillip’s South Australian side played my Victoria, it would have been him that would have been selected for the first Test and not me. I knew my time was coming to an end and that the selectors were desperately hoping Hughesy fulfilled his undoubted potential, but I had been hoping to put off my departure until after the Ashes the following winter.

  My memory is often pretty poor and needed a lot of prompting for this book to be written, but I’ll never forget that training session. The sight of Davey Warner walking out of his net after three or four slow throw downs from batting coach Michael Di Venuto to drop to his haunches and cry uncontrollably, and a fairly similar experience for Shane Watson, will live with me until the end of my days. Mitchell Johnson, who usually bowled almost as aggressively at his teammates as he did the opposition, could hardly let the ball go – and when he did accidentally bowl a shortish delivery, he was mortified. It wasn’t just these three but a significant number of us who were struggling. It was an eerie scene. Cricket had changed.

  I had first become aware of Phillip when he burst in to the New South Wales state side. The stories of his brilliant childhood hadn’t reached a fellow left-handed opener in his 30s from another state, but it wasn’t going to be long before seemingly everyone in the cricketing fraternity knew him. He did against my teams what he did to every opposition – and that was tally up big runs. I just couldn’t work out how. We were almost the total opposite in style and everything I had worked at he seemingly went against.

  I tried to get across into the line and score off the front foot and play as straight as I could and defend. He would stay leg side of the ball and slice everything through point, mainly off the back foot, and if you got a touch too straight he would whip it over square leg. It was infuriating and puzzling and astonishing all at the same time. How did he do it? Could I do the same? That last answer was no – he was just a freak with ridiculous talents and a thirst for runs I hadn’t seen from a young player.

  When the great Australian side started to break up through retirements, I’d been hopeful that my time would come, but one by one another opening batsman would stand in my way. I always felt that the door was still ajar though, as international success is exceptionally difficult. First Phil Jaques, then Simon Katich and then Shane Watson were taking an opener’s place for the national side, but it wasn’t until Hughesy got in and made those two sublime hundreds in the 2009 Durban Test against South Africa’s vaunted attack that I thought my chance had finally gone.

  I’d been hoping against hope that I’d get one more chance, but I’d seen Hughesy play, and while I knew there were some flaws in his game, his ability to find a way to score runs was as good as I’d seen. Given his youth, my time seemed to be up. Then, surprisingly to me, he was dropped from the team in England in 2013, and while I didn’t agree with it, the door was ajar again.

  The 2013 Ashes was my first close contact with Phillip. We’d been friendly previously, but given we were both trying to get into the Test team there was always going to be an underlying competitiveness between us, and we kept our distance. Then there was the fact that our ages were so different.

  His 80 in the first innings of the first Test in Nottingham, batting at No.6, was arguably as good as any of his centuries for Australia, and we all felt like his time had come. But he was only given one more Test again before being dropped. You could see his confidence slipping away, even as he did his best not to show it. Outwardly he was still this jovial kid that smiled and spoke to everyone and anyone. He would come up to me and say, ‘Buck, you’re a legend mate, I love how you bat and your record is unbelievable.’ I would smile and think either he was being cheeky or naive. But that was just Phillip being the great, supportive bloke he was. It took me a while to understand that.

  After the 2013 Ashes we didn’t have a lot to do with each other until the series in South Africa the next year, when he was once again in the squad as a reserve batsman. As I wrote earlier, it was a very lonely time for me as I was one of the few on tour without a partner – and Phillip was one of them. Slowly we began to hang out a little more.

  The Aussie cricket circus continued on to the UAE to face Pakistan and the situation was replicated, and we spent more time in each other’s company. Regrettably now, we mostly spoke of cricket and each other’s situation. I kept telling him he was so close and that if he kept getting better and believing, when his time would come he would make it count, to which he would agree – but say not until I’d decided to finish, as Davey Warner’s position was in no doubt. He even said he’d told his father he didn’t want to replace me, as he felt I deserved the spot.

  That was just the kind of person he was. When his death happened and the response worldwide was so incredible, it did not come as a surprise. Often in sport you have to be ruthless and you leave in your wake people who took exception to your treatment of them and I’m no different. Phillip was different – no one had a bad word to say about him. It was easy to see why. Every nice thing people said about him was true.

  What blew me away most when I did hear people talking about him was just how little I knew about him. His family, his farming, his home town Macksville, his love of boxing and other interests – I hadn’t talked with him enough about these things. This was probably because he was just happy sitting there listening and enjoying himself. He didn’t want to talk about himself all the time. I came to respect him even more for it.

  CHAPTER 14

  PROTECTING THE HEAD

  Adelaide, Brisbane, Dominica, Lord’s

  ALMOST IMMEDIATLEY CHRIS Rogers had to confront his own fears over head injuries. Problems arose in the 2014 home Test series against India, then on the Caribbean tour that followed, and then the Ashes in England. He suffered multiple blows to the head – and although there were no fractures to the bones, his confidence was shattered. After struggling so long to get into the Australian team, an enforced retirement was suddenly on the horizon.

  It was something he contemplated during this time more than once. At the Gabba he was struck on the head while fielding in the second Test. He spent quite some time in the company of team doctor Peter Brukner:

  ‘At the Gabba Chris was very agitated. I assessed him and reassured him that he was ok, but when they came off at tea he was still really agitated. I said to the captain Steve Smith “you’ve got to get him out of there, otherwise he might walk away from the game”. I spoke to the psychologist Michael Lloyd as well about speaking with Chris and helping him to work through it so he didn’t do anything too drastic.’

  In the West Indies, Brukner found himself ruling Chris out of a Test match under Cricket Australia’s recently instituted concussion policy. Then he was struck again in England, at Lord’s.

  ‘I was somewhere else at the time he got hit [in the West Indies], and it was mentioned to me “Buck’s been hit on the helmet but he’s fine”. The next morning he said he didn’t feel great, a bit fatigued, a bit sore. These were classic concussion symptoms. Ultimately I ruled him out, and used that opportunity to talk to the guys about what had happened and that I’d do the same for any of them. As important as a Test match is, nothing should take precedence over your health. Chris wasn’t happy about it at the time, but admitted to me a day or two later that it had been the right decision. Originally we were going to have him back ready in time for the second Test, but when he tried to step it up he got his symptoms back.

  ‘Lord’s was bizarre. The inner-ear bruising is very unusual, but his loss of balance was very scary. To be telling me the Lord’s Pavilion was moving, there was no hesitation about getting him off the ground. This all took place 24 hours after he had been hit, and I wasn’t aware of that occurring in concussion cases before. That’s not the way it works. I rang one of the concussion experts in Australia to ask if he’d ever seen anything like it. He said “nope, think about something
else”.’

  When Chris was struck on the second morning at Lord’s he had already made a century. John and Ros were at the ground. John picks up the story:

  ‘We head for the committee room, which is on the ground floor below the England dressing room and present our invitation. “I’m sorry sir, but I have it down that you are not due here till one o’clock.” I point out my invitation says 10.30 and the attendant goes inside to check and returns to tell me that he has confirmed it is to be 1pm. Having orchestrated the invite myself, I back off. So what to do now? People have queued for hours for the Pavilion and there won’t be a spare seat anywhere. So we head back across the Long Room and through a sea of heads, I see some disarray out on the field. Sightscreen problems I think.

  ‘We head towards the library where a little back room has a TV set and suddenly we see Chris with helmet off and the doc Peter Brukner holding a bandage to the back of the head. Stunned, thoughts of his Caribbean concussion surface and we sit down quickly, but I can see he’s still got hold of his bat and clearly he’s going nowhere. Yes, first ball of the day, the lone other TV watcher confirms, he’s been sconed. I’m feeling a bit toey, been tossed out of the committee room, my son‘s been floored on the pitch and I’m stuck out the back!

  ‘I go upstairs to the dressing room and ask to see the doc, who comes out with a wary look. Just thought I’d ask, I tell Peter, and he relaxes and tells me that in getting knocked the helmet caused a cut behind the ear. Nothing serious he says.’

  John and Ros had had a similar problem the day before when they tried to congratulate their son on his century. They ended up doing so, with a little help from Chris’s boss at Middlesex, Angus Fraser, who recalls:

  ‘One of the nice things when he got his hundred here, I came down and shook his hand in the Long Room as he walked off. At the end of the day’s play his parents were down by the back of the Pavilion and the stewards wouldn’t let them in, so I got them in to go to the dressing room to see him. They’re obviously cricket mad, the family.’

  IN THE LAST innings of the Adelaide Test that followed Phillip’s passing I was fielding at cover when I ran at a ball that was bisecting myself and mid-off, where Michael Clarke was fielding. As he ran he suddenly winced in pain and pulled up with a significant hamstring strain. This would have serious consequences for me. But before I get to that, I must say the performances in that Test by those who were closest to Phillip – namely Michael himself, Steve Smith and Davey Warner – were truly phenomenal.

  Vice-captain Brad Haddin immediately took over after Michael was led from the field, and his first direction was to ask me to call for short-leg gear – helmet, box and shin pads. A sinking feeling in my heart hit me straight away. Michael had not asked me to do this duty as Steve Smith and others had been put in there where their younger and faster reactions would be required. But Hadds felt Steve’s exceptional fielding talents could be better utilised elsewhere and I was to take over.

  I’ve always hated the position. I fielded there a lot as a younger player, particularly for Beau Casson. He mixed great deliveries with loose ones, meaning the short-leg could be peppered. During one match at Adelaide Oval for Western Australia, I was struck on the full on my ankle and the ball then ricocheted all the way to midwicket, who proceeded to take the catch. All the players ran to the fielder except for Beau, who ran straight to me, where I lay writhing in pain on the ground. After numerous blows, I started to dislike playing and would hardly speak when positioned close in.

  It’s a terrible spot to field and those who criticise these fielders would be better served to keep their mouth shut until they’ve experienced what it is like in there. The best ones are those who don’t fear it and I wasn’t one of them – Quiney is possibly the bravest I’ve seen. I did manage to take a catch in Adelaide when one popped up and practically landed in my hands, but I was hit when one of Rohit Sharma’s fierce sweeps slammed hard into the side of my hip as I tried to take evasive action. Apart from the pain, I was beginning to panic. There was nothing I could have done to get out of the way and it was straight after Phillip’s fatal blow. You would have to have nerves of steel or stupidity off the charts not to panic.

  With the naming of Steve Smith as captain in Michael’s absence for the next Test in Brisbane, the writing was on the wall. I was to be short-leg when one was needed. I didn’t mind it so much for the pace bowlers, as ours were very quick and difficult to pull, but the Indian players were excellent players of spin and in particular good sweepers, which had me worried. The inevitable happened at the Gabba and once again the batsman was Rohit. He got every bit of a sweep and hit it uppishly. I was predicting what was coming and once again swivelled trying to present a smaller target. However my technique in doing this was terrible, and all I managed to do was present my back. The ball struck me flush on the back of the helmet, inches from where Phillip had been hit.

  Team doctor Peter Brukner raced onto the field and almost in anger I pushed him away. I was furious and scared, but all I could think of was I had to get back in there and try to prove to teammates I wasn’t a coward. I have no recollection of this, but Peter later said that I said to him ‘Doc, I don’t want to die.’ It was how we were all feeling at the time.

  After play the full understanding of what had happened hit me. My bad technique in evasion was down to a lack of courage. I had been lucky that more damage had not been done. While I tried not to show it, others could see just how upset I was. Team psychologist Michael Lloyd was the first to approach me and ask if I wanted to talk about it, so I invited him to my room, where I broke down. I had kept so much to myself throughout recent weeks, but the blow to the head had stirred something in me.

  After talking to Michael, who was very supportive, the next contact was with Dad. I told him everything I was thinking and that it might be time to call it quits. As stated before, the lows are terrible, and what became consuming was a desire to get out of the bubble and live a more balanced life. Deep down, however, I knew I would fight on. I couldn’t walk away and even though I considered it when Darren took me aside after the game and said I needed to be clear about whether I wanted to go on, I knew I would keep at it, otherwise I’d have felt a failure. It helped to contribute with the bat by getting the first two of seven consecutive half-centuries – and that the best two Tests of the Australian summer, in Melbourne and Sydney, were to come.

  It was with relief that I wasn’t asked to do short-leg after that, as Joe Burns was drafted in to the team and he took over the role. I was asked to do it in the Ashes series the following year but only for the quick bowlers – a good enough compromise.

  However my days of being hit on the head weren’t over.

  Having been selected for the two-series squad to the Caribbean and then the United Kingdom, we travelled end of May. In a family mix-up, my sister had unknowingly scheduled her wedding for 30 May and it became evident I wasn’t going to make it – another consequence of being a professional cricketer. Years before I missed my brother’s wedding ceremony – but made it to the reception – as I was desperately trying to prove my position in the WA team at the time. His hunch that December 22 would not be a cricket day proved wrong, as we had a game scheduled to finish that day … in Adelaide.

  In our warm-up week in Antigua I had made a paltry two in our only innings against a WICB Chairman’s XI and was dismissed by one of the best diving catches I’d seen in the gully. The catcher was an unknown youngster called Carlos Brathwaite, who wowed us all with his size and build. We then made our way to Dominica where the first Test was to be played and it was here I suffered another blow.

  With the local groundsmen preparing the practice wickets so far out from the game, the first day of training proved to be lively. They were bouncing like tennis balls and I could not get a read on it as length balls were going through almost head high at times, not helped by the local net bowlers having a penchant for loving the short stuff. Finally I decided enough was enough and a
ttempted a rare pull shot, but I was through the stroke too early and the ball cannoned in to the side of my helmet. Not thinking too much of it as it wasn’t a particularly fast delivery, I carried on and was hit in the box next ball, sending me over the edge as I whacked the stumps out of the ground in a fit of petulant rage.

  I’ve often told young players that getting mad in nets is pointless and counter-productive, so after picking the stumps up I chuckled to myself and took a deep breath and got on with it. The rest of the net was not too bad in the circumstances. Doc Brukner had seen me taking one on the helmet and after the net asked how I was, to which I replied fine, although a touch weird. I put that down to the raging heat, and having just spent 30 minutes in my gear and under a helmet. That night I started to feel a little fatigued so went to bed a little earlier than usual, still not thinking anything of it.

  The next day we convened for training and the Doc asked to speak to me. His first question about my health elicited the response that I was ‘just still feeling a little fatigued’. What happened next took me completely by surprise. He told me he was ruling me out of the Test as tiredness is an indicator of concussion – and therefore I wouldn’t be able to play for at least six days. He then pulled over the captain and coach. While I half-heartedly tried to argue against the verdict, it was clear that once the doctor had said it, there was no way he could then let me play.

  Initially the reaction was one of incredulity, as I’d been hit in the head numerous times before and this had never happened. I felt like I was a test case for the new concussion ruling. The last thing you want to do is miss a match and give another guy a chance to take your spot … especially when you are 36 years of age.

  The next day I thought I’d train with the guys and maybe show Peter he’d misdiagnosed. After taking some diving catches from side to side amid some energetic fielding, all of a sudden my vision started to change. I felt this pressure inside my head and my vision started to narrow. Everything peripheral was blurred and it felt like I was looking down a tunnel from further back. Not only that but nausea started to rise – the possibility of throwing up was very real. Something was wrong and there was no denying it. Immediately I stopped and approached the doctor, who seemed very concerned, and sent me home to rest in my room with no light.