Do You Know What?

by Andrew Flintoff

  Imagine being a kid who grew up with all this technology. That’s all they do all day, sit around looking at Snapchat and Instagram. It wouldn’t surprise me if they suddenly announced that all this unseen technology we’re surrounded by is frying our brains. It sometimes seems that way.

  If mobile phones, televisions and computers had never been invented, everything would be better. I don’t have much use for technology. If someone says, ‘Do that on the computer’, I struggle. But I don’t need to know how, and I don’t think most people do. I was sat watching the cricket with a mate and he had this app on his phone which tracked aeroplanes. Every time a plane went over, he’d tell me where in the world it had come from and where in the world it was going. Why would anyone want to know that? Why was he telling me this? People say the world is too complicated nowadays, but it’s only complicated because people obsess over things that aren’t important.

  CHAPTER 15

  WHAT HAVE YOU EVER DONE FOR ME?

  Being let down

  I don’t like injustice; I hate it when people abuse their authority. When I was at school, I had a bit of a beef with this teacher, who gave me a detention for hitting a girl on the head with a ball in the yard. I said to him, ‘I’m really sorry, but it was an accident. If I was that good at football that I could deliberately hit someone on the head from 50 yards away, I wouldn’t be playing cricket. So I’m not having a detention for that.’ The detention kept being put further and further back, and it ended up not happening.

  A few weeks later I was playing in a pupils versus teachers football match. He had the ball and I smashed him from behind, hit him with arms and legs and everything, so that he was splattered all over the pitch. I’m a bit random at times, if I get something in my head and decide I’m going to do it, I’ll do it. I was only 16, skinny, but still quite big. He got up and said, ‘You got a problem, big man?’ And I replied, ‘No, sir, but it looks like you have.’ He got right in my face and I thought we were going to have a fight, but he thought better of it and backed off. I wish I’d done that in the first year, because all the kids thought I was quite cool after that. Alas, I was leaving a week later.

  I fell out with coaches and other authority figures quite a lot during my cricket career. Duncan Fletcher could really push my buttons, whether he knew it or not. In 2001, I played from May to September with a double hernia. Before the third Test against India, I turned up at Headingley with no kit, because I couldn’t move and had no intention of playing. But they jabbed me up, sent me out there and I got two ducks and one wicket. I got picked for the Ashes tour that winter and during the first warm-up session I was walking around the ground, because I still couldn’t run. Duncan Fletcher pulled me into his office and said, ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’ve got a double hernia, I can’t run.’

  ‘Yes, but when they said you can’t run, I didn’t think they meant you can’t actually run…’

  I was picked for the first Test in Brisbane, when Nasser Hussain won the toss, decided to bowl and the Aussies scored about 500. At one point, Matthew Hayden hit one up in the air, I was trotting after it in the outfield and missed it by a mile. Nasser threw his cap on the ground and sent me off the field.

  I stayed on the tour, watching the boys getting hammered by every team we played. In Tasmania, they worked out I had something affecting an area in my body called the symphysis pubis. Above your willy is a hole in your pelvis, and they said they could inject it with painkiller. I thought, ‘I’ve tried everything else, why not.’ So I was laid on this bed with a towel over my meat and two veg, and in came this doctor and two nurses. The doctor pulled this massive needle out and I was thinking, ‘Where the hell is he gonna put that?’ By the time he’d removed the towel, it was less a meat and two veg and more a shiitake mushroom. He put the needle in and I let out this bloodcurdling scream. Even worse, my balls started disappearing, so that I looked like a Ken doll. I ended up saying to the nurses, ‘It’s usually bigger than this, but I’m really nervous…’

  Eventually, Duncan pulled me into his office and gave me a bollocking for not being fit and committed to the cause. We had a team meeting straight afterwards and I had to wear sunglasses, because I’d been crying. Our relationship was never repaired. By all means bollock me for getting into trouble, but if you question my commitment to the team or my motives or my passion, that will really get to me. I always tried my best, you couldn’t get any more out of me.

  But usually I’d get into trouble because I was sticking up for someone else I thought was getting a hard time, especially younger players. Younger players would get hammered by older players who felt insecure about their place in the team, or get a rough time from a coach and feel like they couldn’t speak up for themselves. So I’d speak up for them instead. I still do it now in the entertainment industry when I think people are taking liberties.

  I’ve not got a problem with authority, I’ve got a problem with people abusing their authority. If I don’t think authority is just, I’ll question it or go against it completely. People get a title and automatically feel they deserve respect, but that’s not the case. Leaders have to earn respect through their actions, their experience, their knowledge and achievements. Respect is not God-given.

  There’s nothing wrong with questioning authority, especially if you don’t understand or agree with it. There’s a time and place for it, and sometimes people do it for attention, to be noticed. Questioning authority in front of a group is not the best way to go about it, because you never want it to look like you’re deliberately undermining someone. But if they can’t answer the questions you ask or get upset, they’re not very good leaders and shouldn’t be in charge. If they can, fine, let’s crack on. I don’t mind being told.

  I think I’d make a decent coach, because I’ve got no agenda. I’d be doing it for the right reasons, because all I’d want to do was make players better. If I thought I could offer that, I’d do it. But I felt that Duncan was very good at passing the blame. Don’t get me wrong, I handed myself to him on a plate, but he was happy to tuck in.

  After the pedalo incident, he summoned me to hotel reception. There were about 150 people there, including England fans and press, and he thought that was the right place to sack me as vice-captain. I wasn’t that bothered about being sacked – I’d been captain and didn’t like that either – it was the way he did it that bothered me. After he’d given me the news, he said, ‘What have you ever done for me?’

  I looked at him as if to say, ‘What? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Andrew Strauss gets me trainers. Paul Collingwood gets me sunglasses. What have you ever got me?’

  I was thinking, ‘A big house in Cape Town and an OBE…’

  I honestly thought he might be winding me up. I’ve got an ankle that is hanging off, my knees are knackered, and he’s asking what I’ve ever done for him? What do I need to do to get back into his good books? Buy him a pair of Nike Air Max? Some Asics Gel? Does he want me to give him one off the wrist as well? I admit I was in a bad place emotionally, and I’m sure he’d deny it, but I remember it as if it was yesterday.

  If I was playing well, Duncan would be all over me. If I wasn’t, I was the root of all the evil, the reason England lost. I’d be thinking, ‘Mate, I’m still trying my best.’ I’d be lying if I said he didn’t help me as a coach, but he also confused me. When I walked past him, I didn’t know if he was going to speak to me or not. And he had a one-stop shop way of playing, which I couldn’t do, so my batting got really mixed up. All I wanted to do was hit the ball as hard as possible. There’s no two ways about it, I had a good run under him and the team had a good run under him. When I was giving my best performances for England, I was hardly speaking to him. But other people’s experiences were very different. Marcus Trescothick, who was probably the best I ever played with, would talk about Duncan highly. In fact, if you spoke to everyone who played under Duncan, the response would be more positive than negative. So to
say Duncan did nothing for England would be ridiculous. The record books show he was a very good England coach, maybe the best we’ve ever had.

  Not long after the pedalo incident, we were having a training session in Barbados and everyone was called into a circle. Duncan wandered over and announced he was resigning. When Michael Vaughan said a few words, he started crying. Paul Collingwood was trying his best to cry. Even Paul Nixon, who had been there five minutes, was trying to cry. I was thinking, ‘Maybe I need to pinch my legs and put some chilli in my eyes, because I’m looking nowhere near upset enough.’ What I actually did was look over at Steve Harmison and give him a look that said, ‘Get in there, son!’

  A lot of people retire with an axe to grind, and it’s so sad to see people who had this great career, doing something they loved, and now all their energy is taken up with resentment towards a person or a former club or organisation. I was like that for a while, but it tires you out. Let it go, move on. So I don’t bear a grudge against Duncan, because I don’t actually think he ever meant to stitch me up. It was a weird relationship, but that was just what he was like, he was a natural deflector. We’re never going to be pen pals, but I’ve given up not liking people.

  In fact, I’d like to see Duncan again. I nearly did, when India were playing at Old Trafford a few years ago and he was their coach. I was in the nets with my boys, and I thought, ‘Duncan’s on the bus, brilliant.’ I waited for about 45 minutes but he never got off. I really wanted to hug him and kiss him on the cheek. Partly to make him feel akward, but also to break the ice. It’s not nice bearing grudges, especially against someone who you’ve shared so many wonderful memories with.

  CHAPTER 16

  BELLENDS ON BIKES

  Health and fitness

  The gym is a real cross-section of society, you’ve got people from all walks of life in there. But it can be an awkward place. There are people in the gym I like, Robbie Savage and a few other lads I train and have a coffee with, including old Eddie, who’s 80. But I don’t really want gym friends. You see someone for the first time and say hello, just to be polite. Second time, you speak a bit more. Third time, they’ve got you. I go to the gym to train, not to stand about talking to some bloke about the exercises he’s doing on his pecs.

  Someone will say, ‘Do you mind spotting me?’ I do, actually. I’ve got 45 minutes to do my work and get out of there, I’ve not got time to be putting your weights on for you. I don’t want anyone commenting on my routine or complimenting me. I know people say that men should say nice things to each other, and I might say the odd nice thing to a friend, but I don’t want people sidling up to me in the gym and saying, ‘You’re looking in good nick, Fred, what’s the secret?’ They’re probably only saying it in the hope that you’ll say something nice back. But you are highly unlikely to find me saying, ‘Oh, wow, you look fabulous.’ That’s not going to happen. They’re my basic gym rules: don’t have gym mates, don’t give compliments, just train and then go home.

  Then there are changing rooms and people wandering around naked. One day, I was doing my hair in the mirror, as I do nowadays, wearing just my pants. This man comes over, bollock naked, and says, ‘All right, Fred?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m all right.’

  ‘You know my son…’

  He started going on about his son, and what he was up to nowadays, and suddenly offered me a business card. I had no idea where he’d pulled this card from, so I said to him, ‘Sorry, mate, I don’t really know who you’re talking about and I can’t take that card, you did not have it in your hand just a second ago…’

  There’s this man who sits by the showers, cross-legged, with his balls resting on the bench. Nobody needs to see that. I took my lad in once when he was about six or seven. This naked man was reaching into his locker and my lad whacked him on the arse. My lad looked at me as if to say, ‘How funny was that, Dad?’ To be fair, it was quite funny, but not for this poor fella. He’s got this little red hand print on his arse and when he turns around, he’s got this confused look on his face, a mixture of anger and embarrassment, while you can also see him wondering whether he’s allowed to have a go at somebody else’s son. All I could do was shrug and say, ‘Kids…’

  I’ve cycled thousands of miles, but I have a love–hate relationship with cycling. I like some cyclists, but some of them are the biggest bellends you could ever hope to meet. They’re just so righteous. You’ll be driving along behind a cycling club, and they’ll be riding two abreast. They’re entitled to, but don’t be a dick, you’re holding everyone up! You get to within four feet of them when you overtake and they’ll tell you you’re too close. They go through red lights and think that’s fine, or when they do stop at the lights, they’ll do that silly thing where they balance without their feet on the ground, as if everyone in the queue is going to be impressed that a 50-year-old man can do such a thing. They go out and buy £10-grand bikes, essentially spending more money to make it easier. Some of these bikes have electric gears, presumably so their fingers don’t get too tired. If you want to get fitter, get yourself a big steel bike with massive tyres! The bloke on a £10-grand bike is training less hard than the bloke on a bike that cost 200 quid. How does that make any sense?

  I did a charity ride from Athens to London and encountered some of the worst people I’ve ever met. It was over five stages and it was a constant willy-waving contest. Who’s got the most expensive bike? Who’s got the lightest bike? Who’s got the deepest-set wheels? Who looks like the biggest wanker in their branded fluorescent Lycra? They’d all have their Stradas out, comparing who had got up such and such hill the fastest. Unless you’re the fastest in the world, don’t bother showing me! There’s probably been 200,000 people faster, and you’re banging on about how fast you’ve gone? These people are wrong ’uns.

  While I’m at it, what about personal trainers? They’re the biggest robbery in the world. In my gym, you can pay £60 an hour for a personal trainer and all they do is stand around and watch you on a running machine or a bike or lifting weights. You can find out everything you need to know on the internet, all the machines have programmes on them, yet people get themselves a personal trainer and think they hold the key to life. And if you need someone to tell you to do something, don’t do it. If I’m a boss of a business and I have to bring in a motivational speaker, I’ve failed at my job. You shouldn’t have to rely on anyone else; rely on yourself. I like that Brian Clough quote: ‘I believe in two things, Jesus Christ and me.’

  You’ll be out for dinner with someone, they’ll order a burger and chips and say, ‘I really shouldn’t be eating this.’ Too fucking right you shouldn’t! Look at you! People talk about being big-boned. Big-boned? I’ve never seen a fat skeleton. If you take an X-ray of a small person and a big person, they’ll look the same. We live in a society where everyone else is to blame. Everyone wants a quick fix. I’ve been fat and I’ve been skinny, so I know it’s a very simple equation.

  When I was fat and unfit, I was eating pizzas and drinking ten pints every night and not training. The strange thing was, I didn’t realise. I remember turning up for an England fitness test and Dean Conway, the physio, put me on the scales and said, ‘Bloody hell, Mongo (he used to call me Mongo, from Blazing Saddles), how did that happen? Last time I saw you, you were 14. Now you’re 19 and a half.’ I was getting dressed, looking in the mirror and thinking, ‘You’re looking all right there, Andrew…’ Even when the England one-day team started playing in tight-fitting shirts, I didn’t think I looked ridiculous. I look back at old pictures now and realise I very much did.

  I tried all sorts of diets, including putting my fingers down my throat to make myself sick. For a while, I was doing that all the time, so that I was pretty much bulimic. I started doing it when I was out drinking and wanted to make a bit of room for a few more pints. Early in my England career, I got constant abuse about my weight. There was an article in one of the newspapers, with a picture of me on one side and Lennox Lewis,
who was world heavyweight champion at the time and one of my heroes, on the other. It had this tale of the tape graphic, including the statistic: ‘Lennox Lewis’s reach – 84in; Andrew Flintoff’s reach – For the pies’

  That came out the same day as I was playing a one-day international at Old Trafford and I got absolutely hammered by the crowd. They’d call me all sorts, mainly ‘fat bastard’ but also Honey Monster. There would be grown men screaming at me, ‘I want my honey!’ It was just relentless.

  When I had to lose weight fast on an England tour of India, making myself sick developed into a habit. I’d be sick in the toilet during lunch and go out and bowl for the rest of the day. I’ve been sick in grounds all over the world. But because I was losing weight, everyone was happy, so I cracked on. I’d gone from that fat fella who made his Test debut to getting into some kind of shape. A dietician came and gave us a talk, and she spoke about dealing with models, actors and athletes, mostly female, with eating disorders. I planned to pull her aside afterwards for a chat, until she said, ‘But I can’t imagine there’s any of that going on with you lot.’ At that moment I thought, ‘Well, I can’t say anything now.’ I’d always thought of bulimia as something that affected women, and this dietician had just confirmed that suspicion.

  I was always careful about it, made sure nobody was in the toilet when I was doing it. I thought I couldn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t want to show any signs of weakness. I wanted to come across as bulletproof. Rachael rumbled me on holiday in Dubai after we’d eaten in this restaurant with tiny portions. The meal cost a lot of money but it all ended up in the toilet before I’d even paid for it. As you can imagine, she was quite concerned. But once I’d told her, that was the first step on the road to stopping completely. As with just about everything I’ve done, I couldn’t have done it without her. Eventually, I realised it wasn’t healthy and that the only proper way to lose weight was through hard work and eating properly.