While I regret and apologise for my actions in the SCG dressing room on 7 January 2009, I have nothing to apologise for on this occasion – because I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the decisions the selectors make about Kato in 2011.
When it comes to Cricket Australia contracts, I was never consulted, even when I was captain. I was never once asked if a player should get a contract. I simply wasn’t allowed to be in those meetings. We might have a team selection meeting, and then Andrew Hilditch or John Inverarity, whoever was the chairman of the panel, would say, ‘Selection meeting’s over, contract meeting is starting. Michael, you have to leave.’ I was never part of any contract meeting.
I was part of team selections, and I remember the discussions in 2011. The only relevant part that I was consulted on was how I felt about Ricky Ponting continuing in the team as a batsman under my captaincy. During the Argus Review, before I had even been appointed captain, they had said to me, ‘If you do become captain, if you want Ricky to stay, he can stay, but if you want him to go, he’ll go.’ It was an easy conversation. I had no doubt I wanted him to play. The group needed him around. We needed his runs and his experience, and the young guys could become better cricketers simply by watching him train and bat, by being with him in the field, and by chatting with him off it. There was no question at all in my mind, and if my input was needed, I was throwing it all behind keeping Punter in the team.
But I had no idea how that might impact on Kato’s place. By the time I was appointed captain, the driving personality on the selection panel was Greg Chappell. Greg’s view was that the champion batsmen had proved themselves in Test cricket at a young age, in their late teens or early twenties. He thought that the best young batsmen in the country in 2011 were Phillip Hughes and Usman Khawaja. If they were going to turn into the mainstays of the next generation, they needed a chance to grow into Test cricket now, when they were still 21 or 22 years old.
With the batting line-up we had in 2011, this left a numbers problem. If Hughesy and Uzzy were to be picked, and Shaun Marsh was getting his chance as well in the drive for renewal, that meant one of the senior men in their mid-thirties – Punter, Huss and Kato – had to miss out. Punter? No question. Huss? He’d been easily our best batsman in the losing Ashes series (and was about to be man of the match in all three Test matches in Sri Lanka). Kato? Outstanding batsman. So then the selectors looked at what else these players brought. Punter brought leadership and outstanding catching skills. Huss was a very good player of spin bowling, with our next tour being to Sri Lanka, and was one of the most popular players in that team. It was unfair for Kato to be put in a contest with those two, but that was the way the selectors were making their choice over the awarding of contracts for the next year. They decided that Kato would be the one to miss out. I had nothing to do with it.
But perception, as I say, is reality. The ‘Katich–Clarke feud’ story had bubbled away for so long, without me doing anything to refute it, that it became the default explanation for Kato’s omission. Despite my best efforts to make the situation clear to him, he thought the driving personality in his omission had to be me. I felt like I was up against a brick wall, where nothing I could say would change his mind. It is one of the stories from my cricket career that makes me saddest.
There is one last twist to it. Two years later, in early 2013, the Australian team is in crisis again. Within weeks, Punter and Huss have both retired from international cricket. We go to India with an inexperienced line-up and get pounded 4–0.
In the two months between our return from India and the 2013 Ashes tour, I am part of a critical selection meeting. I actually volunteer to step down from the selection panel after India, for lots of reasons, but Cricket Australia have refused to accept my offer. So I’m on the panel with John Inverarity, Mickey Arthur, Rod Marsh and Andy Bichel.
I say that, without Punter and Huss, we were exposed for our lack of experience in India. If we go to England with this inexperience, we risk being slaughtered. I want Brad Haddin back as one of our two wicketkeepers, either to deputise for Matthew Wade or, if the selectors think he’s playing well enough, to be our number one. Hadds has been to England on two previous Ashes tours, and I need his steadiness.
It’s not just Hadds I need. There’s another senior player, going very well in domestic cricket, who has also been on two Ashes tours and has scored a lot of runs in England. I say to John Inverarity, ‘Give me Kato.’ I plead with John over an extended period. I fight for Kato. I never wanted him out of the team, and I feel that I really need him back in it now that Punter and Huss are gone. He was sacrificed for them in 2011, and now that they are both gone, there is no rationale against bringing him back.
The other selectors consider my arguments but reject them. Instead, they pick Chris Rogers, the 36-year-old opener who played one Test match for Australia in 2007–08. I think Kato would have been brilliant on that 2013 Ashes tour, but Chris turns out to be an inspired choice, the highest run-scorer over the two Ashes series in 2013 and 2014, and our top-order mainstay until his retirement in 2015. I also wonder how many runs Kato would have made if he’d been given another chance. I wanted him there. But it’s difficult for the world to believe that I fought to bring him back, because they think we’re enemies.
I hope that, in the calm of retirement, Kato will understand it too, because he knows that we have no personal problems with each other and can look back on a lot of successful cricket as teammates over many years. We might be characters in a story that got built up into a fiction, but when we meet in person and look each other in the eye, we are just another pair of retired old teammates who can remember the same special games, and the privilege we shared for several years of playing for our country.
Kato was my partner when I first stepped out to bat for Australia in a Test match. That’s a much more important memory for me than what happened in a changing room five years later.
11
ENGLAND
It’s damp and cold, I’m struggling with the challenges of living on my own in a foreign country, and I’m embarrassed by my performance. Even though I’m only 21 years old, I am the professional cricketer at Ramsbottom in the Lancashire League and I am failing to contribute. The standard is probably the equivalent of first grade in Sydney club cricket – and that makes it even more annoying that I’m not pulling my weight. Mostly opening the batting, I’ve made 109 runs in my first six innings for the club.
I go to our captain, Mark Price, who has stepped into the role of big brother for me here. Pricey is 42 years old, a former Glamorgan first-class all-rounder who has played many years of league cricket. Today, I’ve scored 3 against Heywood playing at our home ground, Acre Bottom, in a one-day fixture. Tomorrow we’re due to play the Church club, whose pro is my good mate from Sydney, Mark Higgs. But it’s raining again.
In despair, I sit down with Pricey. ‘I’m the overseas player,’ I say, ‘and I can’t make a run.’
Pricey is completely unbothered. In fact, he’s more interested in urging me to go to the pub with my other ‘big brother’ at the club, Kev Denton. ‘There’ll be no play tomorrow,’ Pricey assures me, before sending me on my way.
One of my big weaknesses is my difficulty in switching off. I love cricket so much that I sometimes wish I didn’t have to sleep. Ever since I was seven, I’ve got up at daybreak on match day and counted off the minutes until we can start. Since Ramsbottom approached my management during my third season in the New South Wales team, I’ve lapped up the idea of professional, six-day-a-week cricket. But the reality is that, when I’m not playing well and finding the springtime conditions a challenge, my wheels are spinning. Lots of energy but nowhere to go.
Pricey’s is a valuable lesson, and it works – in an unanticipated way. My night out with Kev gets me well and truly off the subject of cricket. I get that mini-holiday for a few hours that Pricey has recommended.
The weather has cleared by morning. Mentally refresh
ed, I score 112 off 118 balls. Pricey’s tactic has unlocked me. Two weeks later, the night before we play Enfield, I think I’ll take his advice a little further. Again we think the game is going to be rained off, and I go out with Kev until 5 am. My only setback is when Pricey’s phone call wakes me at 9 am.
‘We’re on, Michael.’
‘Eh?’
‘We’re starting on time. The rain’s cleared.’
‘Please don’t tell me that,’ I croak.
He doesn’t have to tell me that there’s no option of asking for a day off. I’m the professional. I have to be setting some kind of example, and blaming the captain for sending me out for a big night is not part of my job description.
‘Just promise me one thing,’ I say. ‘If you win the toss, field.’
‘Sure. See you at the ground.’
Of course, Pricey does win the toss – and decides to bat. And I’m opening.
I piece myself together and walk to the wicket thinking, It was a set-up. Pricey knew this was going to happen.
Cramped and dehydrated, I score 200, breaking Ramsbottom’s record for a one-day innings.
Pricey has taught me something about preparation. For me, alcohol is not a good idea before cricket, and never will be. His lesson wasn’t to go out and get drunk, it was to allow myself to forget the pressure of being the overseas player, forget cricket; step back from my intense keenness and just go out and play the game I love.
Ramsbottom is my true introduction to English cricket. I toured there before, with the New South Wales Schoolboys when I was 16 and the Australian Cricket Academy at 18, but at Ramsbottom, and again at Hampshire two seasons later, I have to be an independent person. That’s probably the most valuable part of the experience, though the cricket and the team environment provide a great schooling for me as well. I arrive not knowing anyone, and have to find a way to fit in. To my relief, I find the team atmosphere similar to how it is with my club and state back home, with the senior players holding a certain status and the youngsters watching and learning. I find it natural to attach myself to guys like Pricey and Kev at Ramsbottom and Shane Warne and Dimitri Mascarenhas at Hampshire, because that’s what I’ve done ever since B-grade at Players with Dad. But it’s different to be doing it so far from home, and the experience does a world of good for my self-confidence.
It’s the start of what I regard as a happy personal relationship with English cricket. It might not seem so on the surface, because I will go on four Ashes tours from 2005 to 2015 and come away empty-handed each time. Winning the urn in England will become one of my burning ambitions in cricket, and it is one that will remain unachieved. I hate that, but on the other hand I always enjoy playing there. I love the people and the value they place on the game of cricket, and can honestly say that some of my favourite memories of cricket are in England.
English crowds make a lot of noise, belying the small-capacity grounds their Tests are staged in. I never feel that hostile crowds have any negative impact on my performance – I like to channel their energy – but when you’re inexperienced, it’s exciting and scary. For young players, an Ashes battle is built up as such a big series. Some people like and look forward to that stage, and others are a bit afraid of it. I love all the Ashes series I play in, but I never place that contest on a pedestal above others. My approach to cricket is increasingly methodical and systematic as I get older, and I prepare the same way for an Ashes Test at Lord’s as I would for a Test match against Bangladesh in Fatullah. No difference at all. But when I get out into the middle, I find that I do love the English atmosphere and I set myself to rise to the challenge.
The 2005 Ashes tour is rightly fabled for the fantastic cricket that is played, the epic finishes to the Test matches at Edgbaston and Old Trafford, and the emotion that follows England’s first Ashes win in 18 years. Both teams are stacked with big stars of the game, and for me the memory forms part of the dizzy ride from my Test debut in 2004 to getting dropped in late 2005. Although we lose the series 2–1, I confess that I am in a state of constant exhilaration. Having picked up some more English experience with a stint at Hampshire in 2004, I am primed to go and love almost every minute of it. I understand that the experience is not as fun for some of our senior players, who are struggling with distraction and disappointment, but for me, as a 24-year-old, that is all passing me by. Whether Ricky bats or bowls at Edgbaston, whether Pigeon is playing or not, I am jumping to it. Let me get my gear on, let’s go!
That series opens my eyes to how hard-fought Test cricket can be. On the first morning of the series at Lord’s, Justin Langer and Ricky are hit in the head and we are bowled out within 40 overs. Steve Harmison, who takes five wickets that day, is towering and fast and extremely awkward to face. Simon Jones traps me lbw for 11, and his fast reverse-swing is a handful throughout the series. Andrew Flintoff, meanwhile, is the toughest fast bowler I ever face. He would never get me out in the three Test series I play against him, but he could have done so many times and I still rate him at the top of the heap. He is pacy and hostile, and every ball bounces surprisingly steeply. Unlike many fast bowlers, Flintoff never seems to flag in his second, third or fourth spells, even in hot conditions in Australia in 2006–07. He might not have got me out, but he is a nightmare to face, particularly in England.
I manage 91 in the second innings at Lord’s, in a counter-attacking partnership with the ever-calm Damien Martyn. It will be my highest score in the 2005 series in the only Test match we win. I am pretty content with my performances, though I wish I could have done something more to lift the team in the games we lose at Edgbaston and Trent Bridge. I have a difficult Test match at Old Trafford. Second ball of the game, as I throw the ball in from point, I feel my back go. I am off the field for the remainder of the match and score 7 and 39 while enduring some pain; fortunately, Punter plays one of the great captain’s knocks and helps us get away with a draw.
The cricket is hard and exciting to a degree I’ve never experienced, but at that age, when I walk out to bat, I have absolutely no fear of failing. Even with the crowd baying and an aggressive England side waiting for me, I am thinking, Bring it on! When I look back, it’s poignant. That devil-may-care attitude I brought to my cricket in 2005 had been overshadowed by physical and mental fatigue by the time I went to England in 2015.
When we return to England in 2009, we hold the Ashes again thanks to our 5–0 whitewash at home, but we have lost decades’ worth of experience. Since 2005, the retirements have piled up: Justin Langer, Matthew Hayden, Damien Martyn, Adam Gilchrist, Shane Warne, Glenn McGrath, Michael Kasprowicz and Jason Gillespie are all gone, and Brett Lee, while still playing, has finished his Test career. The only remaining players from the 2005 Ashes XI are Punter and myself.
With the added responsibility of the vice-captaincy, I take it upon myself to be like Ricky and lead from the front. Batting-wise, it is my best series in England, with hundreds at Lord’s and Edgbaston, 93 at Headingley and 83 at Cardiff.
Statistically, we have most of the leading batsmen and bowlers in that series, but somehow our team effort doesn’t add up to the sum of its parts. We dominate the First Test in Cardiff but can’t close it out on a dead wicket in the face of some stubborn English last-day batting. I feel that if we’d won that match, we would have run away with the series.
Having enjoyed a massive series win in South Africa earlier in 2009, we arrive in England with a lot of confidence. The draw in the Cardiff Test seems to shatter that, and we fall victim to some well-timed bowling spells from Andrew Flintoff and Stuart Broad at Lord’s and Edgbaston. England play very well in their conditions, and grab the momentum at critical times when they can convert it into victories. They deserve credit for seizing those ‘big moments’.
THE INNINGS
136 versus England, Lord’s, 2009
As shattering as losing the Ashes was, I again loved playing cricket in English conditions. The hundred I scored at Lord’s in the 2009 series was argua
bly the best, technically, I ever made.
I am even more nervous than usual before my second innings. We got off to a bad start in the match, England racing away to 425 in their first innings before dismissing us for 215. I was out for 1, right in the middle of our collapse. England declare before lunch on the fourth day, setting us 522 runs to win, which we think, in six sessions, is not impossible. But Kato and Hughesy lose their wickets before lunch, and when Punter is out an over after the break, with Mike Hussey and Marcus North soon following, a draw seems our most realistic hope.
I’m conscious of Lord’s being Australia’s ‘home away from home’ down the years. We have not lost a Test match here since 1934. While I’m not a cricket history buff, I can’t help but feel humbled by the stories here. When Ricky gets out, I leave the changing room and walk down the carpet they have rolled out through the Long Room. The Lord’s members, on either side of the carpet, applaud me on my way out. I remember batting here in 2005 and blowing a hundred, getting out for 91. If I get the chance, I won’t throw it away again.
As a batsman, I am a different player from that last Ashes tour. I have worked hard on holding my balance and committing later. During hours facing a bowling machine set on swinging the ball, I have drilled myself in waiting and waiting and moving only when I am certain. It takes courage and trust in my skills. I limit my backswing and rely on fast hands. My stance is lower as I keep my knees flexed, and wait . . .
First ball, I could be out. Stuart Broad is bowling down the slope, and I leave it. It darts in and I don’t know how it’s missed my off stump.
In my head, I have a song. I listen to music on my iPod before I bat, and usually I sing the last song I’ve heard before I leave the changing room. But sometimes the last song disappears, and my go-to is ‘When The Saints Go Marching In’, the song that Pop was always singing down at Bundeena. When I’m singing that in my head, it often feels like a good omen. At Lord’s, I hit the ball, and mark my guard: twice middle, twice leg. Same every ball. The bowler turns at the top of his mark, and as he comes in, the song becomes clearer. It feels like an insulation – against the sledging, against the crowd noise, or, here at Lord’s, against the pregnant silence around each ball. Singing Pop’s song to myself, I could be at Pratten Park batting for Wests, I could be anywhere. It’s the home of cricket but I’m in my own world.
My Story Page 13