I am not motivated by a sense of history, by which I mean I don’t bat for records. I’m not aware that when I pass 287, I’ve made the highest Test score on the SCG, but that’s a lovely thing to be able to say in my home town. I do know that Brian Lara’s world record Test score is 400, but that’s the furthest thing from my mind by the middle of the day. I’m thinking that, with Virender Sehwag, Rahul Dravid, Sachin Tendulkar and V.V.S. Laxman, India have incredible batting firepower, and the way this pitch has settled, they could do anything. We need to leave ourselves enough time to win the match even if India make a massive second-innings score. When Huss reaches his 150, that’s enough. Our lead is 468 and we have two and a half days remaining in the match.
It turns out that we don’t need that many runs or that much time: Ben Hilfenhaus leads a hard-working bowling unit, grinding the Indians down, and we keep their second innings to 400, to close out an innings win. I get a little icing on the cake by dismissing Tendulkar myself. It’s a great week. To look up in the stands and see Kyly and my family and friends clapping and cheering makes it even more special.
We follow up with a tour of the West Indies, where we retain the Frank Worrell Trophy. There’s a glitch in our plans when Brad Haddin has to leave the tour because of the illness of his young daughter Mia, who has been diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a cancer-like condition. Matthew Wade slips into his place straight away, though, and scores our only Test hundred in the Caribbean.
Everything seems to be sailing smoothly from my point of view. Being a selector is not something I enjoy all the time, because I feel that I’m doing the work full-time and yet only getting one vote out of five. The accountability I sought is not there.
I’m especially pleased with the way Mickey Arthur sees his role in selection meetings. He backs my preferences, even if they’re not his first choice. He sees his role as to provide a strong and stable voice but ultimately fall in alongside the captain. I feel that he reinforces me. Mickey’s great strength is his caring nature. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. But as we head into the next home season, 2012–13, I glean that when Mickey has to make the inevitable tough decisions, some of the players who find themselves on the wrong side of them begin to talk about him behind his back, and this steadily boils up. There is also a growing sense in the team that Mickey has his favourites, who manipulate him, and those outside this perceived circle fume along in the background. Something is building, but, because I am so fond of Mickey, I am slow to see it.
THE INNINGS
259 not out versus South Africa, Brisbane, 2012
Through the year of 2012, when I make 329 against India in Sydney and 210 against them in Adelaide, 259 not out against South Africa in Brisbane and 230 against them in Adelaide, I only use two bats in Test cricket. I’m a big fan of sticking by my favourite bat when it’s going well. I break a bat early in my triple-century in Sydney, but from then on I use the same bat for all of the remaining Test matches this year.
I use it in the Brisbane innings against South Africa, who I rate highly because they are the best pace attack in the world, bowling at us on a fast, bouncy pitch at a time when we are well behind in the match. The zone I’m in that year is hard to comprehend and impossible to reproduce. Facing Dale Steyn and blocking a ball that races past him for four – that’s when you know you’re batting at your peak.
None of these innings is without luck, but I am always trying to score runs, even when, in Brisbane, I come to the wicket with our team at three for 40 in reply to South Africa’s 450. The game has been slowed down due to the loss of the second day’s play to rain, but there’s no question that we are in a mini-crisis when I go out and join Ed Cowan.
The South Africans give us a torrid time with short balls and a bit of chat, but once we survive that tricky twilight session, Ed and I feel increasingly comfortable. I sense some psychological dominance – or, if not dominance, the clear message has gone out to the South African bowlers that if they bowl a bad ball, we will try to score off it. That puts the pressure back onto them.
The Gabba is such a beautiful place to bat: fast outfield, true pitch. The quicks feel quick, and the spinners get bounce. Adelaide, where I make the other two double-centuries that year, is my most productive ground in Test cricket, but the pitch there is a lot flatter than this. In Brisbane you have to bat really well to make runs, but it will reward you with full value for your shots.
This innings is the best example in my whole career of becoming aggressive to get myself into the game. I think, If I block, I’m a wicket waiting to happen. I have to change something. Put them under pressure. I’m not going to look at the scoreboard. Any bad ball, I have to make sure it goes for four. I hear that good-omen song in my head, ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’. People say when you’re at your best, you think nothing. I try to think something. If I leave it to nothing, a negative thought might creep in. So between balls, I’m talking to Eddie, on point, trying to anticipate what the South Africans will do next. Or I look around the ground and point out a lengthening beer snake, a beach ball getting caught by security, a fight between fans. I keep that mental traffic going.
I’m delighted to be at the other end when Eddie makes his maiden Test hundred. Ed and I have played a lot of cricket together, ever since we were juniors, and he has worked as hard as anyone to get to this level. He’s thrilled as well, and our 259-run partnership (followed by one of 228 with Mike Hussey, who makes another hundred) steers us safely past the South African total. It doesn’t result in a win, as that lost day cuts the match too short for us to force the issue, but I’m pleased that against the best fast bowling attack in the world, I’ve produced my best. It’s what I saw Punter do so often, and what I would like to make a hallmark of my captaincy.
16
THE SCAPEGOAT
For Mickey Arthur, the crunch comes during the 2012–13 home summer. A chain reaction of events, and alterations in the management structure of the Australian team, end up on Mickey’s doorstep.
In November 2012, after his two big innings against India kept the wolf from the door, Punter is struggling for runs. At 37 years of age, he becomes a target for relentless media pressure. After we draw our first two Test matches against South Africa at home, I get wind that John Inverarity wants to talk to Ricky in Perth, where we will be playing the series decider. John confides that the other selectors have made their minds up that Perth will be Ricky’s last Test match, whether he scores nought or a hundred.
I am shattered. Ricky has been in almost every Test and one-day international I have played in. I idolise him: how successful he has been, how competitive, how hard-working. In the two seasons since I’ve been captain, he has made it comfortable for me to have my predecessor around. Some people warned that it would be a tricky situation, but Punter has made it easy all the way. I still have a bad conscience about what a poor vice-captain I was to him, so I want to make up for that by being a good captain and looking after him.
It’s less than 12 months ago that he made those brilliant Test hundreds in Sydney and Adelaide. In my view, he is the second-best batsman, after Don Bradman, that our country has ever produced. I don’t believe in fairytales for myself, but I do for Ricky. I want him to play the summer, win in India and in England, and do his lap of honour at the SCG next year after we win the Ashes again. And I think Punter is still good enough to help us achieve all those things.
I put this to John. In our selection meeting, the senior figures are adamant that Punter has to go. I am so emotionally attached to Punter, I cannot be part of any decision to drop him. It wouldn’t matter anyway, as I am obviously going to be outvoted, and, as it happens, Punter independently comes to the realisation in Adelaide that he’s had enough.
Even then, I don’t give up. When we land in Perth, I try to talk him out of retiring. Next year, in India and England, we’re going to need his experience. But it’s to no avail. I can see in Ricky’s eyes that he has passed through to the
other side. In his mind, he has made the decision and is coming to terms with life after cricket.
I am in tears during the press conference in Perth where Ricky makes his decision public. I describe the upcoming Test with South Africa as our ‘grand final’, as we haven’t beaten them in a series in Australia since 2006. But that all pales into insignificance behind the retirement of Ricky Ponting. I can’t believe it. He has been the soul of the Australian cricket team for 17 years. How will we go on without him?
We play the Test match in Perth as if we’ve already had a limb amputated. In two sessions on the second day, Dale Steyn hammers us with the ball and Graeme Smith and Hashim Amla bury us with their bats. We surrender meekly, considering the stakes of this Test match, but the focus is less on our performance than on the nation’s farewell to Punter. It’s a terrible on-field performance, one that I have almost wiped from my memory.
Punter’s retirement is like the first tiny crack in an ice sheet. It looks fine on the surface for so long, and then suddenly it’s in pieces. As a captain, I’m like anyone else: my strength is that I’m always looking forward and outward, thinking about match tactics, wanting to drive on to the next practice session, the next match, waking up every day looking for ways for myself and my teammates to become better cricketers.
Because I’m not introspective, this can mean I skate over potential negatives. When someone is feeling down, I sometimes lack the patience or sensitivity for a session of soul-searching. I’m more likely to say, ‘Come on, let’s go out for a drink’, or ‘Let’s go and hit some balls.’ The end effect of this is that I’m unaware of how some players are growing unhappy during this summer.
We defeat Sri Lanka in Hobart, but then Watto and I both have fitness problems before the Melbourne Test match. He has a calf issue and I have a strained left hamstring. Before the game, there’s an agreement that he can bowl if used sparingly, and I give him the ball on Boxing Day. Three overs later, he’s broken down. It doesn’t affect the team’s performance – Watto and I, running like a pair of wounded soldiers, put on 194 on the second day – but there’s a mood of unease in the changing room that is at odds with a Test series victory.
The next shock comes from Mike Hussey. At the MCG, after the Test is finished, Huss tells Mickey and me that he’s had enough. The New Year’s Test in Sydney next week is going to be his swan song.
Unlike Punter, Huss is under no immediate pressure to score runs. He’s had another solid summer. But he is 37, six months younger than Punter, and dreads the pressure that bubbles up every time a player of his age has a couple of failures. He’s sick of that feeling: Are they going to drop me? Why is the press talking about my position again? We all know what that feels like. It’s a nasty, nasty feeling. He and his wife Amy also have four young children, and understandably he doesn’t want to leave his family for six months next year. I appreciate that he is going out on his own terms, and can see that he’s not asking for Mickey’s or my opinion. He has made his mind up.
It’s a massive loss. I look Huss in the eye and say, ‘Mate, if that’s what you want to do, you’ve been a great bloke to play with and you’ve had a great career. Thanks for everything you’ve done.’ But in my mind, I’m thinking, ‘This is a blow for India and the Ashes. How the hell are we going to replace Huss?’
In Sydney, things are further complicated. Huss is only retiring from Test cricket at this stage, while making himself available for the home one-day international series coming up against Sri Lanka and the West Indies. But John Inverarity says, ‘We’re not going to pick you for the one-day series, we have to look to the future, but we will give you a farewell game in Perth if you want it.’ I am not part of that decision at all, and am with Huss when John tells him during the Sydney Test match. I’m stunned into silence, and so is Huss. Neither of us can say anything. Finally, Huss decides that he doesn’t want to be a charity case, and retires from ODIs as well.
And then, to ice the cake, during the first innings of Huss’s farewell Test match, I run him out. It’s totally my fault, and when the decision comes down I’m on my haunches saying, ‘What have I done? What have I done?’ Huss is very good about it, laughing it off as he leaves the wicket, but I am so dirty at myself I can barely hear him.
As all of this is bubbling along during the SCG Test match, I don’t even spare a thought for the consequences of another decision I’ve made: another of my ill-fated Sydney parties.
Before the Melbourne Test match, before Huss’s announcement, I approached James Packer and asked him if the team could go out on Sydney Harbour on his boat, Seahorse, to celebrate the end of the Test summer. We have done this before, and it’s been an amazing night. He graciously consented, and said the boys’ partners were also welcome. Due to safety concerns and the number of very young children several of the players have, it’s agreed by management that it will be a no-children night. I have told the team, and those with children have gone about organising babysitters.
Our team manager, Gavin Dovey, who took over the role in 2011 from the long-serving Steve Bernard, sees the storm approaching before I’m aware of it. ‘I’m a bit worried about the night on the boat being the night of Huss’s last Test match,’ Gavin says to me. It doesn’t cross my mind that there is any problem. I have never been one for compulsory celebrations. The party on the boat will go ahead, but if anyone wants to opt out, they are entirely free to do so.
During the Sydney Test match, Huss invites friends and extended family members to Sydney, and Amy comes with their four kids. Gavin’s worries are borne out when Amy is adamant that if it’s a no-kids night on the boat, she will not come. Gavin and Huss’s manager, Neil Maxwell, try to talk Amy around, but to no avail. Meanwhile, Huss decides that he will stay with Amy, the kids and their family and friends. But he doesn’t want to cause a division in the team or any undue fuss, so he doesn’t let anybody know before the end of the game that he won’t be coming on the boat. I am unaware of the details of all these conversations, but Gavin updates me at the end of the game.
It’s all really nice in the dressing rooms: we win the match early on the fourth afternoon and have hours to have a drink together and sing the team song with Huss for the last time. Gavin Dovey and I organise for John Williamson to come in and sing ‘True Blue’ live. This is the signal for coming together to sing the team song. Huss says a few words, receives some gifts from the team, and hands over the songmaster’s job to Nathan Lyon.
Early in the evening, Gavin announces the plan that we will go back to the Quay West apartments and get changed, then walk down to the wharf at Circular Quay to meet the boat. Kyly and I go home to get ready, and travel from there to the wharf. It’s all good until we realise that, at the hotel, Huss has told some of the boys he won’t be coming on the boat. He’s happy to celebrate with his family at the hotel, and doesn’t want to interfere with the boys having a separate end-of-season party. He has told them that he would just like to retire with a minimum of fanfare, and a focus on his family.
The complications arise when the team gathers in the hotel lobby to leave for the cruise. When they hear that Huss is staying behind, Shane Watson and Peter Siddle say they want to stay with him. When I hear about this, I have no problem with that either. Watto is carrying an injury he picked up in Melbourne, has missed the Sydney Test, and probably wants to look after his body. Sidds is by this time a non-drinker, and would prefer a quieter night.
That’s all okay by me. I’ve always been the one to send out a text saying, Boys, we’re going out, if you want to come, meet downstairs at 6.30, if you don’t want to come, that’s fine. I have never believed in manufacturing team harmony through compulsory events. If you didn’t want to come, you would have a shit night anyway. If you wanted to come, you’d have a good night. It wasn’t complicated. Or it shouldn’t be.
So we go out on the boat, minus the Husseys, Watto and Sidds. We make a last-ditch effort to get them all to come, putting in some phone calls. But Huss
repeats, on phone, that he wants to be with Amy and the kids, and he has nothing but good wishes for our party. We have a good night, and the next morning Huss meets with Gavin Dovey and makes sure he will get the message out that he never intended to go on the boat and was happy with the way the night turned out. It’s really a small thing, a minor miscommunication.
How did it then blow up? Again?
A few days later, some outsider circulates an email telling a story about a team bust-up over the boat trip. This person seems to have an axe to grind with me, because the gist of the email is ‘Michael Clarke split the team by making them go on James Packer’s boat instead of celebrating Mike Hussey’s last Test match’. As with the Kato thing three years before, this story is built on pre-existing opinions about me. I am the eastern suburbs wanker with the high-rolling friends, while Huss is the salt-of-the-earth family man.
I’m not too bothered about that, because I know there was no conflict between Huss and me over the boat party. What does annoy me is that somebody outside the team knows details about our arrangements that can only have come from inside. The dots have been joined to create a completely false story – that I tried to use Cricket Australia powers to enforce mandatory attendance on the boat – but what concerns me more, at the time, is how any of it got into the hands of some malicious anonymous individual who obviously dislikes me. (Further investigations suggest that this person is an outsider to the team who barely even knows me.)
My Story Page 20