Test of Will

by Glenn McGrath

  The day had started strangely; I was in the swimming pool doing my usual preparation for the day, laps, when Jason Gillespie, Michael Clarke and Adam Gilchrist joined me, because the three of them wanted to stretch. That was unusual because I was normally in the pool on my own. While we were in the water, two ducks flew over the wall and landed in the pool with us—and yes, this is all true—and that was a bit unnerving because no cricketer wants to get too close to ducks on the day of a Test. They’re a bad omen. When Matthew Hayden opened for Australia and Queensland, he wouldn’t even allow his kids to have rubber duckies in the bath; but here we were, on the day of a Test, splashing water and trying to shoo the ducks off but they wouldn’t budge. They just looked at us as if we were madmen. The four of us were worried that the birds were a sign that we wouldn’t score a run between us, and we went back to our rooms to collect our gear, cursing the two unwelcome guests who had darkened our doorstep.

  The game was deep into the middle session of day three when Shane Warne was dismissed for ten. His was the eighth wicket to fall and that eighth wicket was my signal to get ready. I put my creams on, I kitted up in my protective gear, and when the ninth wicket fell I put my helmet on, only to see Adam Gilchrist dressed in his creams and in the throes of taping up his fingers; he was already getting ready to field! As I walked out to do my best for the team I grumbled, ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate!’ Then, after I’d made it to the middle, I looked towards the players’ viewing area at the Gabba—it’s hard to miss because it’s in the middle of the stand—and there wasn’t a teammate to be seen … I realised they were all getting ready to field by now. With no support I took centre, walked down the pitch and tapped my bat on certain spots, because that was what I had seen batsmen do. I proceeded to hit a few balls in the middle and it felt good. When I reached 11—as 11 was my playing number it was also my lucky number—I enjoyed some good fortune (for a change as a batsman) when Brendon McCullum dropped me and Mark Richardson spilled the very next ball. I made the most of my chance by hitting a few boundaries and I noticed with each run I scored, more of my teammates sat in the viewing area to watch. As I neared the half-century mark their cheers became louder and wilder.

  I scored 61 that day and there were some people who called it a fluke; they said I was lucky, but what those people didn’t realise was in the two months that led up to that match, I was sidelined by some spurs on my ankle from overbowling. They grew so large along my tendons that I needed surgery. The doctor removed one but decided to leave the other two, and when I returned to training the extra movement I had in my ankle caused one of the spurs to snap off, which meant a lengthy time away from playing. While I recovered I faced the bowling machine at the SCG nets and that meant, instead of facing a couple of hundred deliveries in an entire year as a member of the team, I faced 500 a week! It was amazing and, as you’d expect, I improved as a result of the extra work. My career high score of 61 against the Kiwis that day was the first innings after all of my hard work, and I was pumped. When I returned to the rooms I pointed out to Ricky that my Test batting average was six, and for me to go out and score 61 was akin to him, a great batsman who boasted an average of 50, hitting 500! He just shook his head.

  While I was far from a great batsman, some of my time at the crease—like that knock against the Kiwis—provided me with some of my career’s proudest moments. Oh, and there’s an interesting twist to the story about those two ducks that spooked Michael Clarke, Adam Gilchrist, Jason Gillespie and me when they decided to have a swim with us. They turned out to be more of a blessing than a curse because in that Test I hit the half-century that forced Mark Waugh to part with his cash; Pup finished with 141, Gilly 126 and ‘Dizzy’ Gillespie was so excited to hit a half-century he stole a scene from the Adam Sandler movie Happy Gilmore and rode his bat up and down the pitch like he was on a horse. It was apparently a celebration Dizzy had promised his mates in Adelaide he’d do if he ever scored a Test 50 and it was memorable! I had big raps on Pakistan’s Wasim Akram as a bowler-batsman but I always had a high opinion of Dizzy’s ability as a tail-ender. While Dizzy lacked the array of shots needed to be considered an all-rounder—although he scored 201 not out a few years later against Bangladesh when he was sent in as a nightwatchman—he had a tremendous defence and it allowed him to score runs.

  Whenever the team returned to that hotel for future matches, I always hoped when I went down to the swimming pool to do my laps that my feathered friends would join me for a dip. Sadly, just like the excitement that came from my half-century, that’s turned out to be a once-in-a-lifetime visit.

  THE END

  By the time my final Test came, my batting kit was a ragtag mess. I had one-and-a-half pairs of gloves—I lost one somewhere along my trails and didn’t bother to replace it—my pads were well worn and my one bat—some guys have half a dozen—looked as though it would be more useful as firewood. I’d scored 641 runs from 138 innings. I remained not out on 51 occasions, I averaged 7.36 and my strike rate was 40.82. And those stats ran through my mind in my farewell Test, when Ricky Ponting asked if I wanted to bat at No. 3. I thought better of it and said that unless I opened, I’d remain at No. 11.

  20

  TEN MAGIC MOMENTS

  The starting point of all achievement is desire.

  —Napoleon Hill, US author

  Before writing this book, I had never tried to pinpoint my ten best moments but I figure it is worthwhile to document them because they help reinforce my message that if you have self-belief and confidence, if you’re willing to make sacrifices and stay true to your goal, then there is a good chance your hard work and determination will be rewarded.

  I was blessed because I enjoyed more than my fair share of magic moments in cricket and to whittle them down to ten was a tough process. I needed to be brutal towards some fond memories to brush them aside in some instances. The starting point of these achievements was when I was a kid watching the Aussies get pummelled summer after summer by the West Indians, because I had the audacity to think that perhaps I could be the bloke who helped Australia turn the tide to become the world’s best team.

  Other people devoted their energies to becoming doctors or scientists or farmers, but for whatever reason, the thought of me opening the bowling for my country was what stuck in my head. As I’ve pointed out, that dream was challenged on quite a few occasions and there was also a lot of hurt along the way that came from being overlooked for teams. I’m sure that, unlike me, the great Dennis Lillee didn’t spend his first few years as a cricketer fielding in the deep among the cockatoos and galahs, waiting … praying … for the ball to be tossed to him.

  I used to roll my arms over and over again, but I think rather than pick up on my signal that I wanted to bowl, my old Backwater XI skipper must’ve thought I was pretending to be an out-of-control windmill, because I never got the ball. At the end of the day’s play I returned home and, dressed in my whites, I found myself back behind the machinery shed setting my imaginary fields. Now that I think of it, the idea that it was me against the world back then wasn’t all that far off the mark.

  You also need to help yourself. I joined the Rugby Union XI, and I remember having a chat with Brian Gainsford who was a highly respected country cricketer and whose daughter Melinda represented Australia at the Olympics and Commonwealth Games as a sprinter. I was 17 when we sat down and had a yarn one day after a game. It was at a time people were telling me I should play basketball—I’d played in a few representative basketball and tennis teams—but cricket was the game I was most devoted to.

  Brian put everything into perspective. He said the camaraderie cricket produced was worthwhile, but he added that while I had all the requirements needed to become a fast bowler, at that stage of my life my bowling was a bit erratic. He told me all I really needed was time and patience. That conversation was very important and it renewed my push to prove myself as a bowler. Brian selected me to play for Dubbo in the Country Cup match
that included Doug Walters, Mark Taylor, Greg Matthews and Mark Waugh, and by doing so put me on my path towards playing for Australia.

  While these ten moments are my personal highlights, it’s important to note that without the commitment, and in some cases the courage, of the blokes who I played alongside during those 14 years, much of what appears below would never have happened. I thank them. However, I hope while you read my moments, you can recognise that each of these highlights stems back to the time I was a kid on a sheep and wheat farm 500 kilometres away from Sydney, realising that if I was going to dream, it wouldn’t cost anyone any extra for me to dream big …

  1. TEST DEBUT VS NEW ZEALAND AT THE WACA (1993)

  I think he deserved his selection. He has a fantastic line, he’s fit, he’s angry and his selection was fairly predictable from where we stood. He’s got a bit of Sir Richard Hadlee about him …

  —NEW ZEALAND CAPTAIN, MARTIN CROWE

  It seems a lifetime ago but this match was my dream come true. I was given my spurs much quicker than I could ever have imagined when, after playing in only six first-class matches, I was picked because Merv Hughes, Jo Angel and Bruce Reid were injured. The other bowlers the selectors had in mind also didn’t perform as well as they wanted them to in the Sheffield Shield matches leading into the Test.

  I remember how my Sutherland and NSW coach Steve ‘Stumper’ Rixon treated the push for me to be named in the Test with some caution. Stumper described the call from the media as premature and he let them know it. I remember how he suggested I should be left to play another three or four games for New South Wales before being thrown into the deep end of the pool that is Test cricket. I was fortunate because in the lead-up to the First Test in Perth, I was given two shots at the Kiwis. I was given a crack at them for the Australian Institute of Sport XI and took 1–21 from my eight overs. When I played for New South Wales in Newcastle I took 2–30 from 15 overs, and one of my wickets was the mainstay of the New Zealand line-up, Martin Crowe. I bagged his wicket thanks to Michael Slater, who caught Crowe when he was on 15. The journalists at that game noted that I had good control over the ball; one reporter wrote I could land it on a five-cent piece, which I treated as a vote of confidence.

  There were a few people saying I would get the nod, because the most likely candidates were injured. However, I refused to get caught up in the hype because I thought if I dared to believe what was being written and said, it would only lead to a terrible disappointment if I missed out, so I treated it as a case of ‘whatever happens, happens’.

  I was sharing a unit with Phil Alley when the first of the phone calls came through to congratulate me, and our place must’ve looked like a nightclub when the Channel Nine news crew arrived to do an interview. The footage that appeared on television that night showed me having a celebratory sip of beer while the Queen song ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ was booming in the background—that was clearly Phil’s music choice.

  I was quietly confident I could do the job for Australia because I’d already played against the Kiwis and had held my own. My attitude allowed me to really enjoy the experience.

  Mark Greatbatch became my first Test wicket when I bowled a delivery that was a little bit short of a length, and when it went ever so slightly away from him he edged it through to Ian Healy. I remember thinking as he left the field that no matter what happened from that moment on, no one could take my first Test wicket away from me.

  By the end of the (drawn) Test my match figures were 3–142, and more importantly I realised playing international cricket wasn’t beyond me.

  2. 500TH TEST WICKET AT LORD’S (2005)

  I’m a failure. I tried to make a farmer out of my son and he became a great cricketer.

  —KEVIN MCGRATH AFTER HIS ELDEST SON TOOK HIS 500TH WICKET

  Halfway through my career, I sat down and set myself a goal. I decided the minimum number of wickets I wanted to finish Test cricket with was 500, but the circumstances in which I fulfilled that goal—at Lord’s of all places and during the opening Test of an Ashes tour—is what I still consider the closest thing possible to a cricketer’s fairytale. It was enhanced by having Jane and the kids, my mother, father and manager and good mate Warren Craig there to celebrate the day I became the first fast bowler in Test-cricket history to take 500 wickets.

  I finished the previous Test series against the Kiwis at Eden Park on 499 wickets and despite what some people suggested at the time, I wasn’t keeping the ‘big one’ for Lord’s because of the perceived prestige and memorabilia opportunities. I worked hard to try and get one of the last three New Zealand batsmen out in that Test in Auckland, because you don’t know what will happen in life and there was no guarantee I’d go on the tour to Lord’s. I could’ve injured myself or some other circumstance could’ve prevented me from playing, so I was keen to reach the milestone as soon as I could, but as hard as I tried, I was forced to wait a few months.

  The London bookies established English opener Marcus Trescothick as the red-hot favourite to become my 500th wicket, and they were paying $3.30 when he nicked the ball and I watched on excitedly as the delivery flew to Justin Langer at fourth slip. I held the ball aloft, like a batsman does his bat when he reaches a century, to acknowledge the generous applause from the English crowd. It was pleasing to have my family there, because the greatest sacrifice I made throughout my career wasn’t the training or even those times when I played with an injury. It was the amount of time I lost not being with them.

  A lot of people have asked if I dread the day when someone will take the record from me, but I don’t. It’s there to be taken, and I’d like to think I’ll congratulate the bowler who takes it from me with the same good grace as Courtney Walsh when I overtook him. Fast bowlers know what it takes to do the job and it can involve a lot of pain, a lot of frustration and hurt. I am in possession of the record but I’m not possessive of it …

  3. FINAL TEST AT THE SCG (2007)

  What a fairytale finish!

  —PRIME MINISTER JOHN HOWARD CELEBRATING MY LAST WICKET

  Shane Warne, Justin Langer and I had announced we would be retiring after the final Test of the 2006–07 Ashes series and I felt very fortunate that fate allowed me to bow out at my home ground in front of my family and friends so they could share in what I’ll always remember as five emotion-charged days.

  Ricky Ponting allowed me to lead the team onto the ground and that was a huge honour—I don’t think I ever felt prouder as a cricketer. I saw what it meant to Shane Warne when he did it in Melbourne for the Boxing Day Test and it was quite moving. I’m grateful Rick granted me the honour. The crowd was incredible—including some of my old sparring partners in the Barmy Army—and their reaction helped to turn it into a treasured event for all of us, including our coach John Buchanan, who was also stepping away from his role with the team.

  Something I liked about the way we approached that Test as a team was that it was business as usual. Coach Buchanan attacked England’s most dangerous batsman, Kevin Pietersen, by saying he was a ‘selfish player’, and a few of us saw that as his way to keep us switched on to the job. My approach to the game was always to leave nothing on the field and despite the emotion of that farewell Test, there was no danger I was going to change tack.

  On a personal level, I still can’t believe I took Jimmy Anderson’s wicket with my last ball in Test cricket … that’s what I call a cricket blessing, and the result of a generous skipper, because Rick told Warnie and me to bowl in tandem when England lost its ninth wicket. After a few close calls I decided to bowl around the wicket to Anderson. I used the final ball of my over to bowl a slower delivery, which he scooped to the safe hands of Mike Hussey. It ignited an explosion of emotion, and for all I know I was walking on air as I trooped around the SCG hand in hand with Holly and James to savour the moment.

  I was happy on quite a few fronts that afternoon—we’d won the match and the Ashes back; I took that last wicket; I’d been a part of a great
era of Australian cricket; but I was especially pleased that James and Holly were old enough to realise what was happening, because it’s become a memory for them.

  4. 8–38 VS ENGLAND AT LORD’S (1997)

  I still think you couldn’t bowl back then!

  —FAX SENT BY MY FIRST CAPTAIN, SHANE HORSBOROUGH, WHO DIDN’T GIVE ME A BOWL FOR THE BACKWATER XI

  Playing cricket at Lord’s is a unique experience, there’s no place like it anywhere else in the world because it’s steeped in tradition and that inspires you to think of the Ashes greats who’ve played there: W.G. Grace, Monty Noble, Fred Spofforth, Jack Hobbs, Harold Larwood. It’s very special and while I felt the same reverence as you do walking into a church, I think that feeling extends to the spectators in the outer ground. At every other venue in world cricket there’s a cacophony of noise when a bowler runs in for the first delivery, but at Lord’s the silence is deafening, and it shocked me. I recall how the hairs stood up on the back of my neck and they tingled as I took a big breath before launching into my run-up. I actually went to Lord’s the day before I played my first game there, because I didn’t want to get overwhelmed by the atmosphere or the history of the place while I was playing. I took my time, looked at the ground, sat down and got lost in the experience of it all, and I have no doubt that doing this helped calm my nerves when I was eventually tossed the ball.

  When I saw the honour boards in the visitor’s dressing room during that first visit, I wanted my name to join the first Aussie—a spin bowler named George Eugene Palmer who took 6–111 in the inaugural Test in 1884—on the bowler’s board. Like me, Palmer was the team’s pest who drove his teammates crazy with his practical jokes, so there was a bond and maybe old George looked favourably upon me in that match because I couldn’t do a thing wrong. I started my first Test spell at Lord’s with three wickets for two runs—Mark Butcher, Mike Atherton and Alec Stewart all fell cheaply from my opening 13 balls—and I remember thinking if ever there was a bowler’s paradise, Lord’s fitted the bill that particular day.