Test of Will

by Glenn McGrath

  I’m a big believer in allowing James and Holly to make their own decisions (of course I watch them carefully), because I liked the fact that Mum and Dad never preached to us; they never demanded that we follow a certain path, be it in our education or sport or employment. They trusted us enough for us to make our own choices and when we did—such as my decision to relocate to Sydney to play grade cricket for Sutherland—they only offered support and encouragement. In an age where parents spoil their kids with gadgets and electronics, sometimes support and encouragement is all a child really needs and wants. I can’t thank Mum and Dad enough for their guidance and love, because it mattered.

  RODNEY MARSH

  Rodney Marsh is remembered as one of cricket’s great wicketkeepers and he also formed an incredible partnership with his fellow West Australian, Dennis Lillee, in Australia’s Test team during the 1970s and ’80s to take 95 Test dismissals between them. He finished his 14-year Test career with a record 355 dismissals, and my memories of watching him on the television were of an uncompromising keeper with great glove work and the acrobatic skills of an Olympic gymnast. While his place in Australian cricket is assured, he also had a massive impact on my career when we crossed paths during his days as head coach of the Australian Cricket Academy when it was based in Adelaide during the 1990s. He was a tough disciplinarian, a drill sergeant actually, and we heard stories about the lengths that Rod would take to reinforce that it was not a holiday camp, even though the Academy was based on the beach. One story was about a cadet who had a big night out; when Rod heard he’d decided to miss an early morning training session because he wanted to sleep in, Rod was said to have dragged the bloke to the beach—and I guess he would have to have been a batsman with that attitude—and made him run waist deep in the water in the middle of winter. Legend has it the boy stayed in the water until his lips turned blue. As for me, Rod could see that I thrived on the hard work and the environment at the Academy, and he took me under his wing. What I quickly realised about Rod was that if you were prepared to work hard, give it all you had, he respected you; however, if a player went down there with ‘attitude’, he shortened them up, hammered them.

  I consider myself lucky to have come under Rod’s guidance and I liked that everyone at the Academy had to have a job. When I asked why mine was doing repairs and gardening around the place, Rod explained it was due to simple logic. Rod figured that because I was from the country I’d be handy with tools! These days in my role as the head director of the MRF Pace Foundation I channel the basic fundamentals I learnt from Rod all those years ago: accountability, punctuality, responsibility. But in saying that, we’re men with different personalities. While I certainly deliver the message differently, I respect the impact he had on my career and the fact he’s given so much back to the sport.

  STEVE RIXON

  Steve was like Rod in that he was another old-school-style wicketkeeper who had a big influence on my career. He took no nonsense and demanded discipline. While Steve played an important role in my move to Sydney from Narromine, I didn’t have much to do with him until I made the NSW team and it was there that he reinforced Rod Marsh’s belief that hard work was the foundation for success. Steve worked us and one of his favourite drills was to hit ‘high balls’—catches that you have to sprint for. He did it until you couldn’t run anymore; it was his way of toughening us up mentally and physically. There were many times when I took a catch in the outfield—like the one I took off Shane Warne’s bowling in Adelaide in 2002, after running what seemed like 100 metres, to dismiss Michael Vaughan—and offered ‘Stumper’ a silent thanks for his torture sessions. Something I really liked about Steve was that in his successful stints as the coach of New South Wales he didn’t care about reputations; if you were a member of the national team playing Shield cricket after a series had ended, he demanded that you gave your best and that you showed pride in the baggy blue cap. That expectation did not bother me, I gave everything every time I played. However, there is a mental battle involved in coming down to first-class cricket, because the expectations on a bowler to tear through the opposition’s batting line-up or for a batsman to score a bundle of runs are quite incredible. I was very lucky to have both Rod and Steve guide me through the early days of my career, because they both let me know what was expected of me in order for me to succeed, and when I realised I had that in me I gained an incredible amount of confidence. I was also fortunate that I gained the understanding through them that the harder I worked, the more easily success would come. They gave me a great kickstart but the lessons I learned from them—to do the basics and to do them well—remained with me throughout my career. It was simplistic, but that was the beauty of cricket—and life—according to Steve and Rod. You don’t overcomplicate it with theory; you work to master the basics and do them well.

  ERROL ALCOTT

  Errol was someone I had complete trust in during our 11 years together in the Australian team. The physio and the fast bowler are destined to get to know one another because of the time that’s needed to tend the numerous injuries and pains ‘the art’ subjects the human body to. I was fortunate because in Errol I found someone I could confide in about anything, and I knew the matter would stay between us. An athlete needs to be able to have absolute trust in the team’s medical staff on so many fronts. For instance, in this age of drugs in sport you need to know if you’re taking a vitamin supplement that it does not contain an ingredient that could get you off side with the World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA); once Errol gave a supplement the all clear I didn’t even give it a second thought.

  For my part I was always upfront and honest with Errol about any problems or pains I had. I never held anything back because that wouldn’t have been fair on him—I realised hiding that kind of information wouldn’t have allowed him to do his job properly. It was also best to let him know what was wrong because over the years he proved himself to be something of a miracle worker. He made the sports medicine world sit up and take notice during the 2001 Ashes series when his around-the-clock work on Steve Waugh’s calf muscle—which had a hole in it the size of a 20-cent piece—defied all expectations. Rather than needing months to recuperate, Steve was not only back at the crease 19 days later but he scored a century. Errol worked a miracle for me when I rolled my ankle on a ball in the outfield during our warm-up for the Second Test of the 2005 Ashes series. I ruptured two ligaments outside of my ankle and tests revealed I suffered some bone damage as well. It was a terrible mess, but Errol put ice on it immediately and he worked on it around the clock with his aim being to break up the scar tissue and to remove the blood. Few gave me any chance of playing again that series, but seven days later I was marking out my run-up and it was all because of a bloke who was as much a trusted friend to me as he was the best physio in the business.

  WARREN CRAIG

  Warren has been my manager for 20 years and, while he was my best man when Sara and I were married, he sometimes jokes he’d have received less time for murder. Over the years I’ve put him in a few situations that have tested his patience, but he’s unflappable. It says a lot about him that when I know he’s on the case, I don’t need to worry. He is, as I say, my manager, but when I’m ever asked to describe my relationship with him, the first two words that come to mind are ‘great mate’. He’s been through thick and thin with me and there have been occasions when he’s needed to go beyond the call of duty. Warren played first grade for the old Sydney Cricket Club and for Fairfield as a wicketkeeper and early in our relationship the poor bloke must’ve wondered what on earth he’d signed on for when he was asked to pad up and face me in the nets at a park in Cronulla. I was returning from an injury and needed someone to bowl to; I can reveal Warren definitely earned his commission that afternoon!

  I have no doubt the cornerstone to Warren’s success as a manager is that he understands the game and has a good feel for people. While Tom Cruise’s celebrated character in the movie Jerry Maguire was a highly strung, fla
shy and over-the-top sports agent, Warren is cool, calm, collected and solid—and he’s also the third wicketkeeper who has had a big bearing on my life. When we first met he seemed to be like the Eliot Ness (of The Untouchables fame) of chartered accountants because he was up to his ears in a forensic examination of a ‘colourful’ Australian, but much to Warren’s frustration, the one paper he needed to nail his target proved elusive. He decided to become a sports agent in 1995. The management scene was much different to what it is these days when under-17s players are being courted by managers in the hope they might be cricket’s next big thing and the agent’s next cash cow. Warren simply went into the old Cricket NSW office and spoke to Neil Maxwell—the former NSW player who worked in the organisation at the time before going on to manage the likes of Brett Lee—and left his name and phone number for any player who was on the lookout for a manager. I’d returned from the West Indies and mentioned to ‘Maxy’ that I might need a manager, and he put us in touch. It’s been a great 20 years and I think the greatest testimony I can offer is that apart from being a trusted friend in all that time, Warren has never let me down.

  KEV CHEVELL

  When I retired from cricket, the greatest gift I could think to give my fitness instructor Kev Chevell was my baggy green cap, because it was from training with him in his gymnasium at Penrith in Sydney’s western suburbs that I became unbreakable in my body and mind. When I returned from the West Indies in 1995, it was painfully obvious to me, and many others, that my body was too light and would not withstand the many rigours of fast bowling. When I met Kev he put me on a path to galvanise my frame and toughen my mental strength, and I have no doubt that had we not crossed paths I would not have had the longevity or success I was able to enjoy. The only question he asked when I sought his help was how far I was prepared to go to be the best I could possibly be. He said the deal was sealed when I replied ‘Whatever it takes’, because he is only prepared to work with athletes willing to push themselves beyond their comfort zone. It opened a world of hurt to me and there were times when Kev pushed me so hard that I was physically ill. Kevin worked on the philosophy that he wanted to subject me to such a brutal training regime that nothing I encountered during a game, like the stifling subcontinental heat, could compare to it. I note the champion American swimmer Michael Phelps, who has won 18 Olympic gold medals, is coached by a man named Bob Bowman, who has a similar philosophy to Kev about the benefits of training tough.

  Kev’s training philosophies and principles were learned along the way and as I’ve said before he’s a big believer in the rowing machine; it’s his favourite tool of punishment, and he’s merciless. While he says it is no coincidence that rowers are considered the fittest of all athletes, he believes another benefit of the machine is it doesn’t have the bone-jarring impact of walking, running or jogging. As is the case with my other mentors, Kev doesn’t just give orders, he lives what he preaches—he trains every day—and commands great respect from me for that reason. I would never ask anyone to do something that I would not do myself, and Kev is certainly of that ilk. His training was based on common sense, and you should realise by now that what I appreciated was that, like Rod Marsh and Steve Rixon, his key to success was based on one requirement …

  Hard work.

  DENNIS LILLEE

  Even if I had never been picked to play cricket at a high level, Dennis would still have played an important role in my life because he was my childhood hero and in my mind’s eye I can still see the headband, the moustache, the classic run-up and the aggressive glare. Why wouldn’t any kid want to be like him? As a kid, Dennis inspired me to try to be the best I could possibly be. It was from watching him play for Australia that I was motivated to bowl at that battered old 44-gallon drum, because the way he played made me want to follow in his footsteps. As I ran in to bowl at that drum I could sometimes hear that famous ‘Lillee’ chant in my head—the one the crowds offered him as a tribute whenever he took the ball. I definitely gained a lot from watching him strut his stuff, because while Australia sometimes lost games he played in, I never saw him defeated. He was macho, brave and charismatic, and while he was also a showman, he definitely had substance, and something that’s helpful for any fast bowler: the great Dennis Lillee always seemed to have a trick up his sleeve. The more I think of it, the more I believe he could have passed as determination’s human form. He was pure class and still holds the title as my No. 1 bowler. I always thought that he left parts of himself on every ground he played at; such was the level of his commitment to the game.

  When I made it into the Australian team I learned that others shared my admiration for ‘D.K. Lillee’. When we formed the Fast Bowlers Cartel [FBC]—which was in response to the batsmen forming the Platinum Club, where membership involved drinking fancy coffees and cruising shopping arcades to buy clothes that were more about the label than taste and discussing the gossip column’s content—we of the FBC ate red meat, watched the footy and worked out ways to humble our foes. We also had a secret greeting, which was to run an index finger along the forehead, just as Dennis did when he wiped the sweat away before he bowled. I think all that salute proves is that a bloke never really grows up. I’m pleased to have formed a friendship with Dennis since the day he came to the Australian Cricket Academy to share the tricks of the trade. He’s a great bloke but I definitely can’t keep up with him … seriously. I don’t think he’s changed a lot since his playing days. I’ve learnt a lot from him over the last three years as head coach at the MRF Pace Foundation, and it’s through what I have learnt from him that I can now look at a bowler’s action and help them to improve upon it.

  BOB SIMPSON

  Bob is the forgotten hero of Australia’s rise to become World Cup winners (just one short year after he was appointed as the coach in 1986). He inherited a team that was regarded by its critics as young and soft, and they certainly did it tough because before beating New Zealand after ‘Simmo’s’ appointment, history notes the Aussies hadn’t won a Test series in two years. It wasn’t the first time Bob had answered an SOS from Cricket Australia. In 1977, when Kerry Packer’s World Series Cricket plundered the likes of Greg Chappell, Rod Marsh, Dennis Lillee, Max Walker, Rick McCosker, David Hookes and just about all of the hardheads from the establishment’s stable, Bob returned to the crease aged 41—and ten long years after he’d retired—to offer a young team, which contained no less than six debutants in the opening Test against a strong Indian outfit, with some much needed guidance. He topscored with 89 in the second innings of the First Test and by the time the series ended in a 3–2 triumph to Australia, Bob had hit two centuries and compiled over 500 runs.

  As the coach of Australia he certainly demanded a lot from his players, and I have no doubt Steve Rixon was influenced in his outlook as a coach by his time under Bob, because Simmo loved his fielding drills. He’d hit high catches and run the guys as hard as he possibly could, because apart from wanting us to do the basics and to do them well, he believed ‘catches win matches’ and that philosophy was proven to be correct on numerous occasions during my time in the Australian team’s system. He believed every player in the team needed to know their role in the side and that everyone should be proud to have their place in the structure that’s called a ‘team’. I found Bob was tremendous to talk to and he was happy to offer advice and insights about life on and off the field. It’s true to say that Bob had his detractors; all coaches do because they’re in a tough gig, and the great coaches will always make calls that some people won’t appreciate. Something I have respected about Bob is that he never doubted himself and he stuck to his beliefs. He formed the foundation for those who immediately followed him as coach—Geoff Marsh and John Buchanan—to build on what he’d established, and it resulted in a golden reign for the Australian team.

  THE CAPTAINS AND A MAN BORN TO BE KING

  Four people who had an important part in my cricket life were my four national skippers: Allan Border, Mark Taylor, Steve
Waugh, Ricky Ponting and the bloke called the ‘unofficial’ skipper, Shane Warne. They understood me and that allowed me to do my ‘thing’. Each of them were fine leaders, inspirational and skilful as players, but they were certainly their own men. While they each did things differently, they reinforced to me (and the other players they led) through their actions and words the basic importance of putting the team before everything (and everyone) else. Each of them oversaw a healthy team environment that allowed Australian cricket to prosper and ultimately set the standards that the rest of the world followed.

  Allan Border

  When I was selected for the Australian Test team I found myself pitchforked into what was a great environment in which players shared their thoughts and advice willingly. However, I was led to believe that in the years before I made my debut, Australia was more or less a team of individuals, and some players did not enjoy the success of others quite as much as they should have. I was blessed to have entered what was a happy and welcoming environment because it set the tone for the rest of my career and I attribute a lot of that team spirit to A.B. He may have been as tough as a boot nail and never gave an inch on the field, but after he took over the captaincy from Kim Hughes he introduced the principles you’d expect from a team of Aussies. While Border’s teams might not have had the players that Mark Taylor and Steve Waugh had at their disposal during their reign as skipper, there’s no doubt the team improved as a result of what Border established. Thirty years after he became skipper I think Border ought to be remembered as the architect of the culture that Steve Smith has inherited. The former fast and fiery bowler Rodney Hogg—who took 41 wickets against England in 1978–79—added what I consider an interesting story behind Allan taking over the captaincy. Hoggy is a sought-after speaker and I’ve heard him say that he fell just one vote short of being named captain. The prospect of Hoggy captaining Australia … now, that would have been very interesting.