Largely thanks to that clear-the-air meeting, our performances in the West Indies picked up a little in the remaining games, but a combination of flat wickets and obdurate batting from the likes of Shivnarine Chanderpaul resulted in three draws to go with our defeat in the first Test. Thankfully, we had more success in the ODI series that followed, winning our first games of cricket of the whole winter, en route to a 3–2 series victory.
Despite a 2–0 Test series win against the same opposition in England at the beginning of the summer of 2009, in frigid conditions that were never likely to see the West Indies at their strongest, we approached the Ashes series that followed with more hope than expectation. There was a growing feeling that, while we might be on the right track as a side, this particular challenge might be coming a little too early.
By the time the Ashes series was about to start, I had become familiar with the increased interest and attention that is heaped upon an England captain whenever the old enemy are in town. As players, you have to deal with the phoney war, when ex-cricketers are all sticking in their twopenn’orth about the relative strengths of the sides. As captain, you are thrust into the limelight as never before. Anything you say about your side or the opposition is suddenly big news. On the one hand, it makes you feel pretty powerful, as if the full reach of your position is apparent for the first time; on the other, it makes you realise that there is a very fine line to be trodden. Playing the media game is a dangerous gamble. Partly because of our philosophy as a team, I tried to stay away from it as much as possible.
What I couldn’t get away from were the newspaper reports about Andrew Flintoff oversleeping and missing the bus during a pre-series bonding trip to visit Flanders Field in Belgium. It was just the sort of off-field distraction that we didn’t need when building up to an important series. The media loved it, especially as it bore some resemblance to the famous pedalo incident in the West Indies, and they were keen to get as much mileage out of it as possible. For the captain and the players, though, the last thing you want is to be justifying the team environment, as well as protocols on time-keeping and alcohol, especially when the new-found camaraderie in the ranks is still on shaky foundations.
Welcome to an Ashes series.
Although the off-field distractions were reaching fever pitch in the run-up to the series, I was at least comforted by my own form with the bat. In the six Tests that I had been in charge, I had managed to score three hundreds against the West Indies, as well as an ODI century on my return to the side after an absence of nearly two years. It was apparent that the captaincy was having a dramatic effect. Gone were the doubts about my place in the side, replaced by a new-found responsibility and determination to lead from the front. With more of my time focused on team issues, there was far less opportunity for introspection. There were more important fish to fry. There is no doubt that your mindset determines your performances far more than your technique or talent. The trick is in finding a way to control it, and somewhat fortuitously, the call to captain the side had transformed my game.
It was not enough, though, to prevent us finding ourselves in real danger in the first game of the Ashes series, held for the very first time in Cardiff, in July. After four days in which we were largely dominated by an Australian side that was renowned for starting strongly, we were in a precarious position on the final day. With two wickets down overnight, still 220 runs off making Australia bat again, our only hope of salvation lay in batting out the day to secure a draw. By the time we got to lunch, however, we were five wickets down, and with James Anderson and Monty Panesar as our last two batsmen, hardly renowned as batting superstars, Australia were realistically only three wickets away from victory.
Their progress was obstructed by Paul Collingwood’s brilliant six-hour vigil, with some vital assistance from Flintoff, Broad and Swann, but as the game entered its final hour, Australia only needed the wicket of either Anderson or Panesar to win the game.
Needless to say, in the dressing room confidence in our final pair was not sky-high. Andy Flower and I found a quiet area on the balcony to start discussing our reaction to the defeat and our path back into the series. Tired players were beginning to pack up their kit and think about getting home to loved ones. Whatever attention that remained on the game was more out of a completely irrational optimism than anything else.
Slowly, however, Panesar and Anderson started looking a little more certain at the wicket. The Australians were clearly getting rattled at their inability to finish things off, and as the time ticked by, a genuine sense of hope started to permeate the dressing room. No one was packing up kit now. In fact, everyone was rooted to their seats, unwilling and unable to move in case of tempting fate. Still the last pair held on.
With only a few minutes to go before the scheduled close, a buzz of excitement started to run through the lads. Someone suggested that we should try and waste as much time as possible to make sure that Australia couldn’t get in more overs than their allotted number. Although a little concerned that we might be complicating things a little unnecessarily, I asked our physio, Steve McCaig, to take out another pair of gloves for Anderson and pretend that he was needed to check out a mystery injury. At the end of the over, out he trotted to the middle, coming to the aid of two completely bemused batsmen, only to be told where to go in no uncertain terms by Ricky Ponting and the umpires. The whole incident caused a bit of a stir at the end of the game, and big Steve McCaig’s picture was all over the media the next day. Although he was no doubt a little embarrassed at being described as ‘portly’ and ‘hefty’ in the papers, he had done his bit for the team. Ironically, he is Australian.
As the clock ticked down to six o’clock and the conclusion of the game, the Australians were surrounding Anderson and Panesar, throwing everything they could muster in order to dismiss them. However, it was too late, and the final over, delivered by Nathan Hauritz, was beautifully negotiated by James Anderson. We had held out, but more importantly, we had done so with the sort of grit and determination that is only displayed by a true team. No disparate group of individuals could have managed to prevent a defeat in those circumstances.
If that wasn’t encouraging enough, I had heard that during practice on the day before the game, Matt Prior had stopped his net and walked over to admonish a supporter who was getting stuck into Monty Panesar’s batting ability. That was exactly what I was looking for from my team-mates: people who genuinely cared about each other and the team environment. I bet that particular supporter was feeling more than a little foolish on that Monday evening.
As has so often been the case in Test series I played in, if one team dominates a Test match yet doesn’t go on to win it, the momentum bizarrely sways towards the team that got out of jail. It doesn’t really make sense, as the side who made all the running in the match should be satisfied with the way they played. It seems, however, that the relief of getting away with it is a stronger emotion.
Certainly, in the build-up to the second Test at Lord’s, I could sense a greater hunger and urgency amongst the lads. There was a real determination to grab the series by the scruff of the neck, which was also helped by Andrew Flintoff’s announcement that he was going to retire from Test cricket at the end of the series. He desperately wanted to end his career on a high and it was always a bonus when Flintoff was straining every sinew to win a match for England. He could buoy the spirits like very few others.
In fact, the whole of the second Test match marked a clear turnaround in the confidence and belief of the two sides. Guided by my sense of responsibility and a determination to set the tone, I went out on the first morning and played the most assured innings of my England career. The 161 I scored that day, aided by some early wayward bowling from Mitchell Johnson, was one of those very rare occasions when I felt as if I was completely in the zone. There is nothing in cricket quite like scoring a century at Lord’s in an Ashes Test match. When you combine the unique atmosphere of the home of cricket with the e
qually special feeling you get playing in an Ashes Test match, you are left with a sporting environment that is without compare. Players, media, spectators, viewers and listeners are all captivated by the drama, and to be the central figure in that drama, feeling as though you have the opposition in the palm of your hand, is an experience that is genuinely like no other. I will be regaling my grandchildren with memories of that innings in years to come, but most importantly it shifted the momentum of the series back in our favour. Two solid bowling performances, including an epic spell from Flintoff on the last morning, were enough to complete a victory that no one would have anticipated a few days earlier, when we were hanging on by our fingertips in Cardiff.
To me, one of the things that demonstrate the hold the Ashes series has on our country is the importance attached to it by the many cricket-mad celebrities out there. For some reason, people who are famous in their own right in different fields, from politics to music and acting, work themselves into a frenzy around an Ashes series. There have been plenty of stories over the years about stars like Elton John following the England cricket team on tour and throwing lavish parties after Test wins. My own experiences with cricketing celebrities centre on two equally bizarre events.
During the 2005 series, when we were giving our all against the mighty Australian side including Shane Warne, Daniel Radcliffe, aka Harry Potter, was interviewed on television about the Ashes. He let the world know that he was having a recurring dream that I, Andrew Strauss, was chasing him with a cricket bat. Now, it is strange enough to be told that someone you don’t know is dreaming about you, but when the person in question is Harry Potter, the most famous wizard of modern times, it is all too much to compute. I suppose in some strange way I felt flattered.
The second event happened at Edgbaston before the third Test match of the 2009 Ashes series. During the pre-match press conference, I was asked by a particularly wily journalist whether I thought that the Australian cricket team had lost its aura – a hospital pass of a question for any England captain. To say no would be an admission that the Aussies still had a mental stranglehold over the English. That was not an option. To reply yes, though, would make it look as if I was arrogantly predicting the demise of Australian cricket, which was certain to be a fantastic motivator for a team that had inexplicably been defeated in the previous Test match. Struggling, I opted to say that they were still a very good team, but that there was no aura. Needless to say, the papers the next morning, the first of the Test match, were filled with ‘Strauss slams Aussie no-hopers/They have no aura’-type headlines.
During one of the many breaks in play during that rain-affected game, Kevin Pietersen invited Piers Morgan into the dressing room to have a chat with the team. He’d clearly seen the headlines.
‘I love what you are doing to the Aussie side, getting stuck into them like that,’ he said when introduced to me. ‘They hate it. They can give it but they can’t take it. I should know. I have worked with them all my life.’
I nodded in agreement, pretending that my comments had all been part of a great masterplan to combat the Australian psyche, rather than a pretty lame attempt to get myself out of a difficult line of questioning, and he seemed satisfied. Off went the Britain’s Got Talent judge, famed for his ability to say harsh comments to aspiring performers, impressed by my efforts to rile the opposition. If only he had known.
Regardless of ‘aura-gate’, we managed to continue our hold over Australia for the majority of that third Test match, but were unable to force a result because of the amount of time lost to rain. We headed to Leeds, therefore, in a particularly buoyant mood, knowing that we were only one victory away from winning the series and bringing the Ashes back home.
* * *
I made many mistakes as England captain, but two of my largest blunders occurred during the Headingley Test in 2009. Firstly, and most importantly, I encouraged the players during the preparation phase of the game to start thinking about the idea of lifting the little urn. My thinking was that having a tantalising goal at the end of the game would motivate the players to such an extent that it would elevate our performance. Phrases like ‘This is the time to realise our dreams’ were coming out of our pre-game team meeting and I was more than happy to go along with it. The first inkling that something might be wrong with this tactic came from Andy Flower on the afternoon before the game.
‘I don’t like the language that is being used in the dressing room,’ he commented with a worried expression on his face. ‘It feels like we are looking too far ahead, and not concentrating enough on the hard work that it is going to take for us to get there.’
I light-heartedly admonished him for being so negative, but deep down I was beginning to have my concerns as well. You hear stories all the time about golfers or athletes slipping up after allowing themselves to think about the result rather than the process. I was starting to hope rather than expect that the players would not fall into the trap.
Secondly, Matt Prior, so often the lynchpin in our side, went down with a back spasm with about forty-five minutes to go before the start of the game. He was writhing about in agony and it was clear that his participation in the game was in serious doubt. With only fifteen minutes left until the toss, Andy and I were rushing around everywhere, trying to locate Steve Davies, the back-up wicketkeeper, who was playing for Worcestershire somewhere, as well as trying to get our medical staff to sort out Prior’s back. By the time 10.30 came along, we still weren’t in a position to name a side and I had to ask Ricky Ponting if we could delay the toss. Thankfully, we had allowed the Australians to change their team after the toss at Edgbaston when Brad Haddin broke his finger in the warm-up, so Ponting was happy to agree.
After putting Prior on the spot, saying that he could only play if he guaranteed that he would be ready to keep wicket by lunchtime, we decided to select him and I went out for the delayed toss. Having had little time to think about what to do if we won, and mindful that we might be without a wicketkeeper for the first hour or two of the match, I elected to bat first on a wicket that tended to help the bowlers on the first morning. Shortly after lunch we were bowled out for 102 and the match was as good as over. By the end of the third day, we had succumbed to a humiliating innings and 80-run defeat. I was kicking myself for at least a week after that game for making such a hasty and poorly thought-out decision. At least the players had stopped thinking about holding the Ashes urn aloft and realised we had a real scrap on our hands at The Oval.
After we’d fallen to the Australian all-seam attack at Headingley, hurried instructions were sent to The Oval that the groundsman, Bill Gordon, should prepare a wicket that encouraged spin bowling. Some might say that preparing wickets to suit your bowling attack is against the spirit of the game, but to me that is what home advantage is all about. You don’t expect to see a seaming wicket in India, so why prepare a wicket in England to suit the opposition? In fact, for too long individual counties have been over-protective about the pitches their groundsmen produce for Test matches. Polite requests by the England set-up for a certain type of wicket have often been met with a frosty reception, or, as if to prove a point, a wicket specifically different from the one requested. More recently, though, the counties have recognised that their own fates are inextricably linked to the performance of the England cricket team and, with one or two exceptions, have been more willing to help.
In this instance, Surrey did us a huge favour by producing what looked like an old-fashioned ‘bunsen burner’ – a proper turning wicket. A second favour was delivered to us by Ricky Ponting when he chose not to select a front-line spinner in the Australian team, opting instead to stick with his four-pronged pace attack from Headingley, with the part-time spin of Marcus North to back them up. I was absolutely staggered when I read their team sheet, and after winning one of the most important tosses of my career, we set about making up for our mistakes in Headingley.
We were helped in that regard by one very important change
to our side. Ravi Bopara was dropped after a number of failures during the series, to be replaced by Jonathan Trott. Trott, who was brought up in South Africa and had done a long stint in county cricket, was a bit of a risky choice for the deciding Test match in an Ashes series. At the time, there were far more calls to bring back Marcus Trescothick or Mark Ramprakash than to select Trott. He had impressed, though, both in the manner in which he scored runs for Warwickshire and in his great consistency with the bat. One look at him playing Flintoff and Harmison in the nets was enough for me. This was a guy who could seriously play.
What only became apparent during the Test match was that he had incredible concentration to go along with his excellent technique. In the most important game that most of us were ever likely to play in, he got into his little bubble of concentration, scratched out his guard constantly and in the second innings produced a hundred of the very highest quality. It was a truly stunning debut.
I managed to get two fifties in the game and Stuart Broad, who had been under some media pressure, produced an inspired spell to blow away the Australians in the first innings, to leave us tantalisingly on the verge of victory on the final morning of the game.
‘I would like to ask the England captain, winner of the Compton-Miller medal for Man of the Series, to come forward and receive the Ashes urn.’
I walk up to the ceremonial stage and look at the most famous trophy in cricket. Behind me are my team-mates, who have overcome considerable odds to bring home the Ashes. It seems scarcely believable that we find ourselves in this position after everything that has happened with the team over the previous year. I swell with pride as I make my way to pick up the urn. I have managed to captain the side to Ashes glory while being named Man of the Series at the same time, but more than anything, I feel very fortunate to be sharing a stage with some unbelievable cricketers, all of whom have made massive sacrifices in time, effort and ego to get us here.
Driving Ambition - My Autobiography Page 18