Driving Ambition - My Autobiography

by Andrew Strauss

  I was far from immune from the malaise. In fact, my returns since the Australian Ashes tour had been mediocre at best. I was feeling more and more bogged down, as though it took all my mental energy just to get to 30. I kept getting out in the twenties and thirties, without going on to take advantage of doing the hard work. That was all right while we were winning Test matches, but in Dubai, when runs were in short supply for everyone, my form was much more of an issue. It is never fun going through a run of poor form. You are forced to deal with your own negative thoughts as well as increased scrutiny from the media. If you are also captain of the team and heading towards the back end of your career, it becomes extremely difficult.

  On top of the normal concerns about technique and mindset, I found myself having to confront far more weighty and less easily answered questions such as ‘Am I experiencing a gradual downward spiral as I get older?’ and ‘Am I still motivated enough to keep doing all of this?’ Doubts like that are destructive in the sense that the more you let them invade your mind, the more self-fulfilling they become.

  Throughout the winter of 2011–12, I was carrying too much of this mental baggage, not to mention the obvious captaincy issues that were arising as a result of the team losing Test matches.

  The tour to Sri Lanka in March 2012 offered us all a chance to shrug off our insecurities against spin and get back to winning ways. A two-Test tour was always going to be over in a flash, so we were under no illusions as to how important the first Test match would be.

  Far more thought and practice went into our pre-series preparation this time, in an effort to reconnect with the attitude that had been so successful for us in Australia the previous winter. Two warm-up games gave us two opportunities to win and thereby regain some confidence. In the end, adapting to the extreme humidity and heat was actually far more difficult than the opposition we faced in those warm-up games, but registering two victories was the perfect way to enter a series against a very good team in its home conditions.

  Galle, the location for the first Test match, still bears the scars from the devastating tsunami of 2004. Many of the seafront buildings lie derelict as a shocking reminder of the powerful surge from the sea that took so many lives along with it. The ground itself, guarded by a sixteenth-century Portuguese fort, was submerged by three metres of seawater and was rendered unplayable for three years after the event.

  Its reputation for being a haven for spin bowlers has not changed, though, and it would provide us with immediate feedback as to whether our work against spin was having any effect. Unfortunately, the answer we received was emphatic. We were defeated by 75 runs as Rangana Herath, the Sri Lankan left-arm spinner, took twelve wickets in the game. It was depressingly similar to our performances in Dubai. The only bright spot came from Jonathan Trott, who played patiently and diligently en route to a defiant century in the fourth innings. He demonstrated that if you just trust your method and remain patient, it is far from impossible to score runs in those conditions.

  Trott aside, we were reaching something of a crisis point. Since being crowned as world number one, we had promptly lost four Test matches in a row. While the environment seemed healthy, with players still sticking together and doing plenty of hard work, we had lost the most precious of sporting components, confidence. Our swagger and aura had deserted us, to be replaced by introspection and hesitation. There was only one way to rectify things and that was to dig extremely deep and find a way to win a game of cricket.

  The final Test against Sri Lanka saw a welcome return to form, both for the team and myself. In the lead-up, the attention of the media had once more focused on the embattled captain of the side. A couple of twenties in the first Test had done nothing to dispel the notion that my batting was in terminal decline. What started as a couple of whispers had spread to become the main talking point before the game: ‘Is Strauss reaching the end?’

  The fire in my belly told me the answer to that question. I still had plenty of fight left in me and I was determined to prove everyone wrong. I did, however, recognise the importance of the next match in Colombo. Five losses in a row would pose serious questions of any captain, especially if he was underperforming himself.

  Once again, the bowlers did an outstanding job in limiting Sri Lanka to two sub-300 scores, and on this occasion, the batsmen finally stood up and delivered. There were half-centuries for myself, Cook and Trott, while Kevin Pietersen shrugged off his own travails in the most emphatic of styles, scoring 151 in the first innings, followed by a blistering 42 not out in the second, as we chased another potentially difficult target of 94 to win.

  We had broken our subcontinental duck and everyone in the squad breathed a great sigh of relief. A series draw in Sri Lanka is no disgrace and the work that had been put in by everyone would surely bear more fruit in the future. In fact, I believe that the Test series win against India later in 2012 can be directly attributed to the excellent work put in by the players and the support staff over those tough months in Dubai and Sri Lanka.

  Although I experienced a brief moment of euphoria after the game, I must admit I was still deeply troubled. My half-century had done enough to keep the vultures at bay for the time being, but it was becoming increasingly clear to me that the combination of batting troubles, the constant demands of captaincy and the pressing need for the England team to be pushed forward were beginning to wear me down. I wasn’t enjoying my cricket any more. I felt as if I was just hanging on, both with my batting and as a captain. I still believed that the team wanted me in charge, but my enthusiasm for the job was beginning to wane.

  I made a silent vow to myself the evening after that second Test that I would not be hounded out by the press. If I went through another bout of poor form the next summer, then I would leave on my own terms. Perhaps I was haunted by the looks on the faces of Michael Vaughan and Nasser Hussain when they relinquished the role of England captain. They both looked completely spent, mentally and physically. I didn’t want to leave the England captaincy on those terms. Far better, in my mind, to go when people still wanted you than to overstay your welcome.

  When I looked at the schedule for the following summer, it struck me that the series against South Africa might be the perfect opportunity to bring down the curtain on my career. If we were able to win the series, and in doing so underline our pedigree as the world’s number-one team, then it would be the ideal time to wander off into the sunset. Lose and relinquish our crown, and it would be a good moment for a new leader to take the team forward.

  Having spent a great deal of time in the build-up to the 2012 summer ruminating about these big decisions, I decided to put them to bed for the time being. There was still a lot of difficult cricket ahead of us and as long as I was captain, I needed to go out and do my job. I had no way of knowing just how eventful the next six months were going to be.

  The great irony is that, after finally coming to some firm conclusions that the summer of 2012 would probably be my last, I proceeded to score centuries in both of the first two Test matches of the summer, against the West Indies. Perhaps I wasn’t trying quite so hard, or more likely it was merely down to the usual ebb and flow of cricketing form, but I must say that it was immensely satisfying to get to twenty and then twenty-one Test hundreds.

  I have to say that the reception I received at Lord’s when I registered my hundred was one of the real highlights of my career. The crowd rose to its feet and applauded for what seemed like an eternity. Then, just when things started to settle down, a second wave of applause and noise erupted.

  I never felt comfortable with the idea of announcing my retirement prior to my final game. I didn’t want the team to be distracted by the thought that for me the end was nigh. I suppose it meant that I never got a ceremonial send-off from English cricket supporters. I didn’t need one, though, because the reception I received that day at Lord’s told me all I needed to know. I got the impression that the crowd wanted to show their appreciation for what we had ac
hieved as a team as much as for my century, and that suited me fine. It will serve as a fitting tribute.

  Apart from my two centuries, the three-Test series against the West Indies was low on drama. As expected, we won the first two Tests, before continuous rain wiped out the final match. From that point on, though, my attention, along with that of Andy Flower, shifted towards a crisis that was developing between Kevin Pietersen and the ECB.

  I first saw Kevin Pietersen play cricket in a heated County Championship game between Middlesex and Nottinghamshire in 2001. A relative unknown at that stage, he scored a blistering 165 which really made everyone in our team take notice. This guy was seriously good. What also stood out that day was that here was someone who marched to a different tune from most cricketers.

  In an attempt to get under his skin, David Nash, the chirpy Middlesex wicketkeeper, knowing that Pietersen was South African, started calling him a ‘doos’. Literally the word means ‘box’ in Afrikaans, but it can have another, much more insulting meaning. Rather than just ignore Nash’s attempt to ruffle his feathers, Pietersen stopped the game mid-over, made his way to the square-leg umpire and protested, ‘Sorry, umpire, I can’t bat. The wicketkeeper has just called me a “doos”.’ The umpire, not sure what the word even meant, instructed Pietersen to get on with it, but the moment stuck with me both for Pietersen’s high level of confidence and his unwillingness to get bullied by anyone. He certainly achieved something that very few people have managed, before or since, and that is to get David Nash to shut up.

  I find it quite ironic that the word ‘doos’, so much a part of my first memory of Kevin Pietersen, was also allegedly one of the words that Pietersen used to describe me in his infamous text messages to the South African players in the summer of 2012. The game of cricket certainly goes around in circles.

  Over our time together in the England team, KP and I were never really close mates, but we were always on pretty good terms. I think that I understood him reasonably well, possibly because we both had South African roots, and his abrasive nature was far more understandable to a person who had spent a lot of time in the country. I think we both had a fairly high level of respect for each other’s games. I was constantly blown away by his incredible confidence in his ability and his insistence on taking the game to the opposition. I think, in return, he enjoyed the fact that I sometimes managed to take the shine off the ball before he got to go in. Either way, we always had some decent banter about the number of Test centuries we had scored. For a long time we were pretty much neck and neck.

  I also admired the way he had come back into the team after being deposed as captain in 2009. There is no doubt that the way his stint in charge of the England team ended was a significant assault to his ego, and he could easily have reacted far less graciously to the players, the management and me, his replacement as captain, than he did. He stayed professional, worked hard on his game and used his batting as a way to settle his score with the ECB. I do think, however, that his loyalty to English cricket, and the ECB in particular, was severely affected by the episode.

  Perhaps unsurprisingly, the simmering resentment came to the surface during the summer of 2012. For a while Kevin and his representatives had been trying to secure more time for him to play in the IPL. He had just signed a contract with the Delhi Daredevils, reputedly worth two million dollars (certainly not a bad salary for six weeks’ work in anyone’s language) and he was anxious to make the most of it.

  The ECB were unwilling – rightly in my opinion – to let any player either miss or not be properly prepared to play in a Test match in order to fulfil IPL obligations, and so an ugly stand-off ensued between Pietersen and the board, which was probably the backdrop to him suddenly retiring from ODI cricket shortly after the West Indies Test series.

  Even his retirement, though, caused trouble, as the conditions of our contracts did not allow a player to retire from ODI cricket but still play Twenty20 cricket. The board were concerned about players picking and choosing the juicy Twenty20 format above the less coveted fifty-over version. So Pietersen found himself pushed into a corner where, in order to retire from ODI cricket, he would have to forgo his opportunity to play in the World Twenty20 later in the summer. Given his history with the board, Pietersen decided that he would prefer to do that rather than back down.

  While all this was going on, I largely stayed out of the fight. I had to work with him on a day-to-day basis and I certainly felt that issues between Pietersen and the board should stay exactly that, between Pietersen and the board. Also, I was no longer ODI captain and was therefore less affected by his decision.

  I suppose my approach to managing Pietersen was always to let him be himself. His unusual temperament and style was what made him one of the best players I had ever seen and I didn’t want to stifle that. Of course, there had to be some boundaries set, as he had a habit of testing the waters. He was never happy merely to go along with the crowd. He wanted to be different and stand out. That was all well and good, in my opinion, as long as he was not directly interfering with or undermining our carefully cultivated team environment.

  My involvement in the Pietersen/ECB dispute started just before the start of the South African series in July. I had heard some troubling rumours that he might be preparing to separate himself completely from English cricket after a further attempt by his representatives to get the ECB to yield ground had come to nothing.

  At the PCA golf day at the Grove, a few days before the first Test, I took him to one side to ask what was going on. He explained how he was feeling and it was clear that he was far from happy. Some people at the event thought we were arguing in the courtyard of the clubhouse, but nothing was further from the truth. I was merely trying to advise him not to make any hasty decisions about his future. I suppose I challenged him to a certain extent to think about his legacy and the goals that he wanted to reach with the rest of his career. Unfortunately, before our conversation was fully over, we were interrupted and I left him with the words ‘Let’s finish this chat in the days leading up to the Test match.’

  Unfortunately the pre-series preparations got in the way of our continuing the conversation before the first Test match, at The Oval. I don’t know whether it would have made any difference if it had reached its conclusion, but it is fair to say that I did not know at the time quite how close to the edge he was.

  In any case, the England cricket team had other problems to deal with. Despite playing very well on the opening day of the Oval Test, in what was once again a battle for the number-one spot in the world rankings, we let things slip on the second morning to end up with a slightly substandard score of 385. In reply, South Africa wore down our bowlers on a flat, unresponsive wicket, registering a scarcely believable 637–2. On one of the very few occasions when our efforts to suffocate opposition teams completely backfired, Hashim Amla played magnificently to score an unbeaten triple century, and he was well supported by the two pillars of South African batting, Graeme Smith and Jacques Kallis. After that, the fatigue of spending two days in the field took its toll and we were unable to muster enough energy to hold out for a draw. South Africa had drawn first blood in the most emphatic style.

  In the lead-up to the second Test match, at Headingley, the KP issue reared its head once again. On the practice days, he seemed completely withdrawn, as though he was consciously distancing himself from the rest of the team, and on the first day of the game itself, while the rest of us were desperately trying to get back into the series, he seemed determined to let everyone in the ground know just how unhappy he was. As captain, I could not let it go and I called him into a back room to make it clear that his behaviour was unacceptable. I was completely shocked by his lack of contrition and his apparent hostility towards me. It felt as though he was almost deliberately trying to goad me into a confrontation. The whole thing seemed so strange. It was almost as if he was trying to engineer an excuse to turn his back on the team.

  Conscious that we sti
ll had a vitally important Test match to win, I asked a few of the senior players – Cook, Anderson and Prior – to go in and plead on behalf of his team-mates for him to re-engage in proceedings. To his credit, he did then come out and show far more energy in the field. What’s more, he later went out and played one of the most audacious innings I have ever seen from an English player. He pulverised the world’s best bowling attack en route to a brilliant 149. You can say what you want about Kevin Pietersen, but you can never doubt his immense ability with the bat in hand.

  Despite his hundred, I was still extremely concerned about what he had said to me, and by the fact that he pointedly did not wave his bat in the direction of the dressing room when he reached his hundred. It was clear that things were coming to a head.

  Given what had happened that week, I was unsurprised to hear from Rhian Evans, our media relations officer, that Kevin had given a bizarre and disturbing press conference following what was a thrilling drawn Test match. He had basically intimated that the next Test match was likely to be his last for England and that he was about to ‘make some decisions that are going to make me very happy’. What greatly puzzled me, though, was his comment that, ‘It’s tough being me, playing for England’, seemingly implying that he was being treated badly by his team-mates in the dressing room. For me, he had just crossed the line. He seemed to be at best destabilising and at worst undermining the carefully cultivated team environment.