The weather was horrendous for the game at Basin Reserve, the ‘Cake Tin’, icy cold and windy. The curator had put glue into the pitch to hold it together, which was something new. I lost the toss and New Zealand sent us in. Brilliant, I thought, I was going to bat first. I was happy walking off from the toss, but what I didn’t know, because the conditions had been so wet and the pitch was under cover, was that the glue hadn’t had time to dry properly.
The ball seamed all over the place and batting was extremely tough. Shane Bond, their excellent fast bowler, pushed the ball across the left-hander but could also bring it back in. His record against Australia was phenomenal. I made forty-odd in a long time, but just as I got out I could feel that the pitch was starting to get better. That glue must have been drying. Alarm bells went off in my head, and sure enough, the Kiwis’ top order came out and smashed us everywhere, a pretty horrible start to the series for us.
We wrote that game off because of the conditions, and went to Auckland for the second match. Mike Young, the American fielding coach with a baseball background, stood up to address the team at Eden Park. He’s a very passionate guy who loves to speak his mind, and he gave us a ‘Run through a brick wall’ pump-up speech. He said, ‘We’ve lost Brett Lee, he’s a great bowler, but which team can bring in the fastest motherf--er in the world?’ We all looked at Sean Tait and cheered. It was hilarious and put us all in a positive mood.
Batting first again, we made 4/336, which I definitely thought was a winning score. I made a hundred off 80 balls, which I guess showed that the captaincy wasn’t having a negative effect on my batting.
But while we were bowling, it soon felt like the little things were not going our way. Hoggy had Ross Taylor plumb lbw, but it was given not out. Then Taylor inside-edged one that grazed the stumps. Craig McMillan came out near the end, and we should have had him out for three but Phil Jaques dropped an outfield catch. Taylor made 117 and McMillan 52 off 30 balls, and they passed us with 8 balls to spare.
As it was happening, I was frustrated but philosophical. I was thinking, This is not quite going to plan, but don’t panic, think clearly. I made a field change and the first ball the bowler bowled was the complete opposite of the plan.
‘Er, mate, what happened?’
‘Sorry Huss, it was just a bad ball.’
I wasn’t the type to get angry or fired up. I saw that we’d tried our best, made some mistakes, but the other team had played well. That’s life, move on. So, when we sat down after the game, I didn’t say much more than that. Mike Young made another speech, a quieter one, and said, ‘Don’t worry boys, you’ve given your best.’ I said it was important for us to all meet as a team in the hotel bar and stay together.
The third match was at Hamilton, a small ground, and again we batted first in great conditions. Matthew Hayden batted well, but got to his hundred at slower than a run a ball, which I felt just wasn’t quite fast enough. As a stroke of serendipity, he got hit on the toe and broke it, and couldn’t run, so he started teeing off. His last 80-odd runs came in no time at all, and he ended up not out on 181 off 166 balls.
But the two earlier losses had made me anxious, and those of us in the middle order didn’t get going. In the 49th over I said to someone, ‘It’s not often you’ve got 330 on the board and think you really need one more big over.’ We got to 346, but I was still concerned.
This was alleviated when we got four early wickets. I thought, Yes, you beauty, at last! And there, at 4/41, my tranquillity ended. The New Zealanders clearly decided, Stuff it, we can’t win the match, let’s throw caution to the wind, we’ve already won the series, and things started going their way. McMillan blasted six after six after six. We tried bowling wide to him, and he still found the gap between two or three guys. The killer blow was when Brendan McCullum came in. In my mind he was the best finisher in world one-day cricket, and from ball one he started smacking us wherever he wanted. I had no clue how to stop the run flow.
I was obviously inexperienced as a captain at that level. Knowing what I know now, I would have done things differently. I tried to be very consultative, supporting the bowlers individually, but I went too far. If the bowler thought differently from me, I let him have his way.
The more New Zealand got away, the more I was second-guessing myself. The field was like a sieve, there were so many holes in it, and I was worried that if I put someone here they’d hit it there, and if I changed the field the bowler wouldn’t be happy. In retrospect, I would have gone with my gut instinct and imposed my plans on the bowlers’.
After that loss – on the third-last ball – I was definitely more disappointed and angry. Certainly John Buchanan was. We had now lost seven games in a row and were about to go to the World Cup. The press was saying we were no chance.
It was a disappointing tour and I was relieved to hand the reins back to Ricky and Gilly, but I did think I’d learnt a lot about captaincy. I found it flattering to be seen in a leadership light, and I am honoured to be able to say I was captain of Australia. I don’t know if that series had any effect on me being a chance to be captain in the future, but maybe it did, because I wasn’t considered again. We were without eight of our first-choice players, and I would have been disappointed if my captaincy credentials were being judged on that. Even our second-string team, without half a dozen first-choice players, almost beat New Zealand at home. If it was seen that I didn’t really want the captaincy, then that was incorrect too. I know if I’d been given the job full time, I would have done it well.
After New Zealand, I felt myself go into a bit of a lull. My first World Cup was coming up, but I probably needed a break. Amy was pregnant with our third child, and I was yearning for some quiet time at home. But we only had about a week and a half before I was on a plane to the Caribbean.
We had three preparation games at our base on the quiet island of St Vincent, and Ricky was very strict on us training properly to pull ourselves out of our trough. The schedule allowed for plenty of time between games, so he was urging us to study the opposition and develop plans for every player. Leading into our practice game against England, he said he wanted to treat it like a proper World Cup match. The English turned up pretty relaxed, and Ricky said, ‘We’re going to hit them hard and send a message to the rest of the teams about how hard we’re going to play.’ We went out there and hammered them into submission, and after the game he said, ‘That’s what I want. We’re here and we mean business.’
Our first three Cup games were in Basseterre, St Kitts, another small island away from the action. It felt like we were under the radar, which suited us. We got some confidence from beating Scotland and the Netherlands, but the third game, against South Africa, would show us where we were at.
It was a great game, it really was. Matty Hayden had won his opening spot back, and I’d never seen him in such a great place, mentally. He came to training and hit a thousand balls, then came back to the hotel and went snorkelling for hours, like he was on holidays. He loved being in the West Indies and it was reflected in his batting. In that match, Shaun Pollock came on and Haydos started walking down the pitch and smacking him back over his head. His 101 off 68 balls gave everyone else confidence. Ricky and Pup both made 90s, and we had an impressive 377.
But we all remembered Johannesburg, and Graeme Smith and AB De Villiers were giving us that feeling, the way they started. At 0/160 in the 21st over, Shane Watson turned the game with a great piece of fielding. He sprinted around the boundary, dived to save the four, picked up, threw it in flat and hard, and hit the wickets to run out De Villiers. Everything changed. Smith had to retire hurt with cramps, which surprised us as it wasn’t very hot, and we had the game in check after that.
The Super Eight phase went on for nearly a month, which posed a challenge to team discipline. People can go wayward in the West Indies with time on their hands, but Ricky made sure we planned our downtime well. We went out and enjoyed each other’s company, but left enough time to g
et our preparation right. We trained and planned in the lead-up, and then celebrated a win in style. It was all about picking the right time.
Western Australia’s Super 8 team at a pre-season competition in Queensland. Western Australia was the eventual winner.
My own batting was beginning to worry me. Most games, I only got in late to have a slog and get out. Mike Young said, ‘Keep doing the team thing, don’t worry about getting out.’ I tried to focus on that, but put pressure on myself when I did get a chance. Against the West Indies in Antigua, I had about 12 overs to bat, and chopped one on for nine. I was disappointed, and growing anxious, but we kept winning so I pushed my own worries under the surface.
We had some unsung heroes in that World Cup. Haydos and McGrath were the stars, and along with Punter were probably the best three players in the tournament. But Michael Clarke also batted really well, Andrew Symonds did brilliantly to come back from a career-threatening bicep injury, and Shaun Tait bowled at his career-best, coming in for Brett Lee. Nathan Bracken and Brad Hogg were phenomenal when we really needed wickets or tight bowling towards the death.
Simmo, as usual, gave us some lighter moments. A few of us had a little fad of writing a reminder word on the shoulder of our bats. For me it was ‘Clear mind ’, or ‘Watch the ball’. Gilly, who also did it, picked up Simmo’s bat and looked at the shoulder.
‘“SW”,’ Gilly read. ‘What does “SW” mean, Simmo?’
Simmo looked at him as if he was stupid and said: ‘Swing Hard.’
I had never been a part of a team that executed its plans so well throughout a whole tournament. It was probably the best cricket I’ve ever been involved in. The common goal was to win every single game and win the World Cup. No experiments, no rotations, no giving guys a go because they needed it. Just win the World Cup.
We won nine on the trot, but were really tense before playing South Africa at St Lucia. It was a semi-final, and for the first time it was do-or-die. There was talk about South Africa having choked in the past, and so we expected them to come at us very hard.
They batted first. It was a morning game, so there was a little bit of moisture in the pitch. They must have had a preconceived plan of aggression, because Smith got out cheaply swinging at Nathan Bracken, and then Jacques Kallis uncharacteristically charged down and tried to smack McGrath over the top. We were thinking, What’s he doing? We had them 5/27 in no time, before Herschelle Gibbs and Justin Kemp helped them rally to 149: a low score, but it was still a World Cup semi-final and I was very nervous, having had almost no time in the middle in two months. But our top order, again, made those fears redundant.
Sri Lanka would be playing us in the final in Barbados, and although I was thrilled to be there I was scared the selectors would leave me out. Fortunately, they kept faith.
It was a bizarre day, memorable for the circumstances almost as much as the result. The clouds kept rolling in before the match, and the locals told us they were bringing rain. I was convinced we wouldn’t be playing that day. Then, all of a sudden, we had about fifteen minutes’ notice to begin the match. Everything was helter-skelter: we were batting in the World Cup final, when we’d been picturing an afternoon of relaxing in our rooms.
Gilly looked amazing from the start. He blazed Chaminda Vaas’s first ball to Murali at mid-off. Murali was wringing his fingers as he threw the ball to Chaminda, who said, ‘I think we’re about to get Gillied.’
I’d been watching Gilly closely through the tournament and even though he had been finding ways to get out cheaply, he had been batting really well. We were hoping Haydos could do it one more time, but he was the one to get out first and Gilly went on an absolute blitz. It was so good to watch. Nothing feels quite like sitting there with your feet up watching an all-time great take your opponent apart. Sri Lanka turned to their superhero, Murali, and two balls in his first over went into the stands. We just wanted it to go on. Shivers, I thought, Gilly’s going to make a hundred in a World Cup final. I hope this isn’t a dream, I hope the alarm’s not about to ring and wake me up and we still have to play the match!
I wasn’t needed as we made 4/281 in our allotted 38 overs. Nathan Bracken got an early wicket for us, but all through the afternoon we couldn’t seem to blow the game away. We had the game under control, but Sanath Jayasuriya and Kumar Sangakkara both threatened. The pitch got slower and harder to score, the run rate was going up, and we took crucial wickets.
But then, the threat changed. It wasn’t Sri Lanka, but the weather again.
The light began to fade really quickly, as it does near the Equator. We weren’t worried about the result, but wanted to complete the match that day and start the celebrations.
Eventually, the umpires came together and said we had to go off for bad light. This set off a massive roar from the Australian supporters, and we were jumping all over each other. But Billy Bowden ran across and said, ‘Ricky, it’s not over, we have to come back tomorrow.’ Ricky just said, ‘No, that’s rubbish, Billy. It’s over.’
We were celebrating as we walked off, but were confused about the rule. Was the game over or not? The umpires were sticking to their guns. There had to be three more overs for an official completion, and if the light didn’t improve we would have to come back the next day. It was an absurd situation in everyone’s eyes except the officials’. To Mahela Jayawardene’s credit, he came in and said to the umpires and Ricky, ‘Let’s get this game over with tonight. If you guys bowl spinners we can get it done and dusted.’
So we walked out and bowled lollipops for three overs. Fielding at long-on, I was firing the crowd up. Then I looked back to the middle and thought, I can’t see a thing out there! If a ball gets hit towards me I’m going to look like a goose.
The game ended in the dark, and we were celebrating winning a World Cup a second time on the same day.
Something was always about to happen in the West Indies, though. Australian captains, from Steve Waugh to Ian Chappell, had had infamous run-ins with the local police, who liked to get involved in cricket matters, and later that night we had an incident when we went into the middle of the ground to sing the team song for a second time. Some of the Barbadian police were angry that we were staying to celebrate for so long. When we decided to go onto the field, they wanted to go home and said, ‘No, you guys will be arrested. Get off the ground.’ We had had a few drinks by then, and were determined to proceed to the wicket, and then we agreed we’d leave straight away.
The police weren’t having it. They said they were going to arrest Ricky and put him in jail. Hoggy jumped up over the crew and yelled, ‘You can’t arrest my captain! I’ll take you on!’ It was all quite humorous, but history had shown that they weren’t afraid to arrest an Australian skipper. Brute Bernard managed to calm things down, though; we sang the song in the middle of Kensington oval and continued well into the night back at the hotel.
James Packer had organised a boat outing for us the following day, and as Cricket Australia people were coming on, we had to assemble in the morning for a private but compulsory celebration. That was an absolutely brilliant day: we had access to jet skis and speedboats and so on. I personally stayed on a sun lounger for the entire day and did not move. I had one glass of champagne that kept getting filled up. I was spent. I had gone through the World Cup tired without realising it, pushing myself to train harder, worrying about not batting and then not scoring enough runs when I did, and growing over-intense. As I lay on that sun lounger, I realised that none of that mattered. It wasn’t about me. Nobody cared about my trials. I was just one part in a beautifully functioning machine. We had won the World Cup.
When we got home, the Australian fans gave us a brilliant parade in Martin Place in Sydney. Tired as I was, being able to reflect on the season – winning the Ashes and the World Cup, and captaining my country – I didn’t have much to complain about.
With Adam Gilchrist and Brad Hogg showing off our World Cup 2007 winning medals and rings on arrival
back home.
Things were about to change radically.
Amy and I had planned a family holiday to Fiji before our third baby was born, which was still about twelve weeks away. The day before we were due to leave, Amy had a little bit of bleeding. We weren’t too alarmed, but the doctor said, ‘You’d better get straight to hospital now.’
They suggested complete bed rest, but she could go home. Although we were obviously canning the Fiji trip, I didn’t twig to how serious it could be. Amy was a bit more scared, but didn’t let on to me.
Then, when we were at home, she had a massive haemorrhage. I thought the baby was gone, for sure. In the middle of the night I called the ambulance, we got our neighbour to look after Jasmin and William, and I was thinking the worst; there was just so much blood. In the hospital, they did a few tests on Amy and said the baby was okay but Amy would have to stay at the hospital and do nothing but rest. As she was only twenty-eight weeks into her pregnancy, they said the aim was to help her hang onto the baby as long as she could.
I went home, to take charge of Jasmin and William, which was a shock to the system. The World Cup celebration was a distant memory. For a week, I was racing to and from hospital to be with Amy, taking the kids here and there, being a sole parent. I did enjoy looking after the kids, but by 7pm every day I was falling asleep on the couch with dishes everywhere, washing to be hung out, mess everywhere. Just a taste of what Amy had to do every day, week after week, while I was away.
Underneath the Southern Cross Page 18
