Simmo had been playing the best cricket of his life, but I thought he’d come to a point where he was questioning why he was playing the game. He loved cricket and playing for Australia and the camaraderie in the team. When the last ball was bowled, he was always the first to be sitting on the Esky passing out beers and making people laugh. But the dynamics of the dressing room and culture of the team were changing. He also struggled with the fame side of things. He absolutely hated getting mobbed by young kids or people yelling out his name or wanting photos when he was going down to his corner shop. He was one of the most recognisable sportsmen in Australia at the time, which he didn’t find easy. He just wanted to go and play with his mates, which was why we loved him so much. But on top of all that, his familiar friends such as Gilly and Haydos were passing out of the team and he had to build new friendships with new players, a process that takes time, and he didn’t know if he had the energy for it when he was already questioning why he was playing the game. Still, he would be part of the Australian team’s plans for another year.
Michael was very similar to Andrew in a lot of ways, which was why they had loved each other’s company. But in 2008, their careers were headed in opposite directions. While Simmo was drifting away from international cricket, Pup was being groomed as the next Australian captain. As he hadn’t had a lot of leadership experience at lower levels – often this is the way with prodigies, as they’re usually the youngest player in a team – it was decided to expose him to the captaincy as soon as possible.
We played very well under him in Darwin. He showed himself to be a strong driver who was single-minded about how he wanted the team to play. My view was, you follow the captain. I had no qualms in following his direction. It wasn’t a lot different from what Ricky had been doing. I was quite excited about Pup’s determination to make the team better by covering more bases in how we prepared. It was a chance to get a little bit better. At my age, the opportunity to learn new ways and improve was exciting.
Ricky was back for the spring tour to India for a four-Test series. There was a lot of talk about how the teams would square up after what had happened in Australia, but I was very friendly with the Indian players I’d been with at CSK, and other Australians had similarly been teammates with Indian internationals in the IPL. Most of them weren’t interested in the Harbhajan controversy anyway, and when we got to India I didn’t feel any tension between the teams.
After two pretty ordinary Test series, against India and the West Indies, I was very nervous. But a hundred in the warm-up match in Hyderabad set me up well. In India, where the pitches are so dry and the noise, the smell and the behaviour of the ball through the air are so foreign, you need time at the crease. I had marathon net sessions and was extremely happy about those runs in the warm-up.
To get a hundred in the first Test in Bangalore, I was over the moon. I was thrilled to be out there when Ricky posted his ton, putting to bed some demons he’d had about playing in India. On his fourth Test tour, it was a great moment to prove his champion qualities. We controlled the match, but it was a kick in the guts that we couldn’t finish them off on the last day. Mitchell Johnson, Stuart Clark and Brett Lee tried very hard, but we were short in the spin department, with the all-rounders Michael Clarke and Cameron White doing the work, and we couldn’t get enough breakthroughs.
Celebrating a century during the second day of the first Test match between India and Australia at the M Chinnaswamy Stadium in Bangalore on 10 October 2008. (Photo by Dibyangshu Sarkar/AFP/Getty Images)
There was a momentum turnaround in that result. We’d played our best cricket and couldn’t penetrate, whereas India knew they hadn’t played well and still survived. Their big guns began to fire, and they batted first in Mohali, where Tendulkar passed Lara’s Test run record and Ganguly made a hundred. They absolutely pounded us. The pitch was very good and the outfield was fast, and I felt, Whoa, we’re in for a long couple of days. That was Peter Siddle’s first Test match, and he showed everyone what he was made of from the outset. He hit Gautam Gambhir on the head with his first ball, and got Sachin out for his first wicket. But that was the only excitement we had. We copped a thrashing, and were under pressure from there. In the third Test in Delhi we hung on by our fingernails to get a draw. The Indians are a great front-running team, whilst the way we played, we were not very good at being in a defensive frame of mind. They rattled up another 600 and we had to save the Test match. The pitch was turning and we showed a lot of character, particularly Pup, whose century brought him out of a mini-slump.
That brought the series down to the final Test at Nagpur, where a win would have us retain the Border-Gavaskar Trophy, which India hadn’t held since 2003–04. Disappointingly, as had been the case throughout the series, the stadium was less than half-full. I love experiencing overseas crowds – the bands, the whistling, the singing, the screams when a player like Sachin comes in – and was looking forward to that in India, but in that series it wasn’t loud at all.
Less than the usual spectator noise didn’t ease the tension one bit. We were having all sorts of trouble coping with the reverse swing of Ishant Sharma and especially Zaheer Khan. Waiting to bat, I was extremely nervous. I would go up to the analyst and ask, ‘Any reverse there?’
Almost invariably he would reply, ‘Nah, it’s doing nothing.’
But the thing was, when it looked like it was swinging a tiny bit on a TV monitor, when you got out there the truth was that it felt like it was bending around corners. I didn’t believe the analyst. When he said, ‘Maybe it’s doing a tiny bit,’ I peered at the monitors and saw terrifying late swing.
Batting at number four, it was easier if early wickets had fallen and I could face the new ball. In India, the new ball can come on nicely and not swing very much. Once it gets older, Sharma and Zaheer could get it reverse swinging very early.
The difference is marked. New-ball swing generally goes quite early, out of the bowler’s hand, and you’ve got time to adjust. When a ball is reverse swinging, it comes down the pitch dead straight and then darts either way, late and radical.
In Nagpur, I was in in the 18th over with Kato going very well at the other end. The Indians had been preparing the ball to reverse, by bowling cross-seam bouncers, throwing the ball hard into the rough and so on, to scuff one side as much as possible while working hard on the other to shine it up. One way of countering it is to watch the ball closely, because when it’s reversing you can really see the two different sides. My plan was to pick which way it would swing by watching it in the bowler’s hand as he ran in to bowl, and then wait, keeping my backlift low, and play late and straight.
But the Indians foiled this by hiding the ball as they ran in. Zaheer held it in his right hand, hidden, only switching it to his left hand while he was loading up, and still keeping it covered. So as he bowled, I had no idea which way it was going to swing.
When I went out, he was bowling and the ball was reversing. But also, the longer you’re there, the easier it becomes to adjust and counter it. The first half-hour is critical. I managed to get through that period quite comfortably, which gave me some confidence and had him taken out of the attack. I was able to thrive, as the outfield was so fast, all I had to do was time the ball and the runs came quickly; there was no need to strain to hit the ball too hard.
Kato and I had a long vigil, and his century was one of the best innings I saw him play. But after he got out, we were under pressure again, and on 90 I was out in the most distressing way. I pushed a ball from Harbhajan into the gap at cover, and Murali Vijay, fielding at silly point, knocked it down. I had just committed forward a fraction too far, and was out of my crease when he flicked it back. The third umpire took a long look before ruling me out. It was my first run-out in Test cricket and couldn’t have come at a worse time. I put it down with my most disappointing dismissals ever, as I had worked very hard all day, only to fall short of a hundred and get out at a crucial time in the game.
We were always chasing the game from that point, notwithstanding the amazing 12-wicket debut from Jason Krejza.
‘Krazy’ was a different kind of bowler, He was an attacking off-spinner, giving the ball plenty of air and putting a lot of revs on the ball. The Indians had our attack on toast, and saw this young spinner as a target. But that offered him opportunities. In both innings he was going at plenty of runs an over, but amongst it he was bowling absolute jaffas. The Indians kept smacking him around and then he’d knock one over. To take 12 wickets on debut, no matter how many runs he went for, was amazing. He was rapt to have the opportunity to play. People would argue later that we should have kept him longer because of the wickets he was taking, but Ricky was very concerned about the number of runs he was leaking. I felt he mainly gave up runs in Nagpur because of the mindset the Indian batsmen were in. But that said, in Australian conditions with less spin, he needed to work on his consistency. When there wasn’t rough or uneven bounce, batsmen were able to milk him without taking risks.
Krazy’s short stint was part of a long search for the next spinner. Since the retirements of Shane Warne and Stuart MacGill, we had been through about half a dozen spin bowlers. I just wanted us to identify someone who could do a good job. You’ll never replace a Warne or a MacGill. In my mind, we weren’t searching for that. We wanted someone to come on and keep it tight from one end, then come into the game and help us win when the pitch deteriorated. He needed to complement our pace attack. I thought Nathan Hauritz did a good job for a few years. He didn’t give much away and was quite penetrative on wearing pitches. I was quite a fan of his, but the selectors kept searching, chopping and changing, a bit impatient looking for a wicket-taking spinner. When they finally found Nathan Lyon, I was pleading for them to stick with him, because I thought he was the type of bowler we needed.
One thing that stood out, while we slid to defeat in Nagpur, was the confusion going through Haydos’s mind. He’d been batting well in the nets, but you don’t know what’s going on inside. After a lot of past success in India, he was battling this time. In Mohali he started by charging Zaheer in the first over of the second innings of the Test match. I thought, Why are you doing this? It was the first time I’d seen him showing the effects of pressure. He was always so confident and dominant and sure of himself, but this time he didn’t seem himself.
Coming home from that series felt like coming home from a military campaign. It was so mentally and physically draining, being behind the eight-ball in hot conditions. I’d lost a lot of weight, my face was drawn, and I was spent. But as soon as we got back, we had to race up to Brisbane to prepare for the first Test against New Zealand.
The practice pitches at the Gabba were whizzing all around us. At first we were saying to each other that we felt like how subcontinental teams must feel when they arrive in Brisbane, completely at sea against the bounce and pace. As well as not being attuned to the conditions, we were definitely jaded after India. That made for a good contest with New Zealand, who played at their best. We only prevailed thanks to a good team effort from the bowlers and some terrific batting from Pup, Kato and Hadds, who made his maiden Test century in Adelaide. I went out for pizza with him that night and he was excitedly reliving the highlights, asking me what my favourite shot of his was. It was great to see. If I’m batting with someone in that position, I love sharing it because I know how they feel. When Phil Jaques scored his first Test century, proving he belonged at that level, I was more nervous than if I’d been in the nineties myself.
I’m not surprised that a lot of run-outs happen when a batsman is in the nineties. Often he’s so desperate to get to three figures, he loses his head. Sometimes it’s his partner who gets over-keen. I was known as a good runner between wickets. I think the first ingredient for this was the sprint training Dad had given us when we were kids – it helps to be fast! The second ingredient is the experience to be able to judge a run. And the third ingredient is to tailor your running to your batting partner at the time. Most of the Australian batsmen of my era were excellent between wickets. Ricky was brilliant, with great awareness, and Michael Clarke and I had a great understanding. At the basis of that was trusting your partner’s call, whether you think it’s right or wrong. Run-outs occur mainly through indecision and one player not trusting the other’s call. If the other guy called, I would go, no questions asked. One in fifty you’ll get run out. If players watched the ball and made up their own mind on whether they would run, rather than trusting me, I’d get frustrated with them. I’d call an easy single and they’d send me back. You’ve got to act as a unit; anything else is a recipe for confusion.
I hadn’t been batting well against New Zealand, and the South Africans, who followed them to Australia, were considered a much stronger opponent. In the lead-up to the first Test in Perth, I fell into my bad habit of getting too intense, telling myself this was the series when the great players come to the fore. I put too much pressure on myself, hitting so many balls at practice that even Ricky came up and said, ‘Gee, you’ve hit some balls this week, make sure you save some runs for the middle.’ I hadn’t even realised. I was absolutely desperate to do well. It was no surprise, then, that I got out for a duck in the first innings to Dale Steyn, and then in the second innings I under-edged a pull onto my stumps off Makhaya Ntini.
We got on top in that Test when Mitch Johnson went bananas for a crazy hour and ended up with eight wickets. Hadds made 94 in our second innings and got us into a good position, but by the last innings the pitch had flattened out, South Africa batted brilliantly, and we didn’t ever look like defending what was a record target, which they chased down comfortably.
After the match, there was a lot of discussion about whether the selectors should persevere with the attacking Jason Krejza or replace him with Nathan Hauritz, who would probably keep it tighter. They went with Hauritz. We’ll never know if it was right or wrong, which is the unknowable that selectors have to live with and which makes it such a hard job.
I felt under selection pressure myself, not having made any meaningful runs in three home Tests. At 1–0 down, we were in a massive fight. We hadn’t lost a series at home for sixteen years, and we were now ranked below South Africa in the ICC standings, so they were entitled to favouritism.
It all hung on the Boxing Day Test in Melbourne, and I chose to have the worst Test match in my whole career. It was just a horror show from the word go. Ricky and Pup batted superbly in our first innings, while I went to let one go off Dale Steyn and it clipped the bottom of my bat. A little unlucky, but out for a duck nonetheless. After three years that were probably too good to be true, I was finding out what Test cricket was really about.
We made a good total of 394, and were in total control of the game when we reduced South Africa to 7/184. Then Paul Harris put on 67 with JP Duminy, which got me a bit worried, but that seemed like nothing when Duminy and Steyn batted together for more than 60 overs, adding 180 for the ninth wicket. Brett Lee broke down and the whole thing slipped through our fingers over by over.
During the partnership, I had my most embarrassing moment on a cricket field. Steyn took a big slog off Hauritz, and I got right underneath it. It was in the sun, so I shuffled this way and that to get it out of that line. The ball ended up landing 2 metres away from me. I was close to Bay 13, who gave me some stick, and it was replayed approximately one million times on the big screen.
For all that, Ricky showed his leadership qualities by remaining amazingly positive. I didn’t feel any negativity come in. We were well in the match. There was some frustration around Brett Lee’s breakdown, but he would have run in with barbed wire in his feet. We still felt right up for the contest when we finally batted again, trailing by 65.
We were 2/40 when I walked out to join Ricky, who was at his very best again. This was the time to show my worth. I might have made a lot of runs in my first three years in Test cricket, but I really did believe that I was only as good as my last innings,
and my head was full of doubts and demons. I heaped a nation’s worth of pressure on myself, but I felt like the puny thirteen-year-old again, not knowing where my next run was coming from, facing giant bowlers who easily had my measure.
On 2, I got a brute of a bouncer from Morne Morkel. It hit me on the head and flew to square leg. I couldn’t believe the South Africans were appealing at all, and then to my astonishment Aleem Dar gave me out caught. I was looking at Aleem as if to say, Surely you saw that that hit me on the head – and nothing else! Ricky was staring at him in utter disbelief, then staring at me, then staring back at Aleem.
Walking off, it all boiled up inside me, and in the dressing room I got really angry. I threw my helmet. What on earth have I done? Whose black cat have I stolen, what ladder have I walked under? Everything in this game was going against me. My confidence was at an all-time low. In the public spotlight, I feared that everyone was talking about what a failure I was.
Thanks to Ricky’s 99, we set them 183 to win, which we still thought we could defend. We had to win this Test match. We knew it would be hard for them batting last. If we set them 200 we could defend that. A couple of wickets would get us in there. But Binga couldn’t bowl, and Graeme Smith, Neil McKenzie and Hashim Amla showed why they were number one in the world.
I was distraught at the end of the game. South Africa had won their first series in Australia, which was hard to take. I’d had a nightmare. In cricket terms, I didn’t think life could get any worse.
The Sydney Test match was a big one for us. We came in feeling deflated. For me personally, I had to show a bit of mettle. In a long, drawn-out, tight Test match, I didn’t get a lot of runs, only 30 and 45 not out, but at least I could still compete with these guys. I wasn’t batting well, but they did have an outstanding attack and were difficult to score runs against.
Yet again, a Sydney Test came down to the wire, and the bowling of Peter Siddle and Mitchell Johnson was instrumental. Mitch bowling at Graeme Smith at the end, the South African captain battling on with a broken finger, will be etched on the memory of everyone who saw it. I was really thankful that we got over the line. But the dramas were only just beginning.
Underneath the Southern Cross Page 21
