My future was being determined by factors beyond my control. I appreciated Ian apologising. I was filthy, I was feeling myself going into the familiar downhill spiral where everyone would be questioning my place in the Australian team.
In that Test, Murali Vijay scored a hundred and Sachin Tendulkar was at his unbelievable best. His bat looked like it was three bats wide. He toyed with Nathan Hauritz, who bowled to some good fields and plans, but Sachin played with his mind, hitting the ball to wherever the field wasn’t. Cheteshwar Pujara came in and batted well on debut, a real quality player. It looked like when the great players went, India had a strong list coming in behind them.
As usual, a spring tour of India was not the ideal preparation for a home summer, and we had an Ashes series coming up. In two Sheffield Shield matches, I had great difficulty adapting from slow to fast pitches, the pace and bounce. There was a lot of speculation about the Ashes team. It seemed that every summer now, my name was in the firing line. I hadn’t got any runs in the first Shield game and went to Melbourne for the second. Greg Chappell, who was on the national selection panel, made me very nervous. Every time I’d heard Greg talk, publicly or privately, it was how important youth was and how we had to look to the future. When he was coach of India, he’d done his best to phase out the older players and expose young players at international level. I fundamentally disagreed with this. I thought young players needed to be seasoned for years in first-class cricket, as I had been, with the only exceptions the bona fide freaks like Ricky Ponting or Michael Clarke – or, going back further, Greg Chappell himself. For the rest of us mortals, I believed in experience and earning your stripes.
But Greg was obviously extremely well respected, and, from what I heard, quite dominant in selection meetings. Before the Shield match in Melbourne, he came up to me and said, ‘Huss, there’s a lot of good young players around, but at the moment the position’s yours. They’ve got to take it off you.’ That felt good. I appreciated the vote of confidence. But then he got this look on his face and said, ‘But for goodness sake, can you please score some runs … and just bat normally?’
That undid everything. I thought, Thanks a lot, Greg, I’m trying.
In the first innings, I faced 18 or 20 balls for a duck and wandered off. I sat in the dressing room wondering what was going on. Meanwhile, a young Australia A team was playing England in Hobart. There was a lot of talk about who should be dropped to make way for the new players.
That night, I got on the phone to Amy.
‘What do you reckon?’ I said. ‘Do you think I can still do this? If you’ve lost faith in me, I’m not sure I can do it. Everyone else seems to have lost faith. Every commentator wants me to go. I feel like Greg wants me to go.’
Amy said that she believed 100 per cent that I could do it. It took a little while for me to really hear her, but it gave me a tremendous boost to know that at least there was one person who shared my hope that I was still a Test cricketer.
In our second innings, we lost a wicket in the first over and I was in, ten minutes before lunch. My first ball I wafted at, outside off stump. Then I edged one along the ground for four: not the most convincing start. During the break, I sat in the dressing room. The Australia A game was on TV right next to where I was sitting, and Michael Slater was commentating, saying, ‘It’s too late for Hussey, nothing short of three figures will save him, but I think he’s got to go.’
I thought, Stuff you, Michael Slater.
After lunch, the pitch was really good and I had one of those days when everything clicked. I punched one down the ground off Damien Wright, and once again, one good shot literally turned things around. I don’t know why. I hadn’t changed anything about my preparation or my technique. I stuck to my trusted routines, and this day it all fell into place. Marcus North was batting with me, and when I reached my hundred he raced down the pitch and was screaming for joy. I had no emotion. He said, ‘Get excited, you’re in the Test team!’ I took a deep breath. Just relief, and a bit of anger. There was still no guarantee I’d be selected.
They did select me, but it didn’t alleviate any of the pressure. It would all be on again if I made low scores in Brisbane. I was tense and negative. It seemed that every person in Australia didn’t want me in the Test team, not a good feeling going into an Ashes series.
The team were really good to me, very encouraging, almost proud of me after the pressure I’d been under. When we got together in Brisbane, we had a ritual of congratulating each other for being in the first Test team. Training was always good with the Australian team. We hit ball after ball at Allan Border field, and I felt I was hitting the ball well, despite what the whole world thought.
But it was the Ashes – it doesn’t matter how confident you’re feeling, you have to find a way of doing it in the middle.
I had a worrying conversation that week with Northy. All the pressure was on me, but he was very agitated about his place in the team. I said, ‘What are you worrying about? You’ve just made a hundred in India.’
He said, ‘Just give me two Tests, if I don’t score runs you can get rid of me.’
I said, ‘Why are you even thinking like this?’
He felt that if he wasn’t making a hundred, he was under pressure. And that had been the case throughout his career. His hundreds were frequently followed by failures. He tried to work very hard on it over the years. At Western Australia, he would peel off a magnificent hundred but then next innings, find himself marooned. He focused a lot on his nerves at the start of his innings. The more he focused on it and the harder he tried, the worse it became. He worked really hard with Sandy Gordon on mental skills in Perth, but in the end, it was about to desert him.
We got a great start, dismissing Strauss in the first over. The Gabba pitch was doing a bit on the first day, and all the bowlers did well, climaxing with Peter Siddle’s hat-trick. Getting England out for 260 put us ahead in the game, and our openers gave us a good start until we lost three quick wickets either side of lunch on the second day and I was in.
I was beside myself with nerves. My first ball, off Stephen Finn, I nicked and it dropped all of 5 centimetres short of second slip. That was all the difference it took between despair and euphoria.
Every single time I tapped my bat, I said, Stuff you, Michael Slater. It sort of gave me a calming rhythm and provided extra motivation to keep going. Hadds came in, and we got a stand going. When he was first in the Australian side, he got frustrated with my intensity in the middle. I would be worried about everything the bowlers were trying, while Hadds preferred to relax and tell jokes and keep each other entertained. By now, I was learning to go with him and have fun.
We batted for a whole day together, and put on 307 for the sixth wicket. That comment from Slats kept driving me on. When I got to 140, I was saying my personal mantra louder, to get it into the stump mikes. Every ball: Stuff you, Michael Slater.
He didn’t hear it, as far as I know, though I later told him he was a source of inspiration throughout that Test. I continued saying it throughout the series, as it certainly worked for me in Brisbane. I ended up making my highest Test score, 195 – six runs short of Jason Gillespie’s!
Leaving Brisbane’s Gabba after scoring 195 during the third day of the first Ashes Test match between Australia and England on 27 November 2010. (Photo by Tom Shaw/Getty Images)
We got into a commanding position, but the pitch didn’t really crack up and play any tricks. Instead, it flattened out and turned into a road. We knew it was going to be a hard graft getting England out, but Strauss, Cook and Trott showed their class and we didn’t even look like getting them out. As in Cardiff, it was a kick in the teeth that we couldn’t convert a dominant position and go one up in the series, but we put it down to the flatness of the pitch and moved to Adelaide in a positive frame of mind.
Adelaide is my favourite Test match in the calendar: the whole city comes out, there’s a great social atmosphere, and the pitch is a dre
am to bat on. Ricky won the toss, and I was thinking, Beautiful, if history’s any guide I won’t be batting before tea.
I found a spot in the dressing room to lie down on the floor. I set my pads up as pillows. I was all comfy, ready to watch the first session and chill out.
Fourth ball, Simon Katich and Shane Watson got confused between wickets again, and Kato was run out without facing a ball. I thought, That’s a shame, I’ll have to put my boots on. But Ricky was going out and the pitch was so good, I still thought I wouldn’t have to bat for a long time. We’ll be fine.
Next ball, Ricky nicked off to slip. All of a sudden, I was thinking, I’m next in. From a state of complacent relaxation, I was rushing around like a headless chook trying to get my gear on. I ran up to the viewing area. As soon as I got there, Pup was also out. A minute ago I was totally relaxed, lying on the floor to enjoy the game, and now suddenly I was walking on, and we were 3 for 2 off 2 overs and 1 ball. At least I hadn’t have time to get nervous.
Jimmy Anderson was bowling brilliantly. His improvement from four years previously had been extraordinary. In 2006–07, he couldn’t get the ball to move much and lacked discipline and confidence. Now he was the complete bowler. He was high in confidence, with great control and skill, and was moving the ball laterally both ways.
I tried to stick to my same plans and routines. A dose of luck helped. I went for a big drive and nicked it, but it landed just short of third slip. From there I got through that initial period, and it really was a beautiful batting pitch. Watto and Northy both made starts, but we couldn’t find that big partnership. Desperate to make a hundred, I worked my backside off all day, concentrating and building another stand with Hadds, before Graeme Swann bowled a fuller and wider ball late in the day that undid me. I tried to knock it to deep point, and it was the first one that really turned. I nicked it to slip.
Digging your team out of a mess gives you enormous satisfaction as a player. But my 93 had only done part of the job; the team required someone to get 150 or more. We got 245, probably half of what we needed.
England built up a huge lead, and we didn’t have the fortitude to fight it out and get a draw. Pup and I were doing our best late on the fourth afternoon, and he was very determined, amid a rare lean trot. In the last over of the day, he was out to Kevin Pietersen. Next morning, I was first to go. The loss was crushing.
There were some bad signs that we had to address quickly if we were going to get back into the series. The leadership called a team meeting, talking about addressing parts of our preparation. These were generic things. Our preparation was good. There seemed to be issues brewing beneath the surface. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It just felt like there were fractures within the team. It comes when things aren’t quite going right. People think the wrong decisions are being made, and don’t want to stand up and say it. I thought a social occasion might give us the chance to do that.
A lot of players had organised flights home that night after the match to get away from it all for a few days. I spoke up and said, ‘I don’t think we should go home tonight, I think we should relax together here, socially. It’s important when things have gone horribly wrong that we stick together and show our unity.’
But that was overruled. The other guys couldn’t wait to board flights and get home the same day. I was disappointed with that. We’d just lost a Test match. If we stayed together for a team dinner socially, it might have been an opportunity for players to get things off their chest and clear the air.
Only the West Australian contingent stayed overnight, plus Ryan Harris, who was catching up with family and friends in Adelaide, where he’d lived before moving to Queensland.
I had dinner with the other West Australians, Justin Langer and Marcus North. During dinner, while Northy was in the toilet I said to Justin they should stick with Marcus; he’d scored a hundred in Bangalore two Tests back.
Justin just looked at me and said, ‘He’s gone, mate.’
Maybe some of the leadership felt awkward, knowing Northy was about to be dropped, and that was why they didn’t insist on everyone staying in Adelaide. But in my view, that was another reason the boys should have stayed together. You never know when it’s going to be someone’s last Test match. Marcus’s last experience as a Test cricketer would be that we lost a match and the guys didn’t stick with him. Dinner with Justin Langer and Mike Hussey doesn’t quite cut it. I felt that the whole team should care for their mates.
We had another tough, green pitch in Perth, which was becoming the norm. We scored 268 in the first innings, in line with the trend in recent WACA Tests, and Hadds and I were among the runs again. I had the advantage of having played a lot of cricket there, but it was still an ordeal just to survive, and I had a slice or two of luck. Mitchell Johnson, who swung the bat late and top-scored, then got it completely right with the ball. I felt that it didn’t matter who was batting, they were going to get out. He was unstoppable. Ryan Harris was a good inclusion in those conditions, too, so relentless, never bowling a bad ball. After barely taking a wicket since the first day in Brisbane, we bowled England out for 187.
The pitch was still doing a bit when we batted again, but I was loving my cricket again and felt in control. A desperate situation improved my concentration, and with some of the other senior players out of touch I enjoyed the responsibility of being the man Australia was relying on. Watto made 95 and and I got to my hundred with Ryan Harris as my batting partner. He’s a champion bloke. What everyone likes about him is that he’s honest and will do everything for the team, 100 per cent every single time. He’s old school, without any airs and graces. When I got to my hundred, I said to him, ‘This is the best feeling of all, an Ashes hundred on your home ground.’
Our lead was more than 380, a big advantage on a pitch that was still playing up. But we had a few scars. England had batted so well in the first two Tests, for days without losing a wicket, and we had no illusions about how hard it would be to get them out. In the event, we went through them quickly. Ryan Harris was the star, with six wickets. As we walked off, he said, ‘You know how you said yesterday getting that hundred was the best feeling in the world? Well, I reckon getting five wickets and winning this Test is the best feeling in the world for me.’ It was a nice moment we had together.
The build-up to Boxing Day was huge. The Ashes were on the line. We were confident from Perth, but, in retrospect, maybe a bit over-confident. We talked about being aggressive and taking it to them. Maybe we didn’t pay attention to the little things. It seems odd that a team that had been outplayed in Adelaide and much of the Brisbane Test would be over-confident, but the overall mood had that instability to it: we were either down in the dumps or over the top. It wasn’t the calm confidence of earlier years.
There was some moisture in the MCG wicket but Ricky was always going to bat first and we thought we’d take England apart again. On the first morning, when the ball was moving around, we were horrendous, playing big shots and carrying on as if we could attack our way out of any situation. We were knocked over for 98. Even then, we were bubbling with that brittle, possibly false, confidence, and went out sure we were going to roll them. By stumps, they were 0/157.
It was a horrible feeling walking off like that after such a crucial day in the series. We’d been completely outplayed, to a degree where getting back into the Test match appeared more or less impossible. It was worse than depressing. At the hotel, Amy said, ‘I’ve never seen you so down after a day of cricket. You’ve got to lighten up and take the pressure off yourself.’
The next two days, it just got worse. Jonathan Trott never seemed rushed, relentlessly sticking to his game. The best teams in the world had experienced, hardened international players who knew their games inside and out. It was a lesson Australia didn’t seem to be learning. If you want to get rid of experienced players, you develop a soft culture and also a losing culture, because young players who don’t know their game can’t perform well on a co
nsistent basis. Even a freak like Ricky Ponting was inconsistent in his first five years of Test cricket. When you fill a team with players picked on potential talent, you’re up and down and riding your moods. England were the better team in that series because they had much more seasoning and therefore a steadiness under pressure.
Our batsmen all tried hard in the second innings, but England had the ball swinging whether it was new or old. It took us a long time to score runs because of the challenge of a moving ball. By the end of the third day, in a match of such high importance, we had capitulated.
We were devastated, because the Ashes were gone again. We’d let ourselves and the whole country down. During an Ashes series, everyone talks about how you’ve got to beat those Poms. The rivalry is unique. The thrill in winning in 2006–07 was the greatest I’d experienced, and the despair in 2010–11 was correspondingly low. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as miserable about cricket as I felt that week in Melbourne.
To make matters worse, we would be without our captain in Sydney. Ricky was copping a lot of criticism for his form, and then he had broken his finger catching Trott in the Perth Test. He only played in Melbourne because it was such a crucial Test, and fielded at mid-off. Every time he touched the ball he was getting lightning bolts of pain, for which he needed injections every session. By each meal break they’d worn off and he was in agony. He shouldn’t have played.
If anyone was getting more stick than Ricky, it was Michael Clarke – and now he was going to be Australian captain. The razor gang had moved from me to Ricky to Pup, and in his case, the tabloid media went after him with a mean, personal edge. I certainly believed he was one of our best batsmen, and knew his form would come back. But it was hard for him to become captain under those circumstances. He didn’t say much in the lead-up – just prepare well and give it our best shot. Then, when he walked out to bat on the first morning in Sydney, sections of his home crowd booed him. I didn’t hear it from inside the dressing room, but when I was told about it I thought it was really ordinary behaviour from a home crowd.
Underneath the Southern Cross Page 27
