MR CRICKET
MR CRICKET
Driven to Succeed
MICHAEL HUSSEY
with DAVID SYGALL
This edition published in 2008
First published in 2007 by
Hardie Grant Books
85 High Street
Prahran, Victoria 3181, Australia
www.hardiegrant.com.au
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers and copyright holders.
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Copyright © Michael Hussey & David Sygall 2007
Cataloguing-in-Publication data is available from the National Library of Australia.
Mr Cricket
ISBN 978 1 74066 542 1
Cover design by Nathan Hayward
Cover photography courtesy of Lee Griffith
Statistical information courtesy Ross Dundas
Text style by KinArt
Typeset by Cannon Typesetting
Diagram style by Pigs Might Fly Productions
Printed and bound in Australia by Trojan Press
Photography credits
Philip Brown , Pete Norton ,
Community Newspaper Group ,
West Australian Newspapers colour.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
To my wife Amy and our three wonderful children Jasmin,
William and Molly who continue to inspire me every day.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to sincerely thank David Sygall for working closely with me to compile this book. A mutual respect and friendship has been built up during the project. David’s writing skills and work ethic have been pivotal in producing a book that I am truly proud of.
My thanks also extends to John Buchanan, Steve Waugh, Ryan Campbell, Ian Kevan, Bob Carter, Trevor Hohns, Neil Maxwell, Sandy Gordon, Vic Smith, my Mum and Dad and my wife Amy for their contributions to the book, their kind words, honesty and for their views on me and my cricket.
I am also grateful to Ross Dundas for providing the statistics that appear in the book.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1 Baggy Blue to Baggy Green
Chapter 2 Building Confidence
Chapter 3 An Ideal Grounding
Chapter 4 Working with Different Personalities
Chapter 5 Mental Fatigue
Chapter 6 Preparation Is the Key
Chapter 7 Goalsetting
Chapter 8 No Guarantees
Chapter 9 What It’s All About
Chapter 10 New Horizons
Statistics
CHAPTER 1
BAGGY BLUE TO BAGGY
GREEN
This playing cricket caper was all Brad Michelson’s fault. Brad was my buddy at primary school in Perth and the day I went to watch him play for the Whitfords Cricket Club Under 10s was the day I started hassling my dad, Ted, to get me into a team. Dad obliged – he had no choice really – and the next season he registered me to play for the mighty Whitfords U12s.
I was anything but a team man back in those days. My only experience of cricket to that point had been trying to kill my brother, David, in the backyard. Sport was all about one-on-one competition for me, a survival of the fittest if you like, and the concept of helping out your teammates seemed pretty foreign.
So, when I got wind of Whitfords CC’s idea to award a club cap to players who scored 50 runs or took five wickets in a match, I decided that was my one and only aim in life. I had to win a baggy blue, to be recognised for my talents, to win respect and admiration from those around me, to be regarded as one of the elite players in the team. It didn’t matter how long it took, I just knew that I was going to get a club cap for an outstanding performance. It would be nice if the team won, too. But that was a secondary consideration.
After a few training sessions we had our first practice match and, according to the script I’d written in my mind, I scored 50. However, my joy was soon soured when I found out that, because it wasn’t a competition match, the knock wouldn’t count and I wouldn’t be presented with the coveted baggy blue. It was devastating and I was furious. But it didn’t sway me.
The following week we started the season with a two-day game, bowled first and rolled our unfortunate opponents for about 25 runs. Here was my chance and later in the day I managed to score an official 50. This time there was no denying me, the score was locked into the annals for all time and before play began the following Saturday the coach pulled us together and presented me with my very own Whitfords Cricket Club baggy blue cap. It was the proudest moment of my life to that point. Not bad, considering it was my very first game of club cricket.
Receiving my baggy blue cap.
It’s a little embarrassing today to admit that my recollection of that game was not about helping out my teammates, or even trying to win the game. It was simply about winning that baggy blue. Now, that might seem selfish. But it was really my first experience of having set out to achieve a particular goal – and reaching it. The lessons in teamsmanship and cooperative goalsetting would come only after I’d reached my primary goal of winning the club cap. Scoring a 50 and being presented the Whitfords baggy blue was my first genuine taste of success. And it meant the world to me.
Fast forward 20-odd years and I had a similar experience, if on a slightly larger scale. In late October 2005, a week before the Test series against the West Indies was to begin, my Western Australia teammate Justin Langer was injured during a game against Victoria at the Junction Oval when Gerard Denton got one to rear up into his ribs. All the WA Test guys were playing in that match and when it finished they went straight from Melbourne to Brisbane to prepare for the First Test.
Victory belongs to the most persevering.
I flew back to Perth with the rest of the WA team and, though I was hoping JL wasn’t too badly hurt, I did become a bit edgy about the prospect of getting a call-up. I put it to the back of my mind and the next day my wife, Amy, our first daughter Jasmin and I went to Cottesloe Beach for some breakfast and a walk. We were driving home afterwards when the phone rang. It was chairman of selectors Trevor Hohns. I nearly drove off the road.
‘Huss,’ he said, ‘We need you up in Brisbane on standby for Justin as quickly as possible. There’s a flight leaving for Brisbane in one hour. Do you think you can make it?’
‘Yep, no worries,’ I said, without even considering how tricky that might be.
Our peaceful and relaxing morning had been turned upside down. But it was certainly worth it. I got home as quickly as I could, packed my bags and rushed off.
It was quite a scene when I arrived at the airport. I was besieged by what seemed like a million cameramen, journalists and photographers. It was a bit intimidating but I was mostly calm because in my mind there were few expectations. I didn’t expect to be playing in the First Test. Rather, the overall sense was of relief that I was the one to be placed on standby. Phil Jaques had been scoring heavily for NSW and I thought at the time that he was regarded as the opener-in-waiting. It was great just to know that at that point in time I was the next cab off the rank.
Never let your fears get in the way of your dreams.
But perhaps my recollection of being cool, calm and collected was a little off the mark because, as I was lifting my bag onto the weigh-in counter – in front of what seemed like the world’s entire media and just as many onlookers – the bag split open and all my clothes fell out. Hello international cricket! It was extremely embarrassing. Things didn’t get much better when I reached the sanctuary of the plane. It was a very uncomfortable plane ride which I shared
with a guy who proceeded to get completely plastered on rum and coke and wouldn’t shut up for the entire flight. Nevertheless, little could dampen my joy at being called up to the national team.
When I arrived in Brisbane (probably smelling of rum, even though I hadn’t drunk any!) the boys were having a private team function at the hotel. Whatever trepidation I had was immediately brushed aside by their great welcome. Each one of them made me feel that I had achieved something really huge and, most importantly, that I deserved to be there.
But would I play? JL was high as a kite on painkillers and kept telling me he was a certainty to take his place.
‘There’s no way I’ll be missing this Test, Huss,’ he slurred more than once. ‘There’s really no use you being here.’
Anxious to find out if he was right or if it was just the drugs talking I sought out Errol Alcott, the team’s physiotherapist, who told me he thought Justin had no chance at all of playing. As soon as I heard that I thought ‘Whoah!’. It was the first time I thought I might actually be playing in a Test match.
At training the next day I watched Justin like a hawk, trying to pick up on any grimace or sign of pain or weakness. Much to my surprise he got through training without any apparent problem at all. In fact, he batted beautifully in the nets, as well as ever, and my heart sank. Again I felt those terrible thoughts of being so close, yet so far. When would another chance come along? Would I ever get to play for Australia? I had waited so long and spent so many years thinking my opportunity might never come.
I was listed to have my net practice just after Justin and, as I walked past him, he came straight up to me, looked me in the eye and said simply: ‘Huss, I’m out. You’re in. And, good luck.’
I went completely numb. Honestly, I could not remember the first five or 10 balls I faced in the nets. After a short while I got a grip on things and thought to myself, ‘Come on, Huss. You’re playing in a Test match for Australia. Start preparing!’ My mind switched into gear and I started preparing in the same way I had for any of the hundreds of matches I’d played over the years. Pretty soon, though, the magnitude of what lay ahead started to sink in.
The media found out straight away that I was going to play instead of JL and consequently I had a million interviews to do that afternoon. I got back to my hotel room in a complete daze. My head was everywhere; it felt like I was completely disconnected from reality. It was a very weird sensation.
The day before the Test I had a light hit, checked all my gear, made sure everything was ready and took it easy for the rest of the day. Still, I wasn’t totally settled which made it extremely difficult to concentrate on what I had to do to be ready for the big day.
I had quite a poor sleep that night, tossing and turning. My family and close friends had rushed over to Brisbane as quickly as they could. Everything was happening a little too fast which made it hard to be able to properly assess what was going on around me. Nevertheless, on the way to the ground on the morning of the match I felt relatively relaxed and comfortable.
The great Bill Brown presented me with my cap, which was a special moment, as it signified the end point of my journey from baggy blue to baggy green. I felt that the guys were truly happy for me. They all shook my hand after Bill gave me the cap and there was a genuine sense of comradeship among us. These guys, more than anyone, knew how much work it took to get to this point.
From baggy blue to baggy green.
I went through my normal warm-up and everything was on track. But when Ricky Ponting won the toss and told us we were batting first, I started to go downhill. Fast. The nerves swept through me straight away and butterflies started whizzing around in my stomach. It became a hundred times worse when we did the national anthem, which was literally five minutes before I was supposed to face my first ball in Test cricket. The anthem finished and Matthew Hayden and I, with pads already on, had to run off to grab our gloves and bats. I honestly could not feel my legs! It was terrible! I was sure I’d fall over and make a complete fool of myself before I’d even faced a ball.
There were few words spoken in the dressing room before we went out to bat. Few that I can recall, anyway. But there was one conversation I will never forget. Shane Warne, relieving himself in the bathroom, in his undies, having a cigarette, called me over.
‘Huss,’ Warney said. ‘You know, you don’t have to prove anything to us. We all know that you deserve to be here and we want you to go out there and play your way. Be yourself.’
It was amazing to hear that from him because, well, he’s Warney, but also because he was probably the only guy in the team who made me nervous. We’d had a couple of run-ins playing state cricket over the years and I was a bit tentative around him and his incredible aura. For him to say that just before I went out to bat really meant a lot. Not that it helped calm my nerves …
Haydos said he would take the first ball and I agreed to take the first ball of the second innings. I hoped that would tame things a little but I still had no feeling in my legs as we walked out to start the match. It only got worse when Matty got an early single and I found myself on strike.
The West Indies fast bowler Fidel Edwards was at the top of his mark, readying to try to blast one through me and leave my debut in tatters. Very inconveniently, this was the moment when my brain decided to start playing a slideshow of flashbacks. I’d been through so much, been on such an incredible journey to get to this point, of facing a ball in Test cricket. I started thinking about trying to beat my brother in the backyard and my dad standing there watching us. I remembered being presented my baggy blue cap for Whitfords, wearing my daggy shorts and socks pulled up to my knees. I remembered playing my first A-Grade game for Wanneroo and all the work I’d done with my wonderful batting coach, Ian Kevan, to whom I will always be grateful. I remembered how inferior I felt batting with the genius Damien Martyn, who was the Wanneroo captain, and all I’d been through with WA. I thought about the many times I felt like giving up, seemingly destined to never make it to the top level.
The logical part of my brain tried to interrupt these thoughts. I needed to ensure that I didn’t allow emotion to sabotage the extremely important task at hand. ‘Huss!’ I yelled in my own mind. ‘You’re playing in a Test match! Concentrate on what’s happening now!’
But nothing could stop it. I started thinking about the overwhelming disappointment of being dropped from the WA team and how it prompted me to write a heartfelt, if a little embarrassing, letter to Steve Waugh asking him to share with me the secrets of mental toughness. I thought about how proud I was for somehow managing to work my way back and reaching this moment. Can you imagine those thoughts going through your head as a West Indies fast bowler comes tearing in to bowl at you in front of millions of people watching on television?
I was getting deeply emotional and started to choke up. My eyes became a little teary and I thought, ‘For goodness sake, you can’t start crying before your first ball in Test cricket!’ I managed to put my feelings aside just as Fidel delivered and, thankfully, it was a big bouncer that sailed over my head. It was a moment of great relief as no one could take away the fact that I’d done it: I had represented my country in Test cricket.
One mark had been achieved. But immediately the next task became apparent: How would I get off the mark? It was the same quandary I used to face in my early A-Grade games, when I was so flimsy and weak that I could hardly hit the ball off the square. How? Where? Will I ever score a run? It took me a while, but after 20 minutes or so I managed to push one to midwicket for a hesitant single, which felt amazing. This Test cricket thing isn’t so hard, I thought. You know what? I really do belong! I really can mix it with the best! So, what did I do? Got a short one, went for a pull shot, hit it straight up in the air and got out.
Since that surreal day at the Gabba my international career has moved along very nicely. I’ve performed as well I could have ever imagined and represented my country with great pride. I’ve scored centuries, was na
med the international limited-overs player of the year, was part of the team that won back the Ashes and defended the World Cup in stunning style. But as each goal was reached, one thing continued to irk me: the feeling that too much is never enough, that complete satisfaction is impossible to reach. There’s always something more on offer, more to achieve, more goals to attain. It made me wonder whether I could ever say with certainty, ‘I am successful.’ Surely there must be a level of achievement at which one can be completely content.
You might think that, for a cricketer, there can be no greater sense of achievement than being selected to play for Australia. Getting my baggy green cap was, of course, a great moment and one in which I felt as though I had made it and could now define myself as ‘successful’. But my goals changed from the moment I got out playing that silly pull shot and suddenly it wasn’t just about getting a baggy green; it was about becoming successful in the baggy green. When I scored my first hundred I again felt incredibly good. But, sure enough, my goals shifted and I wanted more. A Test ton was fantastic. But how about another one? Surely this cycle couldn’t go on forever?
MICHAEL HUSSEY
TEST CRICKET CENTURIES
Hobart, Test 2 v West Indies
I thought this would be my last Test as Justin Langer was to return from injury in the third Test.
We bowled the Windies out for 149 on a brilliant batting pitch at Bellerive. Matty Hayden and I started pretty slowly but then began to build a good partnership. I really enjoyed the innings and could not believe it when I brought up my hundred with a fine leg glance off Fidel Edwards. My reaction was one of pure emotion and I get very embarrassed every time it is replayed on television. Scoring that hundred proved to me that I was good enough to play Test cricket.
Adelaide, Test 3 v West Indies
Even though Justin Langer returned to the team, I was retained to bat in the middle order. Batting at number five was very foreign to me as I had almost always been an opener. I tried to relax while waiting to bat so I sat next to Andrew Symonds who had me in stitches for most of the first day’s play. I had to come out for the last over of day one when Justin was dismissed for 99. I didn’t see any of the balls but somehow survived. I learnt my first lesson about batting in the middle order – always use a night watchman.
Mr Cricket Page 1
