Driving Ambition - My Autobiography

by Andrew Strauss

  ‘Mr Strauss, please take a seat at the back of the cockpit and enjoy the landing.’ With that the questioning stopped, and he got back to business.

  That was the kind of special treatment on tour that the conversations between Fraser and Tufnell in the bar at Middlesex had led me to expect. What I didn’t expect was that this treatment would be maintained for the little things as well. All baggage was looked after by Phil Neale, the tour manager. All you had to do, as a player, was leave it outside your room and it would magically appear outside your room again at the next destination. Your only role in the procedure was to get your luggage outside your room on time, usually by 10 p.m. on the night before departure, and to rip off any old baggage tags in the process. Phil hated doing that himself.

  Needless to say, after a few post-match beers, even this task was far too onerous for some players, and someone wandering down the corridor of the hotel would invariably find Phil with a face like thunder, muttering under his breath, ‘------- hell, he couldn’t even be bothered to take his tags off. Why do I bother?’

  Bizarrely, we all got used to this treatment far too easily, and Phil never really got the recognition he deserved for proverbially mopping up after us all the time.

  The tour to South Africa in 2004–05 lived up to my romantic notion of travelling in every way. Aside from having everything looked after for us, the South African people really embraced the visit of an English touring side, especially one that had the potential to be reasonably good.

  As far as tours are concerned, there are few better locations than South Africa. Our off-field time was spent in a multitude of different ways. Some of the best golf courses in the world are situated in South Africa, and every city we went to had a suitable offering, but there was so much else to do. Beaches, game parks, shopping, white-water rafting and bungee-jumping were all on the agenda, and the quality of the food, especially the steaks, was exceptional.

  One of the biggest risks for a new England tourist is getting carried away with the recreational side of a tour. Away from the cauldron of a Test match, it is easy to feel as though you are on a holiday. The West Indies, in particular, with its white sandy beaches, palm trees and copious amounts of rum, always has the potential to derail young, unsuspecting travellers. The temptation is at its strongest when you are not in the side, languishing in the background, carrying drinks.

  I was fortunate not to have to go through that too often. I did, however, get a taste of what it was like on my first ODI tour to Bangladesh, in 2003, and later in the 2007 World Cup. You feel like a second-class citizen. You are last to get into the nets, as if you are an afterthought; you are submitted to constant fitness sessions in order to pass the time; and while the international matches are going on, you feel like little more than a waiter to your more illustrious colleagues. If you have to endure a full five months away from home, with little prospect of playing, the temptation to let your hair down becomes almost unbearable.

  The problem, though, is that the management of the side has nothing to judge you on as a person or as a player other than the way you conduct yourself off the field at those moments. Because you aren’t getting a game, you can’t rescue yourself with inspired performances on the pitch, so you had better be careful not to be seen to be enjoying the ride too much.

  Many of the young players that came into the England side in my time and then sank back into county obscurity without ever getting a decent run in the side did so because they couldn’t handle the tough challenge of touring but not playing. While I was captain we tried, as far as we could, to let those that weren’t playing have designated ‘on’ and ‘off’ days, so that they could at least let their hair down legitimately, but it was, and never could be, as satisfying as being in the side, performing for your country.

  * * *

  My first Test away from home came in Port Elizabeth in December 2004 and, if anything, I was able to outdo my magical home debut by scoring a century in the first innings, followed by an unbeaten 94 to see us home to victory, our eighth in succession and an England record. By the end of the series, I had amassed nearly 700 runs at an average of 72.88. Clearly, at that stage, the unfamiliar conditions of playing abroad had not affected me in the slightest. Looking back, however, I can see that I was helped enormously by my naivety.

  Having played all round the world now, more than once, it seems to me that the conditions in which you play are not the real reason that overseas cricket is so difficult. The real challenge is dealing with your own attitude towards those foreign wickets. For example, if we were touring India, all the focus before the series would be on how we played spin. The media would focus on it, the Indian players were bound to say something about it and we would spend hours formulating plans to contend with all the many spin bowlers we were likely to encounter. By the time the first Test started, as a batsman you already felt as though you were in a do-or-die situation. If you started well and were able to score runs early in the series, then you knew you had overcome your own personal trial by spin and could settle in to bat as normal. If, however, you got a couple of low scores against spin bowling, then it was impossible to get away from the torment. Net sessions would be arranged especially to help you overcome your ‘problem’. One or two of your team-mates would come up to you with suggestions as to how to play the different varieties of spin. The media would constantly ask why you were so weak in this area. Worst of all, though, when you were alone in your hotel room, you would still not be able to escape the pressure – and in some cases, the dread – of having to go out there again in the next game and perform. All of this after a couple of low scores that could happen to anyone.

  Retaining the perspective that, whatever anyone else might say, you have no real weakness against that type of bowling, and that things are likely to turn in your favour soon, is the hardest task for an international player. This is especially true away from home, where it is impossible to get away from everything. The best and most experienced players learn to deal with it, but even then a couple of poor collective performances, of the kind we displayed in the UAE against Pakistan in 2012, would have us all scratching our heads and experimenting to find new ways to contend with the spin bowlers. Whoever said that cricket is played 90 per cent in the head definitely knew what they were talking about.

  Clearly one of the real delights of touring is that you are able to see the world. By that I mean that you go to places that you would never dream of visiting on holiday and meet people whose paths you would never cross otherwise. Bangladesh, Pakistan and Sri Lanka were all fascinating places to visit, although I am sure that in this day and age the opportunities for real exploration are far more limited than in the past. The idea of going up the Khyber Pass, for example, as England players of the past used to do, would be thought of as suicidal in today’s climate.

  The country that really stood out for me, though, was India. When I first went to Mumbai for a week-long training camp with Middlesex in 2003, I was shaken, as most newcomers are, by the assault on my senses. Noise from the non-stop hustle and bustle continued all through the night and was accompanied by strange and mysterious aromas, originating from either local spices or open sewers. In daylight, it was hard to cope with the multitude of visions in front of me. People had built ramshackle houses on the fast lane of the motorway to the airport; there were beggars everywhere; and alongside all the squalor lay incredible colonial buildings and five-star hotels. It was almost too much to take in.

  Over the years, Mumbai has changed enormously, as have many of the built-up areas of India. Economic success has brought with it many Western-style comforts. Shopping centres, fantastic hotels, good food and sanitation are commonplace everywhere now, although you never have to venture too far from your hotel to see the India of the past.

  Despite the somewhat challenging travel arrangements in India, where what could be a one-hour flight often takes a whole day as you travel from one hub to another and then on to your final destinat
ion, I particularly enjoyed going to some of the less well-known areas of the country. On my first tour there, in 2006, we played seven ODIs in places like Faridabad, Kochi, Goa, Guwahati, on the edge of the Chinese border, and Indore.

  It was in Indore that I experienced one of the more surreal moments of my life. Quite bizarrely, Indore is the proud recipient of a Pizza Hut franchise. Quite why there is a restaurant there, when there are very few throughout India, is a very interesting question. On finding out this news, and having been feasting on various curries for the best part of three months, we decided that a team pizza night was in order.

  It is fair to say that the manager of the restaurant was somewhat taken aback to see the whole of the England cricket team, including Andrew Flintoff and Kevin Pietersen, walking into his pride and joy. He hurriedly arranged for the best table in the joint to be prepared, situated in front of a large panoramic window, and we all sat down, looking forward to our meat feast and Hawaiian pizzas.

  As our drinks arrived, we were vaguely aware that a few people were hanging around outside the window looking in at us, but thought nothing of it. By the time our pizzas arrived, however, there must have been at least 2,000 people staring at us as we tucked into our food, all mesmerised by the sight of famous cricketers in their midst.

  Nothing prepares you for the passion of the Indian people for the game of cricket.

  Aside from the obvious delights of touring, there can also be a far more sinister, unseen side. On your first few tours, you are unlikely to see it. Everything is too new, too intoxicating, too full of exhilarating experiences. Over time, an increasingly dark cloud accompanies some Test cricketers when they go away from home.

  For starters, leaving home becomes far more difficult. The constant grind of travelling around the UK during the summer, followed by months away from home in the winter, is especially hard on families. Those players with young children find it particularly difficult to maintain a ‘normal’ relationship with their offspring. Of course, there are plenty of people in other jobs who have to travel around the world, but few are likely to say goodbye to their children in October, knowing full well that the next time they will all be together, at their own house, will be in April the following year. As your career progresses, saying goodbye becomes a more and more difficult task.

  Then there are those soulless hotel rooms in cities you may have visited several times, which can be incredibly demoralising. There have been two high-profile cases of players suffering from depression while I have been in the England side: Marcus Trescothick and Mike Yardy. Both found the hours alone in their hotel rooms at night, with nothing but satellite TV and PlayStations for company, extremely hard to endure. Although most players never quite reach the stage where they cannot physically continue, many, including myself, have found the combination of being away from support networks, in far-off hotels, while suffering from bad form, to be particularly difficult to overcome. It is ironic that what seems the most enthralling aspect of playing international cricket when you start can become the most significant reason for finishing playing the game.

  I am not sure exactly what can be done about it. Perhaps it is just the natural progression that every cricketer goes through in their careers. Certainly some deal with it better than others. I would like to think, however, that in the long term there may be ways around it. I get the feeling that tours will become shorter, with home and away fixtures, in the mould of a Champions League football game, being an option. Or it may become more common for players to specialise more in one form of the game. How all this might fit into an already crowded cricketing calendar, with host cricket boards eager to find new ways of raising revenue, remains to be seen.

  England in South Africa 2004–05 – The Basil D’Oliveira Trophy

  1st Test. St George’s Park, Port Elizabeth. 17–21 December 2004

  South Africa 337 (H.H. Dippenaar 110, J.A. Rudolph 93) and 229 (J.H. Kallis 61, G.C. Smith 55; S.P. Jones 4–39)

  England 425 (A.J. Strauss 126, M.A. Butcher 79) and 145–3 (A.J. Strauss 94)

  England won by 7 wickets.

  2nd Test. Kingsmead, Durban. 26–30 December 2004

  England 139 (A.J. Strauss 25; S.M. Pollock 4–32) and 570–7 dec (A.J. Strauss 136, M.E. Trescothick 132, G.P. Thorpe 118, G.O. Jones 73, A. Flintoff 60)

  South Africa 332 (J.H. Kallis 162) and 290–8 (J.A. Rudolph 61, A.B. de Villiers 52)

  Match drawn.

  3rd Test. Newlands, Cape Town. 2–6 December 2005

  South Africa 441 (J.H. Kallis 149, N. Boje 76, G.C. Smith 74; A. Flintoff 4–79) and 222–8 dec (J.H. Kallis 66)

  England 163 (A.J. Strauss 45; C.K. Langeveldt 5–46, M. Ntini 4–50) and 304 (S.J. Harmison 42, R.W.T. Key 41, A.J. Strauss 39; S.M. Pollock 4–65, N. Boje 4–71)

  South Africa won by 196 runs.

  4th Test. New Wanderers Stadium, Johannesburg. 13–17 January 2005

  England 411–8 dec (A.J. Strauss 147, R.W.T. Key 83, M.P. Vaughan 82*; M. Ntini 4–111) and 332–9 dec (M.E. Trescothick 180, M.P. Vaughan 54, A.J. Strauss 0)

  South Africa 419 (H.H. Gibbs 161, M.V. Boucher 64; M.J. Hoggard 5–144) and 247 (H.H. Gibbs 98, G.C. Smith 67*; M.J. Hoggard 7–61)

  England won by 77 runs.

  5th Test. Centurion Park, Centurion. 21–25 January 2005

  South Africa 247 (A.B. de Villiers 92; A. Flintoff 4–44, S.P. Jones 4–47) and 296–6 dec (J.H. Kallis 136, A.B. de Villiers 109)

  England 359 (G.P. Thorpe 86, A. Flintoff 77, G.O. Jones 50, A.J. Strauss 44; A. Nel 6–81) and 73–4 (M.P. Vaughan 26*, A.J. Strauss 0; M. Ntini 3–12)

  Match drawn.

  England won the series 2–1.

  6

  HEROES

  I have never known what it is like to be a hero. OK, I have landed the odd conversion in the last minute of a rugby game and scored some important runs when it mattered, but to be a genuine hero, in the mould of Roy of the Rovers, is not something I have ever experienced or imagined.

  Now, on 13 September 2005, I am a hero. Not just me; so are my team-mates. Not just them, but also the coach, Duncan Fletcher, and the support staff. Not just all of us, but also Gary Pratt, the substitute fielder, who ran out Ricky Ponting at Trent Bridge. I know I am a hero because I am standing on an open-top bus slowly making its way through the centre of London. Around me are tens of thousands of people, all looking up at us and waving. Some are cricket fans, many are not. They are all basking in our accomplishment of prising the Ashes urn from the relentless grip of the Australian cricket team for the first time since 1986. There are flags of St George draped over buildings. Patriotic tunes like ‘Jerusalem’ are blaring out of Tannoy systems around Trafalgar Square. The sun is shining. People are smiling. No one is working. All this is happening because of us.

  After waiting patiently for the completion of our lap of honour around the city, the Prime Minister, Tony Blair, welcomes us to 10 Downing Street for a reception. It is unbelievable to be standing around while politicians and distinguished guests gush about our achievements.

  In the heady days that follow there are all sorts of opportunities to explore. The Weakest Link, the game show hosted by Anne Robinson, puts on an Ashes special. Sponsors Red Bull offer to take us all to their headquarters in Salzburg, before whisking us to Venice for a night of celebration. Transport is taken care of by the company’s lavishly restored DC-10 aeroplane. Businesses are falling over each other to be associated with this winning England cricket team. We are the talk of the town; we are celebrities.

  Nothing could have been further from our minds eight weeks earlier as we prepared for the start of the 2005 Ashes series.

  I had always been led to believe that the Ashes was different. ‘Just wait until you play in an Ashes series’ was the standard comment from the likes of Vaughan, Butcher and Hussain whenever conversation turned to the pressures of international cricket, the quality of opposition sides, or the media spotlight for that matter.

  During the months that
followed my debut, when the runs were flowing and my confidence was high, I wasn’t completely sure if I believed them. With the innocence of youth, Test cricket didn’t seem all that difficult and at least part of me thought that they had much to gain by building up this myth. The harder Ashes cricket was supposed to be, the more they could justify the struggles of the England cricket team over the previous eight Ashes series, and also the more, in Vaughan’s case, he could revel in his own magnificent achievements.

  To me, at that stage, pressure seemed to be completely self-inflicted. If you were worried about your place in the side, if you were concerned that your team was not good enough to win, if you were secretly dreading letting down your friends and family, then you were bound to feel pressure. However, for someone who had sailed to 1,000 Test runs in ten Tests and won his first eight consecutive Test matches, that didn’t seem relevant. I was confident, the team was a well-oiled machine and the Australians were about to meet a completely different type of England cricket team.

  As the first Test drew nearer, however, I definitely started sensing something different about this Ashes series. There was a growing feeling amongst the press and the public that this year was our chance. This was the England team who could finally give the great Australians a run for their money. There was genuine expectation, rather than the usual hopes and prayers that luck might just run our way. As someone about to enter his first series against Australia, I was beginning to appreciate the importance of it all.

  The closer we got to the start of the series, the more I started thinking about the quality of the opposition. The truth was that the Australian team was full of legends. There was no point in denying it. Hayden, Langer, Ponting, Gilchrist, Warne and McGrath were some of the game’s biggest names, and they were more than adequately backed up by the likes of Damien Martyn, Michael Clarke, Brett Lee and Jason Gillespie. There were no weak links. They had bucketloads of experience and collectively they possessed something far more valuable than their individual skills. They had an aura. They had won too many important series and dominated too many great players for that to be discounted. There was a reason they had been all but unbeatable in all conditions bar India for the previous decade, which meant it was almost impossible not to feel intimidated by the prospect of facing up to them. A little kernel of doubt started to invade my mind, which wasn’t helped by Shane Warne getting me out cheaply for Hampshire early in the season.