Having informed the players that they were going to have a greater say in their own preparation, it was also easier for everyone to get in a room and start thinking about how the team should operate. The players could see that the idea of putting together a charter was now less likely to be a box-ticking exercise and actually had the potential to put them at the forefront of everything we did.
Alongside Alan Stevens, we spent a few hours thinking about how we wanted the team to work. Looking at it now, our first draft was fairly simplistic and rudimentary, but to me it marked a significant shift. For the very first time since I had been involved in the team, every player, from Andrew Flintoff all the way down to the youngest debutant, had the ability to have a say in how they prepared themselves and how the team operated on a day-to-day basis. From there, player ‘buy-in’ to whatever we were doing was going to be far more realistic.
In trying to build an environment where the team came first, I also felt that we really had to try to bring the families more into the fold. For too long, the wives and children of the players were expected to play the silent and thankless role of providing encouragement and support, often from the other side of the world, while never really being welcomed into the bosom of the team. Celebrations tended to be boys-only affairs and too little thought was given to those who had to deal with the realities of being married to an international sportsman.
So after every win, when the girls were around, we would have a family celebration together, where they too could bask a little in the success of the team. Also, the PCA and Medha Laud of the ECB did a fantastic job in being available to help families cope with the very trying circumstances of being alone for months on end.
It always immensely frustrated me when the media would start talking about the arrival of families on a tour being a distraction for the players. If anything, the truth was the complete opposite, and I still believe that more should be done in the future to make sure that the England cricket team caters for the needs of the players’ families.
The final difficulty to be addressed was our relationship with the media. It was clear to anyone who had watched England play ODI cricket that we were far too fearful of getting out. Opposition teams would take more risks and attempt to put pressure on our bowlers, rather than be reactive and hesitant. Our players found that difficult to do, partly because they were concerned about their place in the team, but also because they were worried about the media reaction to their dismissal.
It was obvious that this situation was unhealthy. If we wanted to be the best team in the world, then we needed to readjust our attitude towards the media. The truth was that they were not there for our benefit. Their job was to write or talk about interesting topics. If a player was out of form, then it was an interesting topic that might sell newspapers. The fact that the media talked about it did not mean that there was a vendetta against that particular player. Everyone in the team had to stop worrying about the media and start focusing on the stuff that we could control.
With that in mind, I suggested banning newspapers from the dressing room. This was not some sort of draconian reaction to what the papers said about us, but far more about making sure that our place of work, the dressing room, was free from distractions. If a player was going through a hard time, the last thing he needed was to have a room full of newspapers all talking about the pressure he was under for his place in the side.
It was also a physical demonstration of a more general idea, which was not to let anything take our attention away from our job. If we just concentrated on what we had to do, then we were going to give ourselves the best chance of performing well. Everything else, from the media to opposition players and cricket politics, was not important. The only thing that mattered was us.
Those tenets – personal responsibility, the team coming first and focusing on ourselves – stayed with the team all the way through my captaincy. I believed in them strongly. So did Andy Flower, and I think that the vast majority of the team bought into the ideas. Of course, nothing is as simple as that. Getting the environment right is only one element in the giant jigsaw of getting a team to perform to a high level. Just as important is the need to improve the skill levels.
You only had to take a look at the world rankings in January 2009 to see that we weren’t really that good. We were fifth in the world in Test cricket, sixth in ODI cricket. We had one player (Pietersen) in the top-ten batsmen in the world and no bowlers in the top-ten bowlers. Even with the best environment in the world, we simply weren’t good enough to win consistently.
Although there wasn’t much time before the start of the West Indies tour, as throughout my time as captain, Andy Flower never ceased to look for ways of improving us as players. The two areas in which our old methods were radically altered were in practising and analysis.
Through spending some time looking at other sports, Andy had come to the conclusion that our own practice methods were far too laborious and unstructured. For example, he found that in American football, every drill is measured and there is a set time limit. The focus is on short, sharp, intensive drills, followed by a down time. He introduced this into the way we went about our business. When the support staff were in charge of practice, everything was extremely well organised. Richard Halsall, our assistant coach, was always at the ground early, alongside the likes of Graham Gooch, David Saker and Mushtaq Ahmed, to make sure that cones and other equipment were put in place well before the players arrived. In turn, when the players were on duty, we were expected to be fully focused. Our reward was that the drills wouldn’t go on for very long.
Also, right from the start of the West Indies tour, practices were designed to be far more match-specific. General net sessions, where players went through the motions, were replaced by practices without the confines of nets, replicating specific match situations, where bowlers pitted their skills against the batsmen, with an element of competition thrown into the mix. Nothing puts you on the spot more than having to perform in front of your peers. Some of my most nervous moments were during specific-practice sessions when we were going at it hammer and tongs, well aware of our team-mates’ strengths and weaknesses. In short, it was good practice, preparing us properly for the rigours of an international cricket match.
As for statistics, around 2006 I had read the book Moneyball by Michael Lewis, which told the story of Billy Beane, the Oakland A’s and their efforts to keep pace with far wealthier teams in Major League Baseball. Beane’s methods centred on using statistics in a new way. He was interested in what really won games of baseball, rather than the statistics that were traditionally used to reflect a player’s relative worth. By spending time looking at the statistics of baseball in a completely different way, he was able to assemble a team of unfashionable, cheap players who did not fit the traditional mould yet actually delivered match-winning performances. The book struck a chord with me straight away. I had always had a feeling that the way that some of the statistics in cricket were put together was spurious to say the least. The game exalted a player’s ability to execute a pleasant-looking cover drive or hit the ball for six over consistent productivity. Too often ‘sexy’ players were given precedence over less glamorous but more effective alternatives. Even when statistics were used to justify a selection, it was often to back up an argument rather than as the basis for selection.
In a game in which one per cent gains were beginning to be harder to find, statistics seemed to be one area where a big difference could be made. The problem was that in order to make those gains, you needed a statistician (or analyst) who understood both cricket and the complex mathematics that underlie statistics. The England team was fortunate to find someone who qualified on both counts when Nathan Leamon was appointed as England team analyst in the summer of 2009. Although we weren’t able to benefit from his excellent skills on that first tour to the West Indies, over the next few years he had a massive impact on the way we understood the game and all its variables. Ultimately, th
e better use of statistics helped us win a lot of games.
It is not my intention to give away trade secrets in this book, but the research that he undertook helped us on many levels. Team selection, the balance of the team (e.g. whether to play four bowlers or five), winning the toss, declarations and opposition analysis were all greatly aided. In fact, the more he delved, the more opportunities presented themselves for further research. This is one area of the game where the surface has only been scratched.
While writing this, I can picture cricket traditionalists shaking their heads, muttering that captaincy is all about intuition – no captain worth his salt should have to rely on a statistician to tell him what to do! All I can say is that it makes it far easier to commit to a decision when there is solid evidence to back up what your gut feeling tells you. It definitely helps you. If the statistics and your intuition do not match up, then it should give you a little pause for thought and reflection. Is the statistical evidence faulty, or is your gut reaction based on biased experience? Either way, it is worth spending a little time thinking about the right course of action.
I should stress that I have never been a slave to statistics, and on many occasions Andy Flower and I decided to put our cricketing experience ahead of the statistical research, but it was always reassuring to know that we had done our homework before every game.
All in all, that was the philosophy that Andy and I cobbled together before heading out to the West Indies. Really simple concepts such as allowing players to think for themselves, the team coming first, concentrating on us and constantly trying to improve were the central tenets of the master plan. None of this was rocket science, but I think what made it appealing to both the players and the management, who were still smarting from the Moores/Pietersen debacle, was that it all sounded like common sense. On that, at least, everyone seemed to agree.
13
A YEAR TO REMEMBER
I have been feeling irritable all day long. It doesn’t make sense. Waking up this morning, I knew that this is likely to be the most satisfying day I have had in an England shirt. Opening the curtains in my hotel suite, I surveyed some of the landmarks and sights that make London such an enticing tourist destination. Straight in front of me was the commanding presence of Tower Bridge, with the Tower of London providing a stark reminder of the history of the city. Further along the Thames, I could see the Millennium Wheel glistening with the reflection of the early-morning sun. In the distance, I could just make out Big Ben and the astounding architecture of the Houses of Parliament. Also, being a Sunday, there were none of the hordes of commuters rushing to get to work. The city was at peace, showing off her virtues when no one was looking.
I have every reason to feel on top of the world. It is 23 August 2009, day four of the final Ashes Test match, and Australia need a highly improbable 466 runs to win. With the series locked at 1–1, a victory for either side is going to be decisive. As it stands, all bets are off. There is only one side that can win this Test – and it is England.
As the day has worn on, though, things have not gone to plan, to say the least. What we thought would be a procession of wickets on a tired and worn track has turned into a great rearguard defence from an Australian team that refuses to go down without a fight. Mike Hussey, who has not made a run in the series, has suddenly found form at the very last moment and probably kept his place in the team as a result. Ricky Ponting, being the incredibly proud and competitive captain that he is, is unwilling to let go.
None of our ideas seem to be working. Either the bowlers are trying too hard to take wickets or the fielders are slightly out of position or the rub of the green seems to have deserted us. I am finding it difficult to keep calm and relaxed. Little things are annoying me. A scolding look and a word from one of our bowlers to a fielder when a ball is misfielded really gets me going. This is the time for us all to get stuck in together and find a way through the Australian batting line-up. We do not need in-fighting and petulance. A ball from Graeme Swann spins past the edge of Mike Hussey’s bat once again. Surely our luck has to change at some point.
Midway through the afternoon session, all thoughts of holding up the Ashes urn and celebrating the night away have well and truly gone. At 217–2, a few members of the Australian dressing room are looking far too relaxed for my liking. They are starting to have hope again and that is a dangerous emotion for an opposing captain to deal with.
Hussey pushes a ball from Steve Harmison towards mid on and sets off for a risky single. In a flash, Andrew Flintoff belies his huge frame, swoops down on the ball, picks it up and hurls it towards the stumps at the wicketkeeper’s end. He has a powerful throw and the ball hits the off stump an instant before Ponting gets his bat over the crease. We have our breakthrough and the burly all-rounder, in his last Test match for England, has delivered one final time.
The new man at the crease, Michael Clarke, is almost immediately run out in strange circumstances as I manage to deflect a ball that hits me at leg slip back onto his stumps. Two run-outs in ten minutes. It looks as if our luck is changing. Before long Marcus North is stumped by Matt Prior after dozily dragging his foot out of his crease while attempting a sweep. We are on a roll, momentum is with us and the Australian lower order are unable to stem the tide.
Shortly before the scheduled close of play, Mike Hussey prods forward to a delivery from Graeme Swann that catches the edge of his bat before hitting his pads and ballooning to Alastair Cook at short leg. The Ashes series is over. That precious little urn is coming back to England two and a half years after the most almighty walloping in Australia. It is also less than eight months since English cricket was on its knees following the Moores/Pietersen saga.
I am about to go on stage to collect the smallest but most important trophy that an England captain can ever hold.
I can still scarcely believe that we won the 2009 Ashes series. How can you explain winning when the opposition had four out of the five top run scorers, the three leading wicket-takers, more hundreds and more five-wicket hauls? Statisticians around the country could put together a very interesting study into the probability of this happening, but I doubt it is very high.
In my opinion, however, nothing was more important for our later development as a side than winning that series in such unlikely circumstances. After so much time and effort had been spent trying to change the environment within the team, our lack of early success had given ammunition to the naysayers and doubters, who felt that cricket was merely a game in which teams flourished on the back of outstanding individual performances. Certainly, when we were bowled out for 51 in my first Test match in charge in Jamaica in February 2009, everyone could see just what a precarious position the team was in. Any illusions that a few meetings and some encouraging words could change a team’s performance overnight were shattered on that day.
To the players’ great credit, no one let the result affect their enthusiasm to do things differently. In fact, the humiliating nature of the defeat led Andy Flower to decide that enough was enough and he called a meeting to thrash out any lingering issues within the team. The two hours that followed, in which Flower skilfully and considerately forced all the underlying baggage between players to the surface, cemented everyone’s opinion that he was the man for the coach’s job full-time. His performance in that meeting room in Antigua, the venue for the next Test, demonstrated many of his great skills as a coach and a leader.
He wasn’t afraid to go into uncomfortable territory. In fact, he seemed to revel in saying the difficult thing, much as inhospitable conditions brought the best out of him as a player. Moreover, he was able to do it in a manner that didn’t get the players’ hackles up. It was respectful, balanced, unbiased and constructive. He was not interested in anyone settling scores but merely focused on what was best for the team.
We all walked out of that meeting room feeling as if a great weight had been lifted. Issues concerning personal agendas, lack of dedication, lack of trust and poo
r decision-making had been aired and thrashed out, and it had been done in a way that didn’t leave the players concerned feeling victimised. It was also clear to me that Andy and I had the potential to forge a very close relationship.
The truth is that I admired him greatly, both as a cricketer and as a person. It takes guts to stand up in a World Cup and make a heartfelt political protest about the state of your country, when you and your family could be in danger as a result, as he did in 2003. He had also made the very best of himself as a player and was admired around the world for his tenacity in the middle. After turning to coaching, he never for one moment assumed that he knew more than everyone else. He was inquisitive, impassioned and driven to succeed in this new venture.
Most importantly, as far as I was concerned, he was challenging. He never got sucked into the trap of uttering platitudes and clichés. Throughout our time as captain and coach, I could never be quite sure where he would stand on any given subject, but I knew that whatever view he had would be considered and well thought out. I loved nothing more than when we were debating, arguing and challenging each other on cricketing issues. It was great fun and extremely constructive.
Nothing demonstrated his communication skills better than what happened during a team-bonding session in Germany before the Ashes series in 2010–11. We had to take part in a variety of debates and he was given the unenviable task of defending Adolf Hitler’s virtues as a leader. By the end of his five-minute speech, Hitler could have been confused for a latter-day saint who had sympathetically and single-handedly brought Germany out of the doldrums. As you can imagine, it was sometimes difficult to win arguments with a person as skilled as he was.
Driving Ambition - My Autobiography Page 17
