Bucking the Trend Read online

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t you ever fucking stand next to me in a pub again.’

  With that I put my drink down and walked straight out of the pub and back to the hotel, just about in tears, wondering what I’d done.

  Looking back, it is true I was fairly loud, obnoxious and opinionated – three qualities that were never likely to go down well in a West Australian dressing room where junior players were expected to be seen and not heard. How times have changed. The cricket itself was bruising and also dramatic: the SCG match came to a swift end as we were shot out for 58 by Nathan Bracken, Gavin Robertson and Stuart MacGill on a wearing, spinning pitch, before we returned the favour in Perth. Having been sent in, the Blues were rounded up on a fast track for 56 in a mere 25.2 overs. My contribution of 20 was not enough to keep my place and I wasn’t to be called into the squad again until the following summer.

  It was December 1999 when I got my next chance, joining the team ahead of their meeting with Queensland in Brisbane. The previous leg in a two-week tour had been in Sydney, and all I heard once I arrived were stories of how much fun the boys had enjoyed around that trip. The Gabba was no cakewalk however, with Andy Bichel, Adam Dale, Scott Muller and a young Andrew Symonds all capable of making the ball talk on a well-grassed pitch. Sent in we were out cheaply on day one, before Symonds clattered us to all parts as the Bulls built up an imposing lead. Batting again on the second evening I was again out quickly, and as it appeared the game was heading only one way I found myself heading out late that evening.

  One factor in this was that I managed to get talking to a girl, which was still pretty rare for me at that stage. But the other was the stories of various hijinks enjoyed by the team in Sydney, leaving me to think that having effectively ended my part in the match I had some sort of licence. The team was staying in sets of two-bedroom apartments, and the following morning my roommate Michael Dighton’s alarm went off just in time for him to get to the ground on time. He knocked on my door but I was still some way from being able to think straight. Another 30 minutes or so passed before I was able to get out of the room and head for the ground, which I reached as warm-ups were halfway through.

  This decidedly unprofessional behaviour was met sternly by the coach Wayne Clark, who said simply: ‘Go back to the hotel and pack your bags, you’re on the next flight home.’ As it turned out, the debutant Darren Wates was able to fight it out for long enough to take us into a tiny lead, and we had to go field again. The Queensland players were soon asking where I was, and the response that I’d been sent home early for getting out on the gas did not help my reputation beyond WA.

  Back at the hotel, I looked in the mirror and told myself ‘well that’s the last time you’ll play for WA’. The journey home was an afternoon’s worth of considerable embarrassment, and I couldn’t bring myself to speak to Dad about it. At the next WA training session, the state captain Tom Moody pulled Michael Dighton and I aside to say: ‘Guys what’s your problem? Do you actually want to play for WA?’ After I replied with an apology and an affirmation of my desire to contribute, he turned back and said ‘as for you, you’re a fucking disgrace’ before launching into the biggest rocket I’ve ever received – thoroughly deserved too.

  A few days later, Dad could tell something was up and so we discussed it. I relayed events with trepidation, worrying about how he was going to react. I’d well and truly braced for another dressing down when he more or less shrugged his shoulders and said ‘son, everyone makes mistakes, don’t worry about it, you’ll learn from it’. After my relief at avoiding more abuse, the lesson stayed with me, as did Dad’s perspective. No cricketer, past or present, has gone through their career without making a mistake. I made lots, but over time you begin to learn from them, and start to make better decisions with the benefit of those experiences. You can’t be young and naive forever.

  The WA side that had been so strong for so many years was actually about to go into decline. The talent coming through from the next generation was not as good, and there was the ascension of a few senior players to the national side and Simon Katich going interstate – but the culture of the team at the time was not one that helped the newer generation perform. As coach, Clark had been excellent in managing the egos and personalities of a richly talented bunch, but all of a sudden he was left with a younger and more needy group, and it took him a while to adjust.

  In club land I had moved from Melville to University, and though I made plenty of runs, there was a common view in WA that the club’s home ground at James Oval was simply too friendly a batting surface to fully trust the runs gathered there. After my first few Shield matches, Clark sat me down and told me ‘you probably need to leave University because James Oval is just too flat and it’s not going to teach you good habits’. These were wise words, reinforced by the experience of being beaten for pace in an early encounter with one of the Lee brothers at the WACA Ground. It was widely known Brett Lee was quick, but to face his older brother Shane and be unable to cope with his pace and bounce was a sure sign I needed a tougher batting environment to learn in.

  I was sad to leave University, particularly as the players there tended to be more worldly and outward looking than the single-minded and occasionally limited horizons in the state squad. But while many of the university players were the smartest blokes I ever played with, they were also some of the dumbest cricketers, over-theorising and forgetting how to equip themselves with thoughts and actions you can remember under pressure. So for my next club I moved to South Perth, known for a faster and tougher home pitch. At the start I struggled to find my feet.

  A season in which I averaged around 25 in club cricket and did not get near the state team had a couple of choice memories. One afternoon I faced up to Dennis Lillee’s son Adam – a serviceable medium-pacer – and simply missed a straight one. Another day we played against Mount Lawley and I was subject to some pretty unrelenting sledges from Mike Veletta, who just happened to be the man set to replace Clark as WA coach the following year. My hopes of making it as a professional cricketer were ebbing away, and I’d started thinking about returning to study and even working with my Mum’s embroidery business.

  These thoughts were at the forefront of my mind when towards the summer’s end, an optometrist, Helen Venturato, was asked to test the state squad players’ eyes. It wasn’t something I’d ever thought about before, but the visit to Helen’s practice was a turning point in my life. The deterioration of my vision had happened slowly, and I wasn’t really aware of how much I had lost until I first wore the testing lenses and thought ‘oh my God’. I realised this was why I was missing straight balls, because my eyes were simply not capable of the focus required. Combined with the colour blindness/deficiency I suffered from, it became clear that simply seeing the ball had become problematic, which had added to my batting woes.

  I’m often asked about being colour-blind and sometimes the misconception is that I can’t see colour at all, but that isn’t the case. To my understanding, I see a dulled-down version of what most people see. Sometimes I describe it as seeing what others do when they have sunglasses on. The problem in cricket though is the dark red ball can sometimes merge in with dark backgrounds and become difficult to pick up. Getting out to a full-toss from Graeme Swann in the 2013 Ashes was simply because the unusually high trajectory of his delivery meant the ball actually went above the line of the sightscreen and merged in with the supporters sitting above it. I lost sight of the ball until it was half way down the wicket. The dismissal was no less embarrassing for that though. In the past it has been an issue but like with most difficulties, over time they can be overcome.

  Being told that I actually had quite poor vision and needed contact lenses or glasses gave me a different angle on my recent struggles, and in the final two games of the season a couple of scores in the 60s began an upward trend towards consistent run-making that vaulted me from South Perth b
ack into the state side the next summer.

  After finishing a two-week second XI tour as captain in Adelaide and Brisbane and having the obligatory last night celebrations, I was woken by the phone around 7.30am to be told Murray Goodwin was pulling out of the Shield side due to the impending birth of his child and that I would replace him to play the next day in Sydney and to get myself to the airport ASAP. I made 53 in my only innings but it wasn’t enough to keep my spot. With the return of Murray I missed the next two games and wasn’t selected again until two months later in the return fixture against NSW.

  Against a very good attack, I battled early before Stuart Clark had me absolutely plumb on 33, only for the umpire to deny his appeal. I still think it was a turning point in my career. Whether I would’ve been dropped after this game who knows, but I scraped to 96 that day before hooking Clark into the safe hands of Michael Bevan at fine leg. I’ve always wondered what the hell was he doing there.

  Two games later I scored twin unbeaten centuries against South Australia, all the while copping some rather colourful criticism from Greg Blewett and Paul ‘Blocker’ Wilson, who found my style of playing and missing and edging down to third man for a boundary rather frustrating. It was a fantastic lesson and experience, and I’ll never forget Blocker sticking his head into our change room after we declared to ask ‘Where’s Buck?’ I was completely unsure what he was going to say and wondered if he hadn’t finished with me before he continued, ‘Well done mate, that was fantastic.’

  Blocker has since become a great friend and it was a great moment seeing him get married on the foreshore of South Perth years later after he had joined the Warriors. The blooming of that friendship was a great example of how performance also helped alleviate a lot of my earlier anxiety and my outsider status, because the currency of runs compels teammates and opponents alike to find value where previously they might not have. I look back now and think what might have happened without the eye test. Not much in the game of cricket, that’s for sure.

  CHAPTER 5

  FROM CLUB TO COUNTY

  Devon, Lytham, Derby, Leicester

  IN THE PETITE shape of the Ashes urn, Australia’s cricket rivalry with England has one clear and enduring symbol. But there is another tale that speaks equally of the cultural differences between the game’s two oldest powers – the winding, oscillating story of Australian cricketers making the long journey across the globe to play professionally in the land of their nation’s origin.

  That story has a beginning in 1931, when it appeared that a steady wage with Accrington in the Lancashire League held more appeal for a young Don Bradman than further feats in the Baggy Green. He ultimately rebuffed the approach, after Kerry Packer’s grandfather, Robert Clyde Packer, fixed up a deal.

  It was Bradman the administrator who was behind the harsh treatment meted out to many who chose to accept money for League and County contracts. Leg-spinner Cec Pepper, who went to England as a professional after being omitted from the 1948 touring party, was one, another was NSW all-rounder Bill Alley, who became a legendary figure at Somerset and, like Pepper, a highly respected umpire. Upon his return to Australia in the summer of 1951–52 he found himself not only ineligible for selection but physically barred from entry to the SCG – where he had proudly represented NSW – without a public ticket. ‘That incident just shows the bitterness and scars left by the exodus of talent to Lancashire and Yorkshire,’ Alley wrote in his autobiography, saying he was labelled a traitor for his actions. A handful of players, such as Ray Lindwall, and later Graham McKenzie, did manage to walk the tightrope between Test duty and League contracts, but for most it was a case of choosing club or country.

  But there remained a certain reticence among Australians to make the journey, for reasons Allan Border summarised in 1986. For one, he felt that few Australians actually looked upon themselves as full-time players until after World Series Cricket. Secondly, he felt that post-season beach and golf days appealed far more than grim April days in England. As he wrote in A Peep at the Poms: ‘Oh God, what am I doing here’, I thought to myself. I could have been lying in the sun, enjoying a few cool beers and lapping up the good weather.

  The staleness Border spoke of was a large reason why Bradman and others were implacably opposed to the development of workaday cricket attitudes seeping into the Australian game. Yet within the space of a few weeks with Essex, Border’s early reticence had been replaced with a rather different view. England could be exactly the kind of finishing school a young Australian cricketer needed. At a time when the rebel tours to South Africa had stripped the nation’s talent stocks close to bare, Border envisaged County competition as a way to hasten the education of the young men he was now leading in a hesitant Test side.

  ‘There is no better grounding for a young player than to go over to England. I realise that now – I’ve seen it at first hand. When I get back to Australia, I’ll be talking to guys like Greg Ritchie and young Steve Waugh, telling them to think about going to England. It would help them a hell of a lot. In this environment, you’ve got to become a better, more mature player. You learn how to play the game under different conditions and in various circumstances. After a few years in County cricket, your education is all but complete. Looking at it through purely Australian eyes, I believe that if we could somehow get the top 20 Australian cricketers playing County cricket, I think that within two or three years, Australian cricket would be a real force in the world game.’

  Steve Waugh did indeed go, to Somerset in 1988, and Border encouraged Essex to recruit his twin Mark in 1990. As Wisden stated:

  ‘Australian cricket has two nurseries for its finest young players. One is in the verdant grounds of Adelaide’s glorious Oval, where the Australian Cricket Academy prepares a balanced squad of 14 teenage prospects every year. The other is 12,000 miles away, in a country small enough to slip into Australia’s back pocket, but where the opportunities for cricketers are big: England, of course, where the beer is warm, the climate cold and the Poms live.’

  Chris Rogers ultimately was to miss out on the Academy nursery, but would complete his cricket education first in English Leagues cricket, then the County game.

  MY FIRST YEAR at North Devon had been memorable, and as the relationship grew I found myself totally immersed in the place. Apart from the cricket, I worked numerous jobs in clubs and bars, and found myself getting into my first serious relationships. That brought its own complications in my second year, as several host families did not take kindly to me bringing company back home for the night. One father went as far as to dismiss me with a new nickname – ‘the bonking barman’. Almost a book title, that one.

  After spending 1998 at home trying university for a second time, my final year at North Devon came in 1999 and coincided with the World Cup. The whole team watched the Edgbaston semi-final between Australia and South Africa, spellbound as Steve Waugh, Michael Bevan, Allan Donald and Shane Warne all took turns grabbing the match before that extraordinary last over had Damien Fleming somehow finding a way to deny Lance Klusener the winning run. Having watched that finish I was absolutely adamant I would be watching Sunday’s final, against Pakistan at Lord’s.

  Trouble was, we had a game scheduled that day at Westward Ho! (yes it is really called that) The ground was on a steeper slope than Lord’s, and if you stood at fine leg you couldn’t actually see the feet of the batsmen. The venue did not enhance my enthusiasm, and I found myself debating the necessity of my playing with the captain, Colin Payne. He kept telling me ‘you’ve got to play, it’s a big rivalry’ to which my response was something like ‘mate I couldn’t give a shit, I want to see the World Cup final’. In the end, we compromised. He promised to bring a television along with an extension cord, they’d plug it in and I could watch the game when I wasn’t batting.

  Come the Sunday morning, we get to Westward Ho!, only to find that there is no power point anywhere! I was furious, saying all sorts about provincial cricket grounds and what was
I doing here. But as the day went on, score updates filtered through to let me know I wasn’t missing much – Australia won the final easily, with hours to spare. The entree had turned out to be the main course.

  For 2000 I decided it was time for a change, so I moved a short distance south-east to Exeter, a bigger town. The idea had been to go somewhere a little more lively, but I was accommodated at the university and found that to be more isolated than the community I’d enjoyed in North Devon. I once again made some very good friends and the Lammonby family – Glenn, Jill and a very talented two-year-old son Tom – continue to keep in touch. I’ve since played a second XI game with Tom for Somerset, just to remind me how old I am still playing this game.

  Exeter, however, was very much a family club and lacked many in my age group. Careful what you wish for I guess. This experience had me moving again for 2001, well beyond the boundaries of Devon to Lytham near Liverpool. Competition-wise it was a step up, and I was proud to help the team finish fourth in the division that year.

  Lytham seemed like a lovely place but the club itself slightly disappointed. The chairman took the game too seriously perhaps and the players themselves didn’t completely buy into the concept of team spirit. A couple of occasions batting second I’d watch as batting partners were dismissed only to retreat to the sheds, shower and put on the dancing clobber for a night out in Blackpool even before the game had finished. As soon as the game was over off they’d pop and the pavilion would only be left with the hardcore members.

  Blackpool was certainly a trap, as one story details. Pushing the wheeled covers off, a teammate and I accidentally rammed one into a teammate, Beef, who was pushing another. He went down in agony clutching his leg. Beef tried playing but couldn’t manage and we played one short. After the game he had a few bevvies and eventually decided he could join in on the venture into Blackpool. He was the life of the party that night and was happily showing off all and sundry his dance moves. Next day he woke up and couldn’t move, so visited the doctor, only to find out he had a broken leg!