The wrong un, p.14
The Wrong 'Un, page 14
Thankfully, guidance and belief also came my way from two intriguing cricket characters, Peter Carlstein and John Traicos.
Carlstein, a South African, was an early achiever, making his first-class debut at 16 for Orange Free State against Natal in 1954–55. He represented Natal, Transvaal and Rhodesia as a stylish batsman, and also played for South Africa against Ian Craig’s 1957–58 Australian tourists. He later toured England and Australia, playing in eight Tests in total. A man who understood adversity, Carlstein moved to Western Australia, continued playing grade cricket well into his 40s, and then took great pleasure in coaching those who were willing to learn from his direct way of explaining the game.
Over the years, Peter helped improve the techniques of a number of players. He started as my batting coach, then moved on to my bowling. He was great for both my technique and my self-belief. He stressed the importance of using my training time wisely, explaining that quality, not quantity, was crucial. I definitely had a tendency to overtrain.
One time, after training with Peter at the WACA nets, we had a hit for 40 minutes and then bowled for 30 minutes. The ball wasn’t coming out too well, and Carlstein said, ‘Enough’s enough; it’s time to go home and rest.’ We both drove out of the WACA. He went left and I went right, and I looped around the Gloucester Park block and went straight back to the nets. A minute later, in walked Carlstein. He packed me up and put me back in my car, then followed me home, all the way to my front door.
Some polish was added to my bowling by one of world cricket’s most enthralling characters: Athanasios John Traicos. Carlstein and Traicos were close friends, and it wasn’t long before my new batting coach asked the man with so much cricketing knowledge and experience to have a look at my bowling. He agreed.
John Traicos’s parents were Greek, and he was born in Zagazig, north-east of Cairo, Egypt. He was an exceptional offspin bowler, known for his intelligence and his eagerness to out-think batsmen. He was named in the South African team while still a student, taking on the 1970 Australian tourists. After playing in two more Tests in that series, Traicos’s international career came to a sudden halt in 1970, when South Africa, due to its apartheid policy, was suspended from Test cricket.
Traicos represented Zimbabwe in the 1982, 1986 and 1990 ICC Trophy tournaments, and was a member of the Zimbabwe team that defeated Australia during the 1983 World Cup. When Zimbabwe was granted Test status in 1992, he was still his country’s best spin bowler, and even embarrassed other fielders with his athleticism and ball skills. He was among the first picked for Zimbabwe’s first Test match, against India in Harare in October 1992, giving him a record that is unlikely ever to be beaten: a gap of 22 years and 222 days between Test appearances.
Traicos continued playing Test cricket until he was 45, then he moved with his family to Perth in the late 1990s, due to the political instability in Zimbabwe. Shortly after he settled in Western Australia, Traicos immersed himself in the local grade cricket scene, coaching at the Claremont–Nedlands club.
When I first met John at Claremont a year earlier, I didn’t know much about him. He was just another bloke on the sidelines who started offering advice about my bowling. But I couldn’t deny his knowledge and was immediately impressed by him. It was another year before we started working together, along with Carlstein. Having two coaches with that level and range of experience was amazing.
Traicos thought my run-up was too long, and that it was affecting the way I was bowling. So our initial work revolved around getting me to shorten it. Traicos also worked on improving other integral parts of my action, such as keeping my non-bowling arm up against my cheek or ear at the point of delivery, and concentrating on the spot on the wicket I was bowling at.
He created a number of drills for me. These included practising my action in front of a mirror, lining myself up to check that I was properly side-on. I worked hard to identify a dark or light piece of grass as my target on the length I wanted to bowl, and then I tried to convince myself to not look at anything else, even after I’d released the ball. I had to check after the delivery to see how far away from my target the ball had landed, so I could adjust the next delivery if necessary.
I also had to be mindful of where the batsman was placing his feet, and any small movements he made, so I could anticipate what sort of stroke he was going to play. Then there was the hard work in the nets, bowling constantly at a mark or square to achieve greater accuracy.
I was prepared to do that hard work, and my action became more fluid as a result. This meant I could take great advantage of what Traicos described as my ‘critical weapon – an excellent googly’.
Carlstein was also crucial in keeping me focused. He developed a grid-like system with different squares on the pitch. I’d have to bowl 10 overs and get my deliveries into various squares. As I bowled, I could hear him in the background: ‘That’s rubbish … That’s crap … That’s excellent …’ and so on.
Having those blokes spend so much time with me was life-changing. They both picked me up when I was down and out. I am forever indebted to them.
Now I was very focused again. I aimed to spend two hours a day bowling. There were times when I was getting up at 5 a.m., doing my fitness work in the dark, then going to work. Later in the day, in between study sessions, I would just bowl, bowl, bowl. Being a country kid helped, as I was accustomed to spending time by myself.
I had not given up on my cricket career.
BEHIND THE SCENES
Simon Katich recalled the moment when Brad found out he was no longer in the WA team.
Hoggy really carried on. I had never seen anything like it. When another Midland–Guildford player rolled up to Brisbane, it was the last person he wanted to see. I got the nod to bat at number six, and I’ll never forget walking down towards the old dressing rooms at the Gabba, which had metal lockers. Hoggy was going around slamming them, bashing them with his fists, while we were going up to the bus to head back to the hotel. It was a bit tense at the time, but we’ve had a laugh about it since.
Peter Carlstein started working with Brad as his batting coach.
I saw Brad in the nets at a grade match and said to him, ‘C’mon, let’s go and work. And if you think it is going to be easy, forget it.’ I saw potential there, and took it on. Then we began working on his bowling. What I did was get him to work on his accuracy and consistency. I would go in the net with some masking tape. On a length, I marked out these 12-inch by 12-inch squares with the tape, two on a length outside the off stump and two outside the leg stump. Then just up a little bit, where he bowled a flipper, I put another square. So he had these squares to aim at, and I wouldn’t let him go until he had hit all those squares.
John Traicos started mentoring Brad, focusing on his bowling, and was immediately struck by Brad’s zest.
He has always reminded me of a little boy who just wants to keep playing cricket even when it is dark and his mother has called him in for dinner ages ago. Every kid should play the game with Brad’s enthusiasm. His main problem was that he was bowling too many loose deliveries, caused largely by his bowling action, which caused him to close himself out and to bowl across ‘hurdles’ or ‘barriers’, which affected [his] line and length.
He had a good sideways-on bowling action, which was a foundation. But in his delivery stride he was placing his right leg too far across, forcing himself to bowl across a barrier, resulting in either overpitching or bowling short deliveries. I also felt his run-up was too long, and our initial work was to get Brad to accept a shorter run-up, which he adapted to easily, though initially he felt insecure.
The second part of the work was to get him to open up in his delivery stride, so that he removed that barrier/hurdle, and was able to follow through on a straight line towards the batsman. He worked hard on that adjustment and soon mastered the change. The overall result was that Brad was able to get more into his action off a shorter run and without the impediment of a barrier to bowl across. He was more accurate, was able to spin the ball more, and get more bounce.
Brad has stayed in contact with Traicos for years. The Zimbabwean has often been Hogg’s third eye.
Brad would often call for a social chat, and to ask me to have a look at him. I would watch as much of his bowling at state and international level as I could, and would often call him or text him if I noticed something wrong. In the early days of his new action, Brad would often ask me down to the West Australian and Australian net practices to watch him bowl, and point out if there were any issues.
In one state match at the WACA, I was watching from the sideline and gestured to him that he was blocking himself out. I think he fixed it quickly and picked up six wickets in that innings.
PICTURE SECTION
Walked at 10 months, ran the day after.
I could never sit still. Here I am at two, drooling over the ball Mum’s about to bowl me.
My best mate Tim Macnamara and me at kindergarten, dressed up as Ponch and Jon off the TV show Chips. The only way the teacher got me to put the helmet on was to tell me I looked like cricket legend Tony Greig while wearing it.
My kindy report in 1976 … I still need to work on some of that feedback.
Father Christmas did well to interpret this. Cricket bat – check. Number 8 footy jumper, like my uncle Kennedy – check. As for the last item … who knows!
Two of my heroes: Dad, a little nervous while going out to face the Indian bowlers, and champion spinner Bishan Bedi behind him.
Dad was bigger than Bradman to me.
Tim and me at seven, with Tim’s little brother John, who was five. We weren’t impressed that our game had been halted by the parental paparazzi.
At nine years old, with stars in my eyes.
Me at 10 years old … blame the ice-cream container.
Thirteen years old, and off to Aquinas as a boarder.
Michael Jackson meets Wham!, country style.
Tarwonga legend Ted Gillet, congratulating me on a Junior Country Week win when I was 15. Farmers have a bloody tight grip.
It took Mum 13 years to forget my hyperactive behaviour and work up the courage to have another kid, then my brother Nathan came along. Love you, mate!
Two of my inspirations: Grandpop (Vernon) and Grandma (Hazel) Hall.
You can just see my best mate Nugget and me at the front, with (from left) Dad, Nanna (Norma) Hogg, Uncle Kennedy, Uncle Peter and Grandpa (Bruce) Hogg.
Enjoying the farming life with my old man in 1989, on our homestead ‘Georgelands’.
A shot from my second trip to England, when I was 19. I played for Slazenger; here I am celebrating a win with my captain, Leigh Rollins. The local fish and chip shop went broke a week after I left.
A press clipping after an early Shield game. I’m surprised the book wasn’t upside down as I never was much of a reader. Thanks for the pictures, AB.
Batting for Western Australia against Pakistan during their tour game at the WACA, October 1995.
Celebrating the wicket of the great Brian Lara in a Test against the West Indies in April 2003. Both Adam Gilchrist and Ricky Ponting were terrific supports throughout my career. (Hamish Blair/Getty Images)
Making a save in a World Cup pool match in 2003. My teammates called me ‘The Kelpie’ as I’d chase balls around the boundary like a sheepdog on a farm. (Hamish Blair/Getty Images)
That moment when you know your dreams have come true. This one’s for you, Dad.
With the three who have backed me from day one: Mum, Dad and Nathan.
It was a massive thrill to bowl at the MCG in a Boxing Day Test. All the hard work of my coaches Peter Carlstein and John Traicos finally paid dividends. (Mark Dadswell/Getty Images)
World Cup 2007, West Indies. Winning two World Cup tournaments without losing a game was something special. Gilly’s ears and my tongue went on a date that night to celebrate. (Hamish Blair/Getty Images)
The Australian team’s 2006–07 Ashes ‘boot camp’. Left to right: Ricky Ponting, Simon Katich, Nathan Bracken, Matthew Hayden and me. (Hamish Blair/Getty Images)
February 2008: my press conference announcing my retirement. This picture shows a thousand hurts. It was a bitter pill to swallow. (William West/AFP/Getty Images)
With the Scorchers in the Big Bash League. I was so excited to be back playing the game I love, feeling at peace again. (Paul Kane/Getty Images)
In 2016 with good mate Lakshyaraj Singh Mewar, Prince of Udaipur, on one of my visits to India for the IPL. Trips become extra special when you have friends across oceans.
Our wedding in 2015. Cheryl and I are surrounded by my family, including uncles, aunties and some cousins, and my daughter Erin is chief flower girl at the front.
With Tim and his father, the late Colin Macnamara – the man who instilled a solid cricket technique and etiquette in me at an early age – on my wedding day.
To all the fans and supporters, thank you for making my days at The Furnace so special. (Robert Cianflone/Getty Images)
Melbourne, here I come – like a bull at a gate. (Mark Dadswell/Newspix)
The pitch that Dad and Mum built for me on the family farm, helping my dream come true. I spent many hours here, with the chooks at leg slip and the dogs in the slips.
My youngest daughter, Erin, who constantly amuses and dazzles us with her bubbly personality.
Cheryl, my wife, who is my rock and backs me all the way, Photo by Ped Ristic.
11.
RETURN TO SENDER
‘Brad was an exceptionally good postman, but he was always in a hurry. He was so hyperactive, and would make a few mistakes because he was always in a rush.’
Mark Richards, long-time postman and Brad’s boss
My Sheffield Shield and one-day appearances for Western Australia were not going to feed my family, so I needed a steady job. Ideally it would be one where I could finish early, so that for some of the day I could focus on my commerce degree at Curtin University, where I was attempting to major in accounting and marketing. And of course I also needed to spend some time each day in a cricket net.
Australia Post came to the rescue. I began in the warehouse, sorting out mailbags and merchandise, and then I was moved to the courier business. After a while I was told they were cutting back jobs, but that there was a good one for me closer to home, as a postman.
I was a proud postie for about five years. The job suited me. I would get going around 5 a.m., be finished by 11 a.m., study until 2 p.m., collect the kids from school and shoot some hoops or kick a ball with them, and then go out and train. Every minute of my day was accounted for.
I must admit, I rode my Australia Post motorbike just like I drove my Mazda. It was a hoon mobile. Those Honda CT110s had a honking little 105cc air-cooled single-cylinder engine. I would gun around the streets like a Formula 1 driver. I loved setting daily challenges for myself: bettering my record delivery time; never coming to a complete stop; never putting my feet on the ground and so on.
The posh Perth waterside suburb of Applecross was part of my route, and it was perfect for some occasional motorbike stunts. There were mishaps. Once I was thrown over the back of a car, and another time I misjudged the road and fell off my motorbike, skidding 10 metres down the road. Each time I walked away unscathed.
I also had a few of the typical ‘postman meets dog’ stories. I stored the mail in a bag at the back of the bike, which attracted the attention of one particular dog on my round. He would chase me everywhere, trying to grab onto the mailbag, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get rid of him. In the end I let him hang on, and he’d happily be dragged along behind the back of my bike.
Not surprisingly, considering my daredevil antics, I became something of an Applecross attraction, even if some of the residents were less than impressed when I rode my postie bike across their manicured lawns to get to their mailboxes. There were even rumours I tried to jump a few fences. Another myth about my time as a postie was that I would sometimes abandon my bike and run the route. That one never happened.
There were quite a few old cocky farmers who lived in the area, and I got to know them well. Like most cockies, they were generous and would do anything for you. Perth has some debilitating summers, and they’d tell me that if I ever got hot, I could hop over the fence and have a swim in their pools. Often they’d have an ice-cold drink waiting for me when I got to their house. I never took up the offer of a swim because it would have ruined my self-imposed delivery deadline, but it got very tempting some days.
There were also a few people on the route who were right up themselves. One guy who was quite senior in West Australian cricket treated me like his long-lost friend at a function at the WACA, and wouldn’t let me go. He was using me to big-note himself. Not long afterwards, I rocked up at his house to deliver the mail. He clearly didn’t realise it was me – he just grabbed his mail and snubbed me when I greeted him in a friendly manner. He treated me as if postmen were worthless. I took my helmet off so he could see it was me. ‘You’re an arsehole, mate,’ I said. ‘You can’t treat people like that.’ He was shocked. Shortly after that I was moved to another route.
