The wrong un, p.22
The Wrong 'Un, page 22
It intensified when usual protocols were dismissed and I was put on a media ban until the judiciary hearing at the Hyatt Hotel in Perth. I had no idea what was going on, or what was about to happen. Kumble was in the room, an Australian official was there, and just before the hearing was supposed to start, I was told that India had decided to drop the case. And with that we all walked out.
Despite this, I still missed the next Test, at the WACA, as the Australian selectors opted for an all-out pace attack. But after that approach misfired with India winning by 72 runs, I was beckoned back for the Fourth Test, in Adelaide. That Test would bring out all my raw emotions, turning me into a blubbering mess.
BEHIND THE SCENES
The Willetton boys knew how to keep Brad real, and how to set him up. Some weeks after the World Cup, Shane Lavender was driving with his business partner to Albany, and they had a break in Brad’s home town, Williams.
I had never been to Williams until this particular day. So I’m sitting in their only cafe that isn’t also a petrol station, and by sheer coincidence George rings me out of the blue. I said, ‘You’re not going to believe this, but I’m actually in Williams.’
‘Bullshit!’
‘I’m serious. I’m at the cafe on the main street, and I’m just looking over at the park and I can see your statue.’
‘What?’
‘I think it’s bloody good of them to do this for you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Look, I’m telling you there’s a six-foot-six bronze statue of you bowling a wrong ’un.’
‘Get stuffed. There’s no statue.’
‘I’m telling you, there is. They must have got a pretty good sculptor to do it, because it looks exactly like you. And it’s very clever how they’ve got your actual wrong ’un action. That would have taken a bit of planning. But look, I’m busy. We’ve got to get to Albany. The phone reception’s not that good, and I have to take off. But I’m telling you, it’s a bloody good statue, George – you should be bloody proud of it. Alright.’
I then hung up. On the drive between Williams and Albany there’s no phone reception. I get to Albany, and there’s all these voicemails from George. He wasn’t happy.
He’s blowing up, explaining how he had just rung his mother, and she’s said there’s no statue, and he should stop being a big-head. She’s told him it’s time that he actually pulled his head in, and that he should be embarrassed even to think that they would put a six-foot-six statue of him in the park. He tried to explain to his mum that I’d seen it, to which she replied, ‘Either Lavender is on drugs or he’s just pulling your leg.’
George says to me, ‘Thanks a lot! Now I’m copping it from my parents.’
16.
THE COLLAPSE
‘You just knew he didn’t want to retire … You could see how conflicted he was, and that it was hurting him.’
Steve Bernard, Australian team manager
Towards the end of the 2007–08 summer, I was about to turn 37 years old – but I was still obsessed with cricket. I loved playing the game, of course, but as time went by, it had also become an escape for me. Touring with the Australian team took me away from some difficult times at home. One time at the airport, as we were about to leave for a trip, I remember seeing Adam Gilchrist in tears as he was leaving his family. I was the complete opposite.
Don’t get me wrong – I loved my family. I loved getting up to make the kids’ lunches and take them to school, and picking them up in the afternoon. I loved coaching their sporting teams in netball and football. I loved those moments when we’d be watching a movie together on a Saturday night and I’d look over my little family with such pride and love. But my marriage was icy cold, and we were arguing all the time. Even being on tour didn’t stop it from happening at long distance. Often I’d be copping an earful on the phone as I was leaving the hotel for the ground.
I know I’m not the perfect man. I have made my fair share of errors. I can understand people thinking I was overly selfish, maybe even insensitive to other people’s needs, and from the outside it might look like I was neglecting my family by pursuing cricket for so long. That wasn’t my intention – I really didn’t want to let anyone down. It just proved difficult when my emotions were all over the place.
I still blame myself for the breakdown of my marriage, because I know I wasn’t the easiest person to communicate with or live with. One reason – and it was a big one – was that I had this overwhelming desire to play cricket for Australia. That’s all I wanted to do. That’s all I knew.
Cricket was my addiction, and I was sometimes self-absorbed because of that. You have to be focused to attain your goals, and that means you can neglect others. But I felt so frustrated that I had played my whole career knowing my partner wasn’t fully supportive of my ambition. I constantly had issues at home, and over the years we had briefly separated on numerous occasions. Those periods often coincided with the times when I got upset on the cricket field or did something stupid. My wife and I once had a massive barney about my dreams. I told her playing for Australia was my dream, and I asked what hers was, saying I’d do anything to make it happen for her. She just couldn’t tell me.
My teammates had sussed out what was going on in my personal life over the years, and many had embarrassingly witnessed heated exchanges over the phone, or even in person when meeting me at home.
I knew my wife was miserable, and that I was the cause of her unhappiness. I couldn’t live this lifestyle forever. She’d had enough of my obsession with cricket and my endless trips away from home, so a decision had to be made. What came first in my life – cricket or family? It was clear I had to retire from all forms of cricket or my marriage was over.
I felt sick. After years of exasperation, I was feeling settled in the Australian team. A tour of Pakistan awaited the following month, and then one to the West Indies. After that, the most coveted of my cricket goals loomed: an Ashes tour to England. If I got picked, it would be a return to the country that had been crucial in my cricketing development, both in the northern leagues and at Warwickshire.
I thought I was starting to bowl well, and had learned how to operate in the longer form of the game and be more patient. I had tailored my game to the one-day format, because Warne and MacGill were better than me at Test level. But I felt I’d closed the gap, and was becoming a capable Test spinner. A big part of me was desperate to stick it out for at least another year.
But I was also brought up with very strong family values, on both the Hogg and Hall sides. To this day, I raise my youngest daughter with the mantra that ‘Hoggs don’t quit’. I couldn’t fail at my marriage, at being a parent. I had made the mess and now I had to clean it up. I decided I had to try to make our marriage work. I was 37, and it was time for me to pursue a more ordinary life and get a proper job.
My bargaining chip in the forced retirement was to have another baby, which I hoped might be a son to whom I could pass down my family name of George. It wouldn’t be too long before our daughter and Andrea’s son would move out of our family home, and I’d be looking down the barrel of middle age, a ‘normal’ job and a stay-at-home wife. I’m not the first to have tried to save a marriage with a baby, but another child was a way of ensuring we remained together that didn’t involve cricket – unless he or she showed an aptitude for ball sports, in which case I saw many happy years of cricket coaching ahead.
So the Fourth Test would be my last match, at any level. I had no idea how I was going to tell my teammates. I kept changing my mind: No, I’m going to keep playing … No, I have to retire … Stuff it, I don’t want to leave cricket. On and on, sheer confusion and sleepless nights. I could not work out what I wanted to do, or what was the right thing to do.
I arrived in Adelaide an emotional mess, and my state did not improve during the match. I struggled to focus. One time I was on all fours on the ground, after trying to field a ball. I was devastated, not because I had missed the ball but because a thought had just struck me: F—, I’m not going to be here anymore. I was going to miss the game so much. And for a moment I just couldn’t pick myself up off the ground.
At one stage I started crying out there in the middle of the ground. It was uncontrollable. I had my spot in the Test team now, and I was about to give it up. It was really eating at me. As well as feeling distracted and disillusioned, I was getting pounded around the ground by Virender Sehwag. I couldn’t contain my emotions any longer.
On the last day of the Test, it all hit me. During the final tea break, as the game meandered to a draw, I couldn’t join the others for refreshments. I was absolutely shattered, and I went and sat on the toilet, trying to pull myself together.
I still hadn’t told anyone about my intention to retire, but our team coach, Tim Nielsen, twigged that something wasn’t right with me when I came into the dressing rooms. At first he was probably thinking I was in a state because Sehwag had been getting into me, but I think he eventually realised there was a lot more going on.
Still, I didn’t have the courage to tell anyone. I was trying to buy myself some time.
It felt like everything was closing in on me. I was having problems with my knee, and I also had some shoulder problems that meant I couldn’t throw the ball properly, even though I could still bowl. My body was on red alert, and I was worried it was going to give out at any stage.
I’d tried to convince my wife to give me some leeway before retiring, so I could have the shoulder operation in the off-season, at a time when I would still be getting paid by Cricket Australia. But she wanted me to announce my decision straightaway. I had to put the family first, she told me.
I delayed the inevitable for a month, playing in the Commonwealth Bank Series against India and Sri Lanka. When I felt I could no longer put it off, I decided to announce my retirement in late February 2008, before our last group match, against Sri Lanka in Melbourne. It was an excruciating experience.
Before telling the team, I sat down with Steve Bernard and Tim Nielsen. I wanted to explain to them in person exactly why I was departing. We talked for a while, and we all got a bit emotional. I then tried to psyche myself up to tell the players.
Even providing the right quotes to the Australian team’s media manager, Lachie Patterson, turned into a horrible experience. I simply didn’t want to tell the guys that I was going to retire. Nor did I want to do a media conference, because I didn’t know how I would handle it, especially if they asked me questions that made me emotional. I didn’t want to break down in front of the press, and I knew I could easily be tipped over the edge.
As I sat there with Lachie, trying to get him to write a press release that would camouflage the fact I was retiring because of family issues, he realised what was going on.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he asked me. ‘You don’t want to retire, do you?’
‘No,’ I admitted. I was in tears.
Lachie suggested we hold off the announcement, but I said I couldn’t because I was trying to save my marriage and a deadline had been set.
I reckon I was in that room with him for two hours, trying to work out what to say, but I was all over the shop. I simply could not get my act together.
Eventually, we worked out a media release and sent it out, explaining that I felt the time was right to call an end to my international career. I explained how I was extremely comfortable with my decision, and wanted to bow out while I was still on top of my game and while I was not letting my teammates down. I thanked my family, the Williams Cricket Association, Tarwonga Cricket Club and everyone who was involved with me at Willetton, Melville and Fremantle. ‘Thank you for the opportunity and the enjoyment,’ my press release read. It sounded final.
Next we organised a meeting in the Australian dressing room, and I spoke to the players. It was extremely difficult, and for a while there I couldn’t get my words out. When I look at photos of the moment now, I can almost see the lump in my throat.
The players definitely felt my raw emotion. They knew that playing for Australia meant everything to me. I had always wanted my retirement to come when someone I trusted told me, ‘You’re gone – you can’t do it anymore.’ That hadn’t happened. I knew I still had some fuel in my tank, and I wanted to use it. But I couldn’t.
All the boys in the team knew I didn’t want to retire; they knew why I was leaving. They all got behind me, and were great about it. Michael Clarke went out of his way to present me with a beautiful silver pen that had my Test number engraved on it. I liked Michael – he never judged me, and showed genuine care for me.
Somehow, I kept my composure at my press conference, explaining that I had considered ending my career after the World Cup in the West Indies, but I felt Warne’s retirement had given me a chance to get back in the Test side. ‘I wanted to fight to get back in there, and I did it and I achieved what I wanted to achieve,’ I said.
I was a bit more open to Cricinfo’s Peter England and Brydon Coverdale, explaining that personal issues had played a big part.
‘I’ve got things that I want to sort out at home and get my new chapter in my life organised and on the go,’ I said. ‘It’s an exciting time and a sad time. There are just a few personal issues that are probably the main reason for this decision. So I’m going to take a good couple of months off, decide what I really want to do. I’ve got a number of things on the go at the moment but I won’t go into that.’
John Townsend, the journalist who knew me best, reported me as saying: ‘At the end of the day, if someone could have ripped Shane Warne’s right arm off, then I might have had more of a crack, but he was the world’s best bowler.’ I cheekily admitted to Townsend that the Indian Twenty20 league could possibly lure me back.
I gave a few hints as to why I was really leaving at a function at the WACA ground several weeks later, when Adam Gilchrist, Justin Langer and I were asked about our retirements. We were up on stage and were asked what we were going to miss most about cricket. Adam gave a straightforward answer, but my answer was: ‘Not having the opportunity to be able to pretend I was experiencing phone interference and disconnect from my wife when I was copping an earful.’
We were then asked about our proudest moments, and Adam started talking about certain hundreds he had scored. While he was talking, I noticed a table of selectors right in front of me and I couldn’t help myself. ‘I’m looking at these selectors here,’ I said when it was my turn to speak. ‘They wouldn’t pick me for the Western Australian Shield team, because they never thought I would play Test cricket again. Well, I did. So up yours!’
The turmoil of having to retire affected my relationship with my parents, and I was starting to fight with both of them. They could see how unhappy I was, and questioned my decision.
Some time before making my announcement, I had lunch at the Perth restaurant Coco’s with a cricketing colleague to try to plan my life after cricket. I wanted to get some management in Perth so I would have something to turn to if I did retire. I had plans to become a bona fide accountant. It turned into a very big lunch for me after he left, as I moved to another table with some country blokes and we continued drinking. At one point I got up to go to the loo, and realised that I wasn’t in a very good state.
By now it was 6 p.m. and dark. I walked out of the restaurant but there were no cabs around. Because I was in the Australian Test team, I knew it would be dangerous for me to be seen like this in public, so I decided it would be smarter to walk home. I kept to the waterfront so I could avoid being seen.
It was a long walk, and on the way I decided to ring my old man. He quickly detected the state I was in, and I started having a drunken argument with him. At one stage I was standing on a limestone wall, yelling at my old man about the importance of family coming first. Really, I was trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing by retiring, and I wanted some reassurance from Dad. But he knew I didn’t want to leave the game. He’s like so many from the bush – totally straightforward – and he couldn’t be anything but honest with me about it.
By this time my parents were living in Perth, and Dad said he would come and pick me up. I refused. Then my wife rang, asking where I was. I told her I was walking home because I needed some space, and that I didn’t want the kids seeing me in the state I was in. I said I would be home in about an hour and a half. Then I called my old man back and had another argument with him. I did eventually get home, but it was a dreadful night.
*
At the end of the Commonwealth Bank Series, I returned to Perth and told myself that I was going to have six months off and go and play golf. My handicap came down very quickly, but then I started getting bored.
During these months the Australian Cricketers’ Association rang me to see how I was going. ‘I’m fine,’ I told them. ‘I’m the least of your worries.’
‘No, you’re one of the guys we’re most concerned about,’ they said. Because I was always on a high, they were worried about how I would handle not having that adrenaline rush any longer. They knew I always had to keep myself busy.
After a while I took an office job at Curtin University in business development, and turned my back on cricket. For almost three years I did not pick up a cricket bat or ball.
I tried hard to make my new life work. I was heading towards 40 and I had good assets behind me. But nine-to-five work made me feel penned in. I felt isolated, and often lost. I was woefully underprepared for a ‘normal’ job, and hated the restrictions placed on almost every aspect of my character.
I was in and out of a couple of jobs over those three years, as I couldn’t find anything I could sink my teeth into. I was looking for something that I would feel passion for but it eluded me.
