No Boundaries (20 page)

For the counties to be more independent, they need another big income stream and I think that could come from twenty20. Imagine if every Saturday afternoon during the summer there was a twenty20 league match at grounds round the country, just like football. Better still stage it every Friday night under the lights. I’m sure a good promotions company could soon build up all the old rivalries once again to add a bit of spice: Middlesex v Surrey or Essex, Yorkshire v Lancashire. And put it on terrestrial TV.

I’ve nothing against the satellite channels – I’ve worked for both Sky and Setanta – but to me it makes sense for at least some major cricket to be available to people who can’t afford a subscription. If the BBC or Channel 4 can’t or won’t pay
the big fees, make up the money through sponsorship and advertising deals. You only have to think back to the Ashes series of 2005 when the whole country got caught up in the cricket. People were captivated because it was on terrestrial TV. I remember driving past a house in the October of that Ashes year and a dad was in the garden bowling to his daughter with his son fielding. Behind the stumps was a football goal but cricket had taken over in their eyes. I was thrilled but also noticed that the house didn’t have a satellite dish. Cricket was on a massive upward curve. More than 12 million people watched the final Test of that series and were gagging for more but the authorities let them down. We blew it. Twenty20 on terrestrial TV would give us the chance to win them back and could provide the cash to reinvigorate the county championship, but I wonder if the leaders of our game have the imagination to see the potential or if they will just allow the IPL a free run.

As the season moved towards its completion, it was clear that I needed drastic action on my knee. I was struggling in the field and the only fitness training I could do was cycling, swimming and rowing. Graham Gooch was fantastic. He told me to cut out running in training, realising that I had to protect my knee for on the field. Fortunately, it didn’t affect my batting but I knew something had to be done. I’d talked to Jamie Redknapp and asked him about Richard Steadman, a surgeon in Vail, Colorado, who is considered the leading specialist in knee problems. He started his practice dealing with skiing injuries but in recent years has saved the careers of a string of footballers, including Alan Shearer, Craig Bellamy, Ronaldo, Alessandro del Piero and Michael Owen. Jamie couldn’t speak highly enough of him so, when I saw David Dandy, the man who had successfully cleaned up my
knee a couple of times, I asked him what he thought. He was blunt. ‘Ronnie, there’s not much more I can do for you. Richard Steadman has a brilliant reputation. I would think he’s your best bet.’

It was time to invest in my own future once again. I worked out that with the fares, the accommodation, the operation and the rehab – they start to work on the knee four hours after the operation to break down scar tissue – it was going to cost me around
£
8,000. But I was as excited as hell about the next few years among what was becoming one of the best dressing-room spirits I’d experienced since the stiffs at Lancashire. I was desperate to be part of it, so anything it cost me would be money well spent. Richard Steadman turned out to be everything people had said about him. He was incredibly positive and encouraging and, when I flew home after the op, I felt sure I’d bought myself some time.

I couldn’t wait for the next season to start, especially as my mate Goughie was joining us at Chelmsford.

W
hen Darren Gough won
Strictly Come Dancing
, I bought everyone champagne. It was the least I could do – I’d just cleaned up at the bookies at odds of 25–1. Goughie had joined Essex the year before and we were all surprised when he announced he was going to take part in a TV reality show. He admitted he was a bit nervous – ‘Bowling in front of a few thousand people in Melbourne is no problem but I’m not sure about this dancing lark,’ he said. I told him he’d be fine and said I was so confident that I was going to have a bet on him to win it. The odds then were 15–1 and he told me to save my money because he had no chance. I took his advice but then he got through a couple of rounds and I could see that, while he was not exactly Fred Astaire, he was pretty damn good and, more importantly, the punters loved him. When his odds went out to 25–1, I couldn’t resist.

Darren was still unconvinced and used to phone me before the shows so I could gee him up. I said, ‘Don’t worry about it. These shows are all about personality. Stick your chest out and go for it.’

Just before the final, the BBC wanted a couple of his Essex team-mates to go on a show to air in the lead up to the big night. I think the aim was to show that Goughie’s achievement was special by revealing that most cricketers had two left feet when it came to dancing. Graham Napier volunteered and Goughie persuaded me to go along. We had to go to a dance school where world champion Karen Hardy had no time at all to teach us the cha-cha-cha to the Donna Summer tune ‘Hot Stuff’. She kept telling me off because I chatted too much and at one stage, when I was supposed to catch her under the arms but instead cupped her breasts by accident (honest!), I thought she was going to give me a slap. Given how little time we had to learn the steps and rehearse, I thought we did an OK job but, when they showed our effort on TV, the general opinion seemed to be that I shouldn’t give up the day job.

Goughie was going great guns and, by the time he’d reached the final, he was beginning to feel reasonably confident. I rang him and said, ‘So, what do you think of your chances, Daz?’

‘I don’t know, pal. I’m good, but that Zoe Ball, she’s pretty good. And that Colin Jackson is a bit of a dark horse!’

I burst out laughing. I knew Darren didn’t have a racist bone in his body and hadn’t realised what he’d said. ‘I wouldn’t say that on the telly if I was you,’ I advised.

Lorraine and I went to the final and it was a great night. There was no stopping Goughie. As with everything he does in life, he gave it his all and he thoroughly deserved to win, though I reckon having Lilia Kopylova as his partner didn’t harm his chances.

Darren’s ability as a dancer was news to me but I’d always known he was a great bowler so I was delighted when he
agreed to join us at Essex. I was convinced his never-say-die attitude would rub off on the rest of the team. We had a talented group of youngsters but they still needed plenty of guidance and I knew I could no longer rely on the assistance of Nasser Hussain. Our relationship had fractured for good that summer.

Things had not been good between us for some time. While I understood he wanted to do well for England, I felt he could have given Essex a bit more of his attention. It seemed the only time he was interested in what we were doing was when it suited him – when he needed to get fit again after an injury or get his form back after a lean spell. It felt as though it was more what Essex could do for Nasser than what he could do for his county. It was a situation like that which led to the final breakdown of our friendship.

He’d made it clear from the start that he didn’t rate the twenty20 game and didn’t want to play in it, so we didn’t consider him for selection. Then, when it started to take off with big crowds and he was having a difficult time with England, he suddenly decided he wanted to play. I didn’t think that was fair on the lads who had been playing and anyway I didn’t believe it was Nass’s kind of cricket. There was no time to play yourself in and build an innings, which was his strength, so Graham Gooch decided there was no place for Nass when he picked the team for the next match.

Nass always had problems confronting Goochie. I remember how, in my early days at Essex, we all had to take it in turns to drive the kit van to matches. It wasn’t the most popular job in the world and as club captain Graham Gooch was exempt, but the rest of us used to do it, except Nass, who would always find some excuse when it came to his turn.
Eventually, the guy who organised the rota got fed up and raised it with Nass with Goochie in the room.

‘Come on, Nass. This is the third time you’ve ducked out.’

‘You can stick your kit van up your arse,’ Nass replied.

Goochie overheard and tore him off a strip, saying, if players like Mark Waugh could drive the kit van, so could he. ‘Allan Border drove the kit van when he was here and I’ve driven the kit van. So, if it’s good enough for us, it’s good enough for you.’

Nasser knew he wasn’t anywhere near as good a player as Goochie and certainly nothing like as popular with the Essex fans and I think he felt intimidated by him. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that I got the abusive call when he was left out of the twenty20 side. I was driving with Linda Bennett when he came through on the hands-free, so she heard the whole thing.

‘All right, Nass?’ I asked.

‘No, not really.’

‘Why, what’s up?’

I could tell from his voice he was angry and he soon let me have it. ‘You’re the fucking matter,’ he stormed. ‘I’ve backed you all my career. I’ve always pushed your cause. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have played for England at all. No one else wanted you in the side. I backed you over Stuart Law at Essex and I backed you for the captaincy and this is how you repay me!’ After a stream of abuse, he finally asked the question: ‘Why am I not in the twenty20 side?’

I was trying hard not to get into a slanging match and said, ‘You never made yourself available.’

‘Well, I’m available now.’

That completely rubbed me up the wrong way. ‘So it suits you to play for Essex now, does it?’

‘Yeah, and I want you to do something about it.’

‘Ring Goochie. He picks the team.’

‘I’m ringing you, you’re the captain. I want you to do something about it.’

By this stage, we were both getting heated and talking across each other, so I shut up for another couple of minutes while he sounded off again about how wonderful he’d been to me and that, without him, I’d have been a nobody struggling to make my way. I glanced across at Linda who looked gobsmacked. She was certainly getting a new insight into all for one and one for all.

After a while, I cut in again. ‘OK, you’ve had your say, now let’s get a few things straight,’ I snapped. ‘As far as you backing me to get into the England side, that’s a fucking joke. You never backed me. You don’t make yourself available for Essex unless it suits you. You pick and choose when you’ll play. You’re a spoiled brat and always have been. All you care about is yourself. You’re a disgrace.’

He tried to cut across me again, but I said, ‘No, you listen. You treat people like shit. All you care about is that Nasser is all right. As far as I’m concerned, you can go fuck yourself.’

He hung up. We’ve seldom spoken since apart from when he interviewed me for Sky, which was uncomfortable for both of us. I bumped into him when I was at the Rosebowl for talkSPORT but when I looked over to him he looked away. I could hear the talkSPORT production lads laughing in my earpiece, saying, ‘He really doesn’t like you, does he?’

I took the earpiece out and went over to say hello. I knew his dad had recently died and passed on my condolences.

‘Maybe we should have a glass of wine one day and catch up,’ I said.

‘Yeah, that would be good,’ he replied.

But I don’t think it will happen. It’s a shame because I think he does an excellent job on Sky and he was certainly a very fine cricketer and a first-class captain of England. Our characters and approach to the game couldn’t be more different but his style of captaincy worked for him and, indeed, I picked up a few things from him that I used when I became skipper. There were several times when dealing with young players that I remembered how Nasser’s aggression had brought the best out of people and I did the same.

There had been a few anxious faces around Essex when I suggested we should sign Goughie. We’d played against him the previous season and it was obvious he was struggling with his knees. He could no longer keep going for five days, so his Test career was over and the fact that Yorkshire, where he was a god, were willing to let him go made some people think he was finished completely. He liked the idea of coming to Essex. He and I had always got on, Paul Grayson was his biggest mate and had been best man at his wedding, and Chelmsford was within striking distance of where his sons were living in Milton Keynes. I guess it was something of a gamble but I was convinced that there was nothing wrong with him that Hans Müller-Wohlfahrt and the other specialists in Munich couldn’t sort out. With a fit Darren Gough among our young guns, I was convinced we would win trophies. I just needed to persuade Goughie to visit Munich.

‘I know your knee is good again now,’ I said to him.

‘Aye, it’s great now,’ he smiled.

‘But let’s take out a bit of insurance. Come and see this guy with me and, if you don’t think it helps, that’s fine. But there’s no harm in trying.’

To be honest, I’d have paid for it myself if necessary. As far
as I was concerned, I was getting my Ferrari tuned up for the season and it was worth a few bob to me. But it never came to that. Goughie paid his way to start with and then Alan Lilley said Essex would pay the bills. It was only a few thousand quid, but nevertheless I was delighted he was willing to take my word it was a good investment. Mind you, when he agreed, Alan said, ‘Fucking hell, Irani, we’d better win something with all this.’

Goughie was impressed with how good he felt after Hans drained the fluid from his knee and then gave him a Hyalart injection. We also took him to Thomas Mendelssohn to adjust his back and Martin Trautmann for his feet and some new, custom-designed orthotics. As soon as we got the fixture list, we sat down and made appointments with Hans about every three weeks. It was money well spent. Over the next three years, with Darren in the side, we won two major titles and he earned his place back in the England ODI team.

It was important for us to have another experienced bowler in the side because, under advice from Richard Steadman, I was no longer bowling. He had reduced me to tears when he told me I had to pack in. I’d always seen being an all-rounder as a big part of my make-up. I loved to lead from the front in all aspects of the game and in training.

Richard asked, ‘Are you telling me you are not good enough to get in the team just on your batting?’

‘No. That’s not a problem. Batting is my main strength.’

‘Well, if you want to still lead your troops from the front, you have to give up bowling. It’s the only way to buy you a few more years playing.’

I knew I was going to miss it like hell. I loved the physical endurance and challenge of bowling. There’s no better feeling in the world than seeing a ball cut back and knock down the
peg of a Brian Lara or Sachin Tendulkar, but I wasn’t ready to give up the game I loved. So I accepted that it was time to move on and it paid dividends immediately. My batting went up to a new level and I was chasing people like Andy Flower as the county’s leading scorer.

I was also much more settled into the captaincy role and relished the challenge of seeing that an exceptional bunch of players fulfilled their potential. If I’m honest, I was a bit out of my depth when I first took over as captain, but I was determined to learn. I absorbed everything Graham Gooch, Keith Fletcher, John Bird and Frank Dick told me and even went on a man-management course at Ashridge Business School. I also thought back to my days at Lancashire and tried to learn the lessons from how badly they had handled a similar group of hungry young wannabes. I wanted a relaxed atmosphere, where people were comfortable having a beer together and talking about cricket, but I also wanted an honest dressing room, where people could speak their mind without undermining the team spirit. We all had to be able to take criticism as well as praise and I was determined that there would be no bullying of young players.

Some people find it hard to distinguish between bullying and frankness. I’ve always believed in saying what you think, but only when it is going to do some good. At times, the captain’s job is to be brutally honest with someone, but it should always be to help that player improve, not just to put him down. You often hear talk about a coach or captain having to put his arm round someone to get the best out of them and I’m the first to acknowledge there are times when you need to do that. But I discovered something interesting over the years: those who constantly need to be praised are not the players who stand up when the going gets rough on
the pitch. They aren’t the ones you turn to in a pressure situation or who deliver on the big occasion. To my mind, the ideal player is the one you can push hard and he will respond by giving more.

Ravi Bopara is the ideal example. Keith Fletcher spotted him playing junior cricket and Graham Gooch worked with him from a young age. It was obvious from the start that he had bags of talent and he also had attitude – there were times I would smile because he reminded me of myself when young. I decided to give him his head, knowing that, if he overstepped the mark, I could have a quiet word and he’d acknowledge where he’d gone wrong. And I could push him hard. I could go to Ravi and say, ‘That was a joke out there today. You can do a lot better than that,’ and I knew he wouldn’t sulk or go into his shell. He’d respond by working harder and doing better. If England stick with him, he can go all the way and become a star performer.

When things are going well on the pitch, you hardly need a captain and he certainly doesn’t need expensive management courses to get results. It’s when the team is struggling that you earn your money. I used to think about the psychology of the game as I drove to the ground, working out how I could turn things round and get the guys firing on all cylinders. I’m not a great believer in relaxing players before a match. To me, if you are not living on the edge, you are taking up too much room. I remember we were about to play against a team we were expected to beat easily and I was determined to make sure the players weren’t complacent or taking the game too lightly. I knew we could probably amble to victory but I wanted them to start the game hard and fast and win it as decisively as possible. I went into the dressing room unsmiling and without the usual
cheery greetings. I threw my bag in the corner as though I was really pissed off and I stomped around the place a bit. I could see players looking at each other as if to say, ‘What’s up with Ronnie?’