Читать книгу At the Close of Play - Ricky Ponting - Страница 16

I WAS SOUND ASLEEP and then the phone was ringing. Or was it someone at the door? Maybe it was the alarm. I was confused, didn’t know what was happening, but eventually worked out it was the phone and when I picked it up there was an angry voice: ‘Where the hell are you?’ I looked at the clock and my heart sank. I’d slept in and no matter how fast I moved now there was no escaping the fact I was late. The team was already at the ground.

Welcome to my first game of Shield cricket. I hadn’t gotten out of bed on the wrong side, I just hadn’t gotten out of bed at all. It was no way to start a first-class career.

AT THE START of the 1992–93 season, most observers of cricket in Tasmania believed the selectors would be wary about choosing a 17-year-old kid in Tassie’s Sheffield Shield team. David Boon and Richard Soule had been picked as 17-year-olds, but the pool of players from which the team was chosen was stronger now. Of course, I wanted to be promoted as soon as possible, my expectations fuelled in part by a conversation I’d had with Greg Shipperd, the coach of the Tasmanian team. Greg had brought a group of players to Adelaide for some pre-season training and while he was there he sought me out to say, ‘Mate, you’re in the selectors’ minds. We rate the Second XI games you’ll be playing highly and we’ll be watching them closely.’

One of the changes Rod Marsh had made to the way the Academy was run was to stop scholarship holders from playing Adelaide grade cricket. Instead, from October to December, we played a series of one-day and four-day games, mostly against state Second XIs and usually on first-class grounds, before going back to our home states until the next Academy ‘year’ began in April. When I scored 59 and 161 not out for the Academy against the South Australia Second XI in Adelaide I figured — if Greg was fair dinkum — I must have been a chance for the Shield. When I heard that Danny Buckingham, a stalwart of the Tassie batting order, was out with a groin injury my hopes became even stronger. And then, on Recreation Day, a public holiday held each year in Northern Tasmania on the first Monday in November, I made a hundred for Mowbray against Riverside at Invermay Park. It was — remember I had spent most of my time from age 15 away from Launceston — my first hundred in the top grade for the club. The Shield team was due to be announced 13 days later. Now, I was certain to be in the state side according to the Examiner’s correspondent at the game.

I’d only returned home on the previous Friday, having been away for the best part of seven months. Mum’s first words were to remark on how much fitter I looked, then Dad and I hit Mowbray Golf Course as soon as we could for the first of a number of rounds we played in the following fortnight.

David Boon had been 14 days away from his 18th birthday when he made his first Shield appearance in December 1978, and the local papers were making a fuss about the fact I was in line to make my debut at a younger age (by 15 days). If you had asked me three months earlier if beating Boonie mattered I would have said not at all, but as the first Shield game of the season drew closer and the speculation in the press, around the cricket club and around the family dining table became louder, I suddenly really wanted it to happen. By the middle of the following week I was like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof, buzzing down the fairways, going for jogs around Rocherlea and out into the bush, anything to keep me occupied. Fortunately — for everyone — I got sent to Canberra to play a four-day game for the Academy, and when I came off at the end of the first day I got the news that I would be playing for Tassie in the first game.

I guess I’m supposed to say that when I heard I’d been chosen I was gripped with a panic, but the truth is I knew I was in good form and I was pretty confident, based on what I’d seen and been taught at the Academy, at Tassie squad practice and in the matches I’d played with Mowbray, that I could step up to the higher standards of the Shield. My debut game would be at Adelaide Oval, a ground I knew so well even the benches in front of the Members’ Stand were familiar to me. It was all excitement and eager anticipation, no fear or dread. I don’t think this self-belief meant I was brash or cocky, but on the cricket field I was definitely comfortable in my own skin.

In the Tassie dressing room, I did what I’d always done when surrounded by men: sat quietly in the corner, listened, did as I was told, and thought twice before asking a question. In the papers, before the game, Rod Marsh had described me as ‘a very sensible, quiet lad’. Still, I couldn’t wait to get out of Canberra and catch up with my new team-mates in Adelaide, which I did late on the Wednesday night, about 36 hours before the biggest game of my life to that point was due to begin.

I WAS ROOMING with Michael Di Venuto, who wasn’t in our starting XI but had travelled with the Shield team as part of an ‘Ansett Youth Cricket Scholarship’ he’d been awarded at the start of the season. Hobart-born, Diva is 12 months older than me but we had played a lot of cricket together in the juniors and become great mates. He was a left-hand opening batsman with serious talent. Diva made over 25,000 first-class runs and 60 centuries but only played a smattering of ODIs for Australia. In another era he’d have played quite a few Tests I reckon. Here in Adelaide we were both very keen to impress by doing everything right. So we retired to our room early, ordered room service, watched a movie and made sure we set the alarms next to our beds so we’d be down early for breakfast.

Next thing we knew there was a ringing noise buzzing through the room and I stumbled out of bed thinking it was the alarm. But it was the phone. It was Greg Shipperd ringing from Adelaide Oval: ‘Where the hell are you?’ he shouted down the line. ‘What are you doing?’

We looked at our damn clock-radios and saw it was 9.30am. I couldn’t believe it … we’d set it for 9.30pm. All we could do was get dressed as quickly as we could and bolt down to the ground. Luckily, it was raining so we hadn’t missed anything, but the impression we’d made was appalling. The team had started their warm-up in the indoor centre next door. David Boon had told the rest of the team that if anyone said a word to either of us they’d get fined. If they even looked at us, they’d be fined. We said a sheepish, ‘Sorry boys,’ as soon as we got there … and there was no reaction. Nothing. I tried to start a conversation … no reaction. Nothing. This was day one of my Sheffield Shield career. After warm-ups, we explained ourselves and said it was an honest mistake, and Boonie gruffly told us to make sure it didn’t happen again. Later, he pulled me to one side and reiterated the message.

I’ve rarely felt less important in my life.

I SPENT MY FIRST TWO DAYS of Shield cricket either in the field or watching the rain, which actually wasn’t a bad way to settle in. South Australia was able to declare at stumps on day two thanks to centuries from Joe Scuderi and Tim Nielsen, but we spent most of the afternoon watching it rain again. I then had a pretty restless night knowing I’d be batting the next day, probably on a wicket with some moisture in it. As it turned out, the pitch was still terrific to bat on, but I was still in fairly early, at 2–50.

There was something very reassuring about being met in the middle by the legend himself … David Boon. Like me, Boonie is a former player from the North Launceston Football Club. Typical Launceston, he’s a master of the understatement and seriously loyal to those he trusts. He’d been there and done that, but didn’t overload me with advice. All he did when I came out to bat was to remind me the wicket was nice and we had plenty of time. And, last of all, he said simply, ‘Good luck.’ Still, I can’t begin to tell you how lucky I was to have the reassuring presence of the great man at the other end. I was determined to do the little things right — call loudly, run hard, be assertive. It took me 13 balls to get off the mark, then Tim May came on to bowl, and things changed.

I had never faced an off-spinner of May’s class before. The way the ball looped away from my bat and then spun just that little bit more viciously than I’d ever previously seen was a genuine eye-opener. I felt out of my depth; I couldn’t get off strike and I started to hear the sledges the fielders were aiming at me. I was fine against the quicks, especially as they were so keen to bounce me, but I couldn’t get comfortable against the off-spin and I didn’t like it. This was a weird experience for me, one I’d never felt before other than in my first games against the men, but in those situations I knew I’d be okay when I got a little older. This time, the fear was I wasn’t good enough.

Boonie took it upon himself to take most of May’s bowling and that plan didn’t come unstuck until he was caught at first slip for 60. We’d batted together in a little less than two-and-a-half hours. Straight after Boonie was out I hit their quick bowler Damian Reeves, who was also making his debut, for three straight fours to reach my 50. This prompted South Australia’s captain, Jamie Siddons, to bring his fastest bowler, Denis Hickey, back on. That proved the end of me. Hickey bowled (another) short one, but this was quicker than anything Reeves had delivered and I nicked my attempted hook shot through to keeper Nielsen. As I walked slowly back to the dressing room, I was more dirty on the hundred missed than happy with the 56 scored, especially as I’d let myself get a little excited by those three consecutive boundaries.

I wasn’t a victim of over-confidence so much as I just didn’t quite appreciate how intricate the challenges can be at this higher level. Tim May had put me through the ringer, and though I had clearly struggled at times, I sort of came out the other side. Then Boonie was dismissed and suddenly I was the ‘senior partner’, a situation that created new expectations, at least in my mind. And then I hit those three fours, which did me in. It was natural for my blood to be pumping, but at that stage of my life I didn’t have the nous to put a lid on it. I’d never heard of the term ‘mental strength’ at this point in my life but that’s what I was lacking. And experience. Siddons knew what he was doing when he brought his No. 1 quick back and Hickey knew what he was doing when he tested me with that quick bouncer. In junior cricket I’d have gone on to a big score, but this wasn’t junior cricket. I still had plenty to learn.

When I look back on my career, I realise I had three significant mentors who helped me become the best that I could be as an international cricketer. They all played key roles in my development at different times and I am forever indebted to them for all their support and encouragement.

Ian Young was my first mentor and first real coach. I first met Youngy when I was nine years old, at an NTCA school-holiday coaching clinic. While I was in the nets, I noticed a tall, skinny bloke in a white floppy hat watching me bat. He stayed until I finished and then introduced himself. Straight away I could tell that he was someone who cared. From that first meeting way back in 1983 Youngy was a constant in my life right up until he sadly passed away in October 2010. We spent hours and hours talking together about cricket, practising in the nets and in the field, talking about football and how to be as good a person and sportsperson as you could be. Apart from my family, Youngy made the biggest impression on my life. He was a great motivator, listener and confidant. He had an incredible ability to help me find the answer myself while reinforcing the critical points to become better — as a batsman, leader and person.

Youngy gave me a great foundation, which helped me when I arrived at the Cricket Academy in Adelaide. There I came under the watchful eye of Rod Marsh, who gave me a wonderful opportunity at the Academy and became my second mentor in the game of cricket and life. Rod pushed me very hard from my earliest days with him, and I look back on that now and know that it set the platform for the way I apply myself to training, preparing and playing my cricket. We got on well and spent a lot of time talking about cricket, the difference between good and great, and experiences that Rod had that he felt would help me. And they did. I probably didn’t realise it then but my time at the Academy with Rod taught me to grow up as a person, learn to be independent and self-reliant and to always give 100 per cent to my training and preparation. These lessons from Rod have been with me right through my career and it was great to have him back around the Australian team as a selector in my final years with the team.

My other significant mentor is current Victorian and past Tasmanian coach, Greg Shipperd. He made a huge impression on me when I first came into the Tasmanian team, and right through my career was around the most when I needed someone to help me with something in my game. He was also very hard on me and would tell me exactly what he thought — all of which I really appreciated. If I got out playing a bad shot, Shippy would be at the gate as I walked off to tell me. But then he would watch the video with me to break down where I went wrong so that I wouldn’t make that mistake again. We have become good mates and he has been great for my batting, especially in the latter years of my career, where I’ve had a few challenges creep into my technique.

What stands out for me with my three mentors is that they all pushed me hard, taught me to work harder than anyone else and, above all, to aim to be a good person. I am forever indebted to all three of them.