Читать книгу No Boundaries - Passion and Pain On and Off the Pitch - Ronnie Irani - Страница 5
ОглавлениеThere was a lump in my throat even before I opened the door to make the familiar walk down the steps of Chelmsford pavilion. It was a packed house for a Twenty20 match under floodlights and, as usual, I was wearing the Essex shirt with the red, blue and yellow badge. But I wasn’t playing. I would never play again. I knew it and so did the fans. As I reached the pitch they got to their feet and started to sing:
‘His name is Ronnie Irani
‘He’s big and he’s barmy
‘He bats number five for Essex
‘ESSEX!
‘All the kids in the street shout
‘Hey big lad, what’s your name?
‘His name is Ronnie Irani…’
I blinked away the tears, took a firm hold of Simone and Maria’s hands and started the most memorable walk of my life.
A million thoughts tumbled through my head as I slowly circled the ground with my young daughters, also in their Essex shirts with their names on the back. I could only wave and soak up the emotion of the night. There was no way of telling the fans how much they meant to me. They had adopted a big, raggy-arsed kid from Bolton as one of their own after his dream of playing for Lancashire turned sour. I’d got to know some of them well – Malcolm Singer and his mates, Ian, Anthony and Peter; Tony and Pam and their three daughters; and the late ‘Del Boy’ whose spirit was always with me whenever I walked down those steps and who I hope is ‘forever blowing bubbles’. Hundreds of others had become familiar faces over the years.
There had been better cricketers at the club, yet somehow the Essex fans picked me out for special attention. I like to think it was because I put all I had into every single ball, whether bowling, batting or chasing around the boundary, and also because, while I played the game hard and to win, I never lost sight of the fact that it was meant to be fun for me and entertaining for them. Some players avoid the fans if they can, but I thoroughly enjoyed the craic and exchanging banter with them. And I believe both the Essex fans and England’s ‘Barmy Army’ found it possible to identify with me. They couldn’t imagine themselves being Brian Lara or Graeme Hick or Wasim Akram, but they could look at me and think that, if things had been a bit different, they might have been that big bugger whose enthusiasm, hard work and desire to succeed had made the most of his natural talent.
The people of Essex backed me from the day I stepped off the train in Chelmsford, with everything I owned packed into four bags and with only nine first-class matches to show for my five years at Lancashire. Even when England selectors and officials decided I wasn’t good enough or was too much of ‘a character’ to be bothered with, the people of Essex were still on my side. Above all, they had enjoyed the great times for club and country that had made the last 19 years so unforgettable.
I looked up at the box I’d hired for the night. I’d wanted to share the moment with as many of the most important people in my life as I could, including my wife Lorraine, who I’d been with since she was 16, Mum and Dad who had instilled in me their work ethic and love of cricket and who had followed every step of my career, my secretary Linda Bennett, business partners Nick Bones and Aimee and Damian Donzis, Charles Lord from Stuart Surridge who had sponsored me, Rowland Luff the best man at my wedding, and my mentor John Bird. There were many more who I wished could have been there, people who had given me a leg up when I needed it most.
I went over and gave George Clarke a hug. George was the Essex dressing-room attendant and had not only been the first person to welcome me to Chelmsford all those years before but had also been a brave enough umpire to give England legend Graham Gooch out lbw when I bowled to him in my first Essex practice match. That had been an early feather in my cap and helped establish me at my new home. I spotted Graham Saville on the committee-room balcony and waved to him. I trusted him so much that I’d quit Lancashire just on his word that Essex would sign me and, together with Goochie and Keith Fletcher, Sav had guided me through my career from rookie to county captain.
Ironically, I had been at the peak of my form when Richard Steadman, the top knee specialist in the world, told me, ‘I’m sorry, Ronnie. It’s time to call it a day.’ It hurt like hell but I knew that, if he said nothing more could be done to patch up a knee that had troubled me since I was 17 years old, then that was it. I’d been on a rollercoaster of emotions since breaking the news, first to Lorraine and then to the management and my team-mates at Essex. I was easily moved to tears, especially when I read the tribute Graham Gooch paid me in the press: ‘His attitude and work ethic have always been spot-on since he joined us 13 years ago. He has never lost his appetite and self-belief and, in his book, there was never such a thing as a lost cause. That was something that lifted everyone around him. At both one-day level as well as in the championship he led by example and produced many match-winning performances that confirmed his status as a superb player.’
It just doesn’t get any better than to have one of the greatest players, top leaders and an outstanding man say things like that about you.
It had been a fabulous career – I’d scored lots of runs, taken my share of wickets, picked up trophies, set a record for my country, made some lasting friends, had some great laughs and travelled the world. But I have to say that the greatest single moment was feeling the love from the fans at Chelmsford that night as I walked round the ground with my two ‘Essex girls’.
As I completed my lap of honour, I saw a familiar face in the crowd. ‘Kush’ Dave and his son had been among the first supporters to get behind me. It was he who had started my special song. I went over to him, gave him my last Essex shirt and said, ‘Thanks, pal. It’s been a ball.’
