After 22 Years, Cricket And I Need A Break

I don't remember a time when I wasn't aware of cricket, when the game didn't have some kind of spell over me. I remember English summers in a small Oxfordshire village watching the local team play and wishing I was allowed to, but also being afraid of a "real" leather cricket ball. A home-made block of wood that my father drilled stump holes into would be used on the street with a tennis ball and whosoever happened to be around and wanted to play would dictate my cricket until we moved to Devon, where I took up the real sport.

Unbelievable to be bowling in the nets with Shane Warne
just before the World Cup Semi Final in 2015 at the SCG.

There is absolutely no doubt that the game of cricket has given me the life I have today. I have been fortunate to play with and against some excellent cricketers, international cricketers and to train with international teams alongside people I'd only ever seen on TV. I have so many happy memories of cricket that it's almost unfathomable that I feel quite like I do about the game right now, in that I am ready to walk away from playing. Whether or not that is permanent remains to be seen, but as of now I feel like I've done my dash. Retirement sounds better than a sabbatical.

Ice and a cuppa. No recovery
needed next summer.

Black Eye. Wear A Helmet.

The first game of 2019 was the moment that secured it for me, but the warning signs have been building. I had long said that the 2018/19 season would be my last full season of playing, after that I would look at umpiring or scoring and only playing occasionally. Back in August during pre-season training, I hit a cricket ball into my own face and gave myself a black-eye... a freak occurrence as a result of a leading edge, but enough to make me doubt my ability to see the ball as a batsman. Yet the moment that confirmed it for me came about 45 minutes into the first game back after Christmas. While bowling.

I've never claimed to be the quickest bowler out there, I've definitely never claimed to be the best. Perhaps that's part of the reason I never excelled, because fast bowlers are supposed to be brash, full of confidence and ready to Alpha anyone that crosses their path. Not my style, even when I was young and brash the confidence and alpha-ing was faked. Some would argue that few fast bowlers are any different.

Too much weight, too much strain, no longer a bowler.

Jogging in to bowl with at least 3 different niggles across my two legs and letting go of a delivery in my second over with full effort only to see the batsman have time to change his mind three times over what shot to play and still finding the middle with a secure defensive stroke sapped my energy just as much as the 34°C heat and ridiculous humidity. The first ball I bowled was the best; chopping the batsman in half and missing the stumps by a bees-dick. I jokingly said "I won't bowl another one like that!" Perhaps it was the negative mindset (No, Jon Mears!)? Perhaps it was the overweight 32-year-old frame that couldn't hack it anymore...? But I didn't bowl another one like that. And that's when it hit me (yep, in the middle of an over in the middle of the field) that I've been playing this game for 22 years without a voluntary break, it's time to take one. Not necessarily permanent, but time off at least.

Hitting Jamie Overton through
the covers, Instow, North Devon, 2011.
Back when I wore a helmet...!

I'd always envisaged myself playing year in, year out until I was almost retired. Granted, I was never going to continue as a pace bowler forever, I've always wanted to bowl leg-spin and perhaps if there is a phase two that may happen?! Since moving to Australia permanently in 2013, cricket at Macquarie Uni CC has almost been central to my universe. Recently though, I have been somewhat philosophically wondering just how many family moments I've missed out on by playing the game? How many times has my long-suffering wife had to spend weekends on her own, or how many birthdays have I left early or not made it to because of cricket? How many times have I missed out on taking our nephew and niece to the park or the beach with the whole family for a picnic? Ultimately, family has to come first and giving my wife the honeymoon she deserves at a time when the next cricket season will be starting is a choice that realistically it shouldn't have taken over 4 years to make.

Without doubt my favourite team, Captaining Under 24's
to the Grand Final for (so far) the only time in MUCC's history.
Unfortunately we fell at the final hurdle to Strathfield.

Not only that, but the 2018/19 season is the first season I haven't had any responsibility at the club. I was on the committee almost from the moment I landed here in 2013, took on the 2nd Grade Captaincy, then the Vice-President role, then 1st Grade Captaincy. At any club that would take its toll, but dealing with the bureaucracy that Macquarie University throws in our direction annually, feigning interest in seeing cricket grow while systematically removing facilities and increasing thresholds for the club is on another level altogether. And working that hard for a club only to have the opposition comments on a weekly basis about how "this is where cricket comes to die!" or "when are you blokes going to get some proper f**king changing rooms?!" leaves one feeling less than enthusiastic. Make no mistake, the love I have for Macquarie University Cricket Club is without question. What is frustrating is that there are only a few of us that maintain that level of love and loyalty to the club. The sad thing is that with just a little investment, the university could have the best facilities in the whole of Sydney. Not just Shires Cricket, the whole city. 

Club politics are present wherever you go to play your cricket, whichever club you choose. There are things that are fair, and things that are a downright shambles. When you get criticised despite the effort you put in? When you have your integrity questioned by people who don't give a damn about the club? When you get accused of racism? Accused of only picking "white boys", yet the team-sheets suggest differently? When you hear of this so-called smear campaign by someone rejoining the club who had been told that about you, and that is why he left the club in the first place? That hurts. Why continue to give up your summers for a game you love if character assassination is a possible and probable consequence? (Edit: Probable is more accurate)

Maybe not Concorde anymore, but the desire to get
back in the air is strong.

Back when I worked at the Flying School, my boss and very good friend James Pyne and I had gone for a pint with our colleague and good friend Chris Gilbert at my local pub. James was a fully fledged Flying Instructor at that point, just 20 years old. Within a year he had become one of Europe's youngest (if not the record holder) private jet Captains. My two loves were cricket and flying, his was flying. Sole focus. He was not only one of my best mates but my instructor too. And he told me how he used to represent the county at Rugby, but ultimately chose to focus on his flying.

They both knew I badly wanted to be a pilot, so James asked me: "What would you rather be, a professional pilot or a professional cricketer?" and I remember the look on his face when I said "cricketer". I'm not sure if he was disappointed because I hadn't chosen flying and he knew I'd make a good pilot, or because I'd picked cricket despite realistically not having the talent to make it past club cricket. Incidentally, Chris also chose to concentrate on his flying and after a few years of hardship is now flying big jets for British Airways. They both had a focus on one thing, one ultimate goal, and they got it. I had too many goals. It wasn't possible for me to become a professional cricketer, professional pilot, zookeeper and TV presenter. The lesson is that clearly I never wanted one of them badly enough to make it my sole focus. Perhaps it is time to pick flying over cricket.

Either way, it's still a "what-if" moment, had I chosen to concentrate on finishing my pilots licence I could have been writing a different blog post from the crew rest area in an Airbus A380. As it is, I find myself thinking about the time I knocked an international player's off-stump out of the ground (Dave Warner, in case I haven't mentioned it) in a meaningless net-session and convincing myself I made the right decision because of everything else I've done in my life as a result of cricket.

Training with the England team
at the SCG in 2018, here with
Captain Eoin Morgan

That wonderful sport that took me across the world, introduced me to my wife, gave me an identity, gave me opportunities, gave me friends, gave me a new way of seeing the world. They say travel broadens the mind, I definitely found myself as a result of travelling for cricket. 22 years is a long time. In fact, I was only 20 years old when I first travelled for cricket. Cricket owes me nothing, I owe cricket everything, which makes the decision to walk away from it a little bit more difficult.

It's not just the playing of the game, you want to be competitive, you want to win. I haven't been part of a team that wins regularly since I left Bovey Tracey in 2012, and I would give anything to play another "last season" for Bovey. Let's face it, they aren't going to fly me over and look after me to rediscover the love of the game (Edit: I mean, they can if they want! I'd happily play either 1st or 2nd XI to fit if necessary!). The atmosphere, the facilities, some of the people, I miss playing for Bovey. It's difficult to realise your body is giving up on you, it's always been an upward curve from age 10 to age 32, but the plateau is nearing and the recovery times are doubling. Physically, and mentally. As much as my body is breaking down, I think it's fair to say my mind is too. It was hard enough bowling that weekend and as mentioned I came to the decision then, which was cemented later in the afternoon when I walked out to bat at 3 and was walking back not long after with my first duck in 3 seasons.

The following week I bowled like someone who had never heard of cricket, and I knew for sure my time was up. Yet, cricket has a funny way of drawing me back in. Round 10 comes along and on a stinking hot 42°C day in Rouse Hill, after fielding for nearly 50 overs I came out to bat and hit an unbeaten 100 off 78 balls. Has it done enough to keep me in for next year...? Probably not, but it has at least brought back some confidence and love for the game that was conspicuous in its absence in the first few weeks of 2019. The fairytale finish of winning a Premiership was never going to happen this year. So unless Bovey come calling, it's "Over and time, gentlemen."

My final six... Gareth Newman sent this picture to me, of me hitting him for six
in our loss to Warringah in the final game of 2019 for MUCC. Cheers, mate!
Photo Credit: Rick Archer