Coming Back To Me: The Autobiography of Marcus Trescothick. Marcus Trescothick

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СКАЧАТЬ Year Boys’ Sack Race and, a year later, in 1985, I took the gold, with the theme to Chariots of Fire playing softly inside my head.

      Football was great fun. I was always a Bristol City nutter and it was pure joy when, after the Ashes of 2005, the club made me an honorary vice-president. I played alongside a lot of good mates for the St Anne’s side: it was me in goal (a formidable barrier even then), Eddie Gregg in midfield, Lee Cole a striker and his brother Mark, a chunky, slow right-back. Lee and Mark’s dad was a printer who worked from home and we used to get together to compile a programme for every match we played, price 5p, with the proceeds going to various charities, including Dr Barnados and Cancer & Leukaemia in Children, something we would all have cause to remember years later, around the time I was starting out on my senior England career.

      There must have been a few watching because one week we raised £7. Each programme comprised eight pages of articles – Manager’s Message by Rick McCoy, Captain’s Corner, by Matthew Bliss, reports of previous matches and stats – results, scorers, today’s teams and goalscorers and appearances, and two special features called Player Analysis and Player Profile. The issue for our match against Bridge Farm on Thursday, 28 November 1985 (kickoff 3 p.m.) is a real collector’s item, as I am the Player in question.

      In Player Analysis, Lee Cole writes: ‘Marcus Trescothick is a very good goalkeeper and has proved to be the best St. Anne’s have ever had.’ Lee was known to be an excellent judge.

      

      In Player Profile it was my turn:

      Full Name: Marcus Edward Trescothick Birth date: 25 December 1975 Favourite Food: Bread and chips Nickname: Tres Worst Food: Meat Most Embarrassing Moment: Letting in eight goals Favourite Moment: Saving a penalty Superstitions: None Ambition: To score a goal from a goal-kick.

      I never was too sure about that rule.

      In 1986, aged ten, I was first picked to play cricket for the county, Avon Schools, and had a reasonable start, top scoring with 75, and later St Anne’s made it through to the regional final of the English Schools Football Association six-a-sides. Though we failed to progress to the final at Wembley, I did find time to practise my autograph all over the page in the commemorative magazine set aside for getting other people’s.

      Then, in 1987, three things happened that turned out to have somewhat more bearing on my later life.

      First, on Sunday 21 June, aged 11, I scored the first-ever century for Avon Schools Under-11s, 124 against Devon at Exeter School. Two weeks later, against Worcestershire at the Bristol Grammar School ground at Failand, I scored 183 not out. When asked why he declared, the manager, Mike Docherty, apparently said: ‘If I let him get a double-hundred at his age, what else would he have to aim for?’ The innings caused quite a stir. The local BBC TV asked if they could come along and film the next match, but we weren’t comfortable with that. But the Bristol Evening Post decided to scrap their weekly Top Man cricket award and nominated me as Top Kid instead. Nice to see that the photo of me accompanying the article has me pointing the manufacturer’s label straight at the camera. My interest in schoolwork may have been minimal, but, even at this tender age, I was showing signs of sound commercial sense. Slazenger, since you ask.

      Their interest suitably aroused, and Bristol being within their boundaries, Gloucestershire County Cricket Club then picked me to play for their Under-11s, and when I made a century for them in my second match, against Somerset at Frenchay CC, Somerset made enquiries, realized I was eligible to play for them because Keynsham was in their territory, and my Gloucestershire career was over. From now on I would be playing for Somerset, my dad’s county, my county.

      The other thing that happened? A school trip to Torquay.

      All kids get homesick, of course. But this was different. This was more or less unbearable. It was our last year at St Anne’s and they decided to take us all to Torquay for a week together before we all moved on to our senior schools. It was the first time I had been away from home in my life and I hated it. I just hated it. I cried and cried and cried. Even though I was with all my mates, and we couldn’t have been more than 100 miles or a couple of hours’ drive from Oldland Common, I just couldn’t bear being away from home. I wasn’t a bit sad, or down in the dumps. I was terrified, irrationally so, and that scared me even more. Away from mum and dad and my home and my sister and my cats and my stuff and outside of my place, all I felt was dreadful, but the moment I got home I was fine again, as if it had never happened. I told my folks I hadn’t enjoyed the trip much but I didn’t tell them any more. Photos of the trip showed me joining in and smiling and it can’t have been all bad. But there were moments when it was, and, from then on, I never felt really comfortable being away from my home, family, friends and the familiar again. Not long afterwards, I travelled to Cheltenham College for a county coaching clinic, felt terrible the moment I arrived, made up some story about not being well and asked mum to come and collect me the same day. Cheltenham? About 45 minutes from home.

      Those feelings stayed within me, on and off, throughout a 15-year career in county and international cricket. For long periods they would disappear or lie dormant, and initially, even when they came, they were completely manageable. Playing top-level cricket gave me such a buzz that I could force them to one side. As time progressed, however, and the exhausting effects of burnout weakened my resilience, the feelings grew stronger and stronger.

      Years later, when I discussed the history of my illness with my counsellor that week in Torquay took on great significance.

      For now, however, the only thing on my agenda was sport, and plenty of it, as from September 1987 I joined the Sir Bernard Lovell Comprehensive School, also in Oldland Common. It probably didn’t take long for the teachers and staff to work out that they weren’t going to win any industry prizes for their work with me. An early indication of the kind of impact I would have in the classroom can be judged by the two credit notes I received in my first term, the first for ‘Full marks in the beautiful babies competition’, whatever that was, the next for ‘Effort in gathering a most interesting collection of personal items for display in class’. By 1988 I had graduated to ‘For giving freely of your time and interest to make the New Intake Parents’ Evening a success’ and ‘Doing a week of litter duty’. My year grades were okay, not outstanding, but okay. I didn’t get into much trouble, if any. I wasn’t disruptive. I just wasn’t interested. The only subject with which I had more than a passing acquaintance was drama. I was brilliant as one of the T-birds in Grease, singing ‘We’ll get some overhead filters and some four barrel quads, oh yeah – Grease lightning, wo-oh grease lightning’ etc., though I quite fancied having a go at John Travolta’s part, as it happens. And I was growing more and more confident that cricket would not only be my passion, it would also be my profession. So much so that when someone at school recommended I spend more time on my truly appalling French, I replied: ‘The only places I’m going to go are Australia, New Zealand, India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, South Africa, Zimbabwe and West Indies. If I start speaking French in any of those places they won’t have a clue what I’m on about.’

      The only thing I wanted to learn about was cricket, and not just the playing. Even at this age I was a kit bully. Unwrapping a new pair of pads or gloves, or running my hand down the blade of a new bat, was pure ecstasy for me. And, looking back, the amount of time I spent getting my gear in order and just right was downright scary. My obsession with bats and handles and grips and the like was, well, an obsession.

      The runs just kept on coming, though. Still bigger than most of the other lads, still able to smash the ball harder and farther than anyone else, and still loving that feeling, I was still piling on the scores and keeping pretty well when required, for my school, for Avon Schools, for Somerset and for West of England and I was selected as one СКАЧАТЬ