Hoggy: Welcome to My World. Matthew Hoggard

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СКАЧАТЬ thought, ‘Yep, I could get used to this.’

      In the second innings, the West Indies were bowled out for 54, which wouldn’t even have been a good score down at Post Hill with a big tree for stumps. I didn’t bowl in the second innings, but I can’t say I was too disappointed, because wickets were falling all the time. Piece of cake, Test cricket.

      Then, of course, we had a run chase in the fourth innings that didn’t quite go according to plan. Chasing 188 to win, we still needed 39 when Nick Knight was the seventh man out and, as number eleven, I had to put my pads on. At that stage, I’m not ashamed to say, I was ABSOLUTELY POOING MYSELF.

      The situation only got worse when Caddy was lbw to Ambrose, leaving us 160 for eight. For anyone on their Test debut, that would be a fairly nerve-wracking situation. For a number eleven batsman potentially going out to face Curtly Ambrose and Courtney Walsh with a Test match in the balance, it just didn’t seem fair. I didn’t get picked for England to score runs, but that, I thought, was how I was going to be judged. And this was the second match in a five-Test series, with England already 1-0 down, so if we lost at Lord’s, the series was as good as gone.

      I just sat there in the dressing-room, rigid in my seat with all my body armour on: helmet, chest guard, arm guard, thigh pad, bat between my legs, resting my chin on the top of the handle. I’d actually batted quite well in the first innings, when I got 12 not out, slogged Curtly and survived a few balls that whistled past my lugholes. But that wasn’t giving me any more confidence in this situation.

      One second I’d be thinking: ‘Please, please, please don’t let me have to go in.’ Then, a couple of moments later, another thought would flash through my mind: ‘What happens if we only need four to win and I go out and bash one through the covers to do it?!’ No. Calm down, Hoggy, calm down. How about: ‘What happens if it’s four to win and I miss a straight one?’ Far more likely.

      For every run that was scored by Corky or Goughie, everybody was on their feet. For every ball that was stopped by a fielder, there was a groan of disappointment. I just stayed silent. Then Corky nudged Walsh through the off-side for four, we had won and everybody was jumping around, screaming and celebrating like mad. So I did the same.

      The next Test was at Old Trafford, on a more spin-friendly surface, so Crofty came back into the side and I wasn’t required for the rest of the series, but I was picked for the winter tours to Pakistan and Sri Lanka. Much to my surprise, I found Pakistan a most hospitable place to a seam bowler, at least as far as the wickets for practice matches were concerned. On pitches that seemed to have been tailor-made for me, I managed the ridonculous stat of taking 17 wickets in two first-class matches. Mind you, I seem to remember Marcus Trescothick turning his arm over and conning a few people out with his wobbly seamers, so taking wickets can’t have been that difficult.

      Despite picking up all those wickets, I didn’t get a sniff at the Test side because Caddy and Goughie were well established as the first-choice quick bowlers. They were a good opening pair who complemented each other well: one was a lanky git, the other a short arse; one a bit short of self-belief, the other with enough confidence for both of them and the rest of the team put together. They worked well together, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a keen rivalry between two players in the same team.

      On one tour to the subcontinent, Caddy developed a habit of occasionally coming off the field during the warm-up games. Nothing unusual there; bowlers often do that in the build-up to a Test series to rest a niggle or strain. But during one warm-up match, he came off the field when we hadn’t taken too many wickets and the opposition were scoring plenty of runs. Goughie was not amused, and at the end of the day’s play he had a go at Caddy. ‘I’ve been sweating my bollocks off out there, busting a f***ing gut while you sit on your arse in the dressing-room. You’re not f***ing injured, but if you do that again, I’m going to break your f***ing legs.’

      That was not an untypical exchange between them. They were mates, up to a point, and keen for the other one to take a few wickets, as long as they were taking more wickets themselves. I reckon that each of them always kept a precise tally of how many Test wickets the other had taken. How petty can you get? Both of them are good pals of mine, but I would never dream of slipping into a conversation with either of them the fact that Goughie took 229, Caddy got 234 and I got 248. The thought would simply never enter my head.

      Anyway, back to my early days with England. After failing to make much headway on the tours to Pakistan and Sri Lanka, I had to wait until the following season for my first Test wicket. I was called up for my second cap against Pakistan at Old Trafford, where I managed to pick up three wickets in each innings. There had been plenty of times in the preceding eleven months, since my debut against West Indies, when I had wondered whether I would ever take a Test wicket, but the all-important first one came when Younis Khan shouldered arms to one of my devilish outswingers that fails to swing. And I’m not absolutely sure that the ball was going on to hit the wickets.

       BUT WHO CARES? I’D WAITED ALMOST A YEAR FOR THIS!!!

      A few overs later, I had Inzamam-ul-Haq caught, slicing a drive to Ian Ward in the gully. Now that one was definitely out and I was beginning to feel a bit more like a proper Test cricketer.

      Unfortunately, I injured my knee shortly afterwards and missed the whole of the 2001 Ashes series. Maybe my body sensed that there was a very good team coming up and decided to give me a break. That ailment also meant that I only played seven matches in the season that Yorkshire won the County Championship for the first time in thirty-three years. I was still working my way back to full fitness with a few one-day games when the title was wrapped up against Glamorgan at Scarborough, but I was fit enough to join in the celebrations. It was a particular triumph for David Byas, our long-suffering captain, and Darren Lehmann, our incomparable overseas player who was such an influence on my generation at Yorkshire.

      The first time I encountered Darren, or ‘Boof’, as he is universally known, I was a second-teamer turning up to practice at the start of a new season. On days like that, you have a look around to check out for the usual suspects and for any unfamiliar faces. I remember saying to Chris Silverwood: ‘Spoons, who’s that short, fat bastard over there?’

      ‘That’s the new overseas player,’ Spoons said.

      ‘It can’t be,’ I said. ‘He’s fat.’

      But one look at Darren Lehmann with a bat in his hand and we knew immediately what a class act we had on our hands. This is someone who makes the game look ridonculously easy. He could have walked into other any Test team in our era and he should have played much more for Australia. His confidence, his personality and his competitive steeliness worked wonders in the Yorkshire dressing-room.

      As captain we had David Byas, who was strict, straightforward and basically had the attitude: ‘I’m the captain, you’re not and I don’t really care if you like me, you’ll do as I say.’

      Boof, as senior pro and vice captain, was a good foil. He was one of the lads, but if a bollocking needed to be given he wouldn’t hesitate to hand it out. He’s a laid-back guy, but knows exactly when to flick the switch to go into his match mode. That is a difficult balance for a player to strike; few people can do it successfully, but then few people have been as good as Darren Lehmann.

      Yes, he liked a beer or three after a game and he was a bit old-fashioned in that way, but you would never find him giving less than his all in a match. I’ll never forget playing in the game after the championship had been clinched at Scarborough in 2001. Two days afterwards, we had a Sunday League game against Nottinghamshire and, in the celebrations of the previous two nights, Boof had certainly not taken a back seat. This was evident from the fact that, before he went out to bat on the Sunday, there СКАЧАТЬ