I knew failure would end all hope and all argument. After two aborted overseas tours with England, to India in 2006 and Australia the same winter, I knew it would be strike three – you’re out.
I had spoken to my wife Hayley, who had given birth to our second child, Millie, a sister to two-year-old Ellie, on 19 January, and, mindful that separation from family, friends and the familiar had been at the root of my problems, she had said all the right things: ‘Twelve days? You’ll be fine.’
The day before I left I talked with the Somerset coach Andy ‘Sarge’ Hurry, a former marine turned PT instructor, about what might lay in store. He had asked, ‘What can we do to make this easier for you?’ and had already arranged with the rest of the staff and players that, once I got to Dubai, I was going to be kept fully occupied. With no time to wander, my mind might just be able to stay away from the thoughts that had, on occasions, made existence seem unbearable and that way, perhaps, the illness could be kept at bay. Busy days playing, training and practising would have been followed by lengthy team planning and selection meetings and I was never, ever, to be allowed to dine on my own unless it was my choice. Not that they were going to ask me for my belt and shoelaces, just that they wanted to create a comfortable environment in which I could relax and remain calm.
I had told Andy: ‘Look, I really think I’m going to be fine …’ then added, ‘as long as nothing out-of-the-ordinary happens.’
After six weeks of disturbed sleep following Millie’s arrival, a part of me was also looking forward to the shut-eye I was going to be enjoying in Dubai.
Maybe I should have taken more notice of the slight twinge of anxiety I had felt that day, but I had known all along that this was not going to be straightforward. In any case the feeling was nothing like as intense as that warning sign which usually preceded a full-blown crisis; some people might describe it as a shiver down the spine, for me it was more like a progressive freezing, vertebra by vertebra from top to bottom.
And I wasn’t too alarmed because, in general, I had been feeling fine for a while now and the medication which had helped to stabilize me through the darkest times was, I was pretty convinced, something to turn to only in dire emergency.
True, I had hit a snag the previous summer, when I first made myself available for England’s World Twenty20 squad, then pulled out after a lengthy telephone conversation with the coach Peter Moores. While never presenting me with an ultimatum as such, he made it clear he wanted me to make myself available not just for the World Twenty20 in South Africa, a tournament I firmly believed at that stage I could manage, but also the one-day series in Sri Lanka that followed, something which, at that stage, I could not in all conscience commit to.
Nevertheless, again freed at least temporarily from having to consider the question of my future with England, I finished the 2007 domestic season with Somerset on a series of huge highs, topping Division Two of the Championship, winning promotion to Division One of the Pro 40, with my personal contribution being stacks of runs, including my career-best 284 at Northampton. And the celebration ale tasted sensational.
During the winter I had deliberately refrained from making any statements to the media or doing any significant interviews about my future plans. And I loved the anonymity of that. I had made one public appearance, as part of my benefit year, at a Question & Answer session in the Herefordshire town of Leominster, conducted by a journalist friend of mine, Peter Hayter of the Mail on Sunday, who lives locally. Brian Viner, of the Independent, another locally-based newspaper columnist wrote: ‘Trescothick talked about the emotional illness that appears to have scuppered his England career with engaging candour.’ And even I was quite surprised how much I enjoyed the experience and how easy I found it to talk openly in front of strangers, as indicated by the following exchanges:
PH: I think even now people are still somewhat confused about what happened to you and what you were suffering from, your illness and the effects of it. Can you explain what the past 18 months have been like for you, what you’ve gone through?
MT: At different stages I have had totally different feelings really. Over the last, say, now nearly a year, I would say it’s been pretty good, just being away from the environment of the England setup and the pressure that comes with playing for England and the media attention that you have to deal with. Yeah, I’m moving along very nicely. The question’s obviously always going to arise about what happens next and at this stage I’m not too sure, I want to drive it on from hereon in, but looking back to India, the first time, it was a really tough place and a tough situation to go through because I literally didn’t know what was happening. I genuinely thought I had an illness that was going to see me off and, not knowing, at that point what to do. After I came back it got worse for a while, then it got better, then it got worse again. You’re being followed by media people around your home town and they were waiting on your doorstep when you walk out the house. There were articles in papers, complete and utter rubbish, it’s just like where do you go? There was no hiding place for me and for two or three months when I came back then it was real hard work and something I never want to have to experience again because it was a real tough place to be and I didn’t really know what to do at that point, just taking advice really from people and colleagues and obviously counsellors to help get me through the situation. And it was really tough, you know. I’m such a better person for it, though. I’ve come through the other side. I’m sure I’ll never be clear of the whole process … at some point throughout my life at different stages, it may hit me again. Even now, I have the odd day when I relive memories and things and feelings that come back after a while, but I’m better equipped now to deal with situations and understand the beast that lives inside, and understand he’s going to come back and come knocking on your door again. You’ve just got to deal with that process and just keep riding the journey until eventually it dies down and you carry on living your life as normal. You know, I’m a better person, as I’ve said, and I’ve learned so much from the whole situation.
PH: In your heart of hearts, do you think you’ll play for England again?
MT: I can’t honestly answer that question. All I know is that I’d love to have another go and I’m going to give myself every opportunity to have another crack at it. I think it’s going to take a lot more hard work the longer it goes, of course. The team has changed totally. You’ve got Peter Moores in charge. The lads in the team are totally different. In my heart I still want to have aspirations to have another go. I haven’t actually got to the point where I’ve admitted to myself that I can’t do it any more. So until I get to that stage I’ll keep trying.
A couple of weeks later, Peter rang me for a brief interview for his paper concerning the trip to Dubai. It is worth revisiting my response. ‘I won’t deny I am a little nervous about the prospect,’ I told him. ‘I don’t want to pre-empt anything, but I know the signs and how to work through them. I’m feeling well at the moment and things are pretty good, so I’m 95 per cent certain that the trip will be all right. It is a big step and I’m not taking anything for granted. It will be interesting to see what happens.’
Ninety-five per cent certain?
Yet, I actually felt strong enough to offer my help to the Australian fast bowler Shaun Tait, who had recently announced he was quitting all cricket indefinitely, citing physical and emotional exhaustion, and, overall, my level of contentment could be gauged by the fact that I had only met with my personal counsellor, with whom I had been in regular contact since I returned home in crisis from England’s 2006 tour to India, on two occasions since the previous July.
