response.
‘Ian,’ she tried again. ‘I’m pregnant.’
Still no response.
‘Ian? Are you still there?’
I was, quite literally, struck dumb. Delighted with the news, of course, but I just didn’t know what to say.
If the prospect of imminent fatherhood was supposed to subdue my hell-for-leather lifestyle, nobody told me because by the time I returned to England after the Centenary Test, I had managed to get involved in a punch-up, this time with none other than the former Australian captain, Ian Chappell. One evening during the match, I was drinking in a bar with players from both sides when I overheard Chappell giving it the typical Aussie verbals and rubbishing England. In fact, he was getting so full of himself that it would have been impossible for me not to overhear him. I didn’t like what he was saying and I told him in so many words, warning him that if he carried on there would be trouble. Once again, it was a case of my simply being unable to turn the other cheek. Furthermore, if there is one thing designed to make me see red it is a loudmouth Aussie, no matter who he is. I don’t know if Chappell was aware of my reputation for thinking with my fists or whether he was intentionally goading me, but in any case he went on and on. Three times I warned him and three times he ignored me. Finally, I could take no more so I threw a punch at him. The impact sent him flying over a table into a group of Aussie Rules footballers, whose drinks were scattered to all parts. On recovering his composure, Chappell realized he had better make himself scarce, but before he did he stopped at the doorway, then turned and yelled some insult in my direction.
In a flash, I was off and running, straight across the bar and out the door, chasing him into the street. As he fled I pursued him, hurdling the bonnet of a car in the chase. I was about to catch him when I noticed a police car cruising towards us. I have done some pretty daft things in my life but even I realized that the time had come for a tactical withdrawal.
Over the years this fracas has naturally grown out of all proportion, but one rumour I would like to put right once and for all is that I went after Chappell with a bottle. The day I have to resort to that kind of cowardice is the day I know there is something seriously wrong with me. As far as I’m concerned, Ian Chappell as a human being is a nonentity. Obviously he was a great cricketer and a fine captain, but he is one person I was destined never to get on with. I know others who feel the same way about him.
Meanwhile, Tony Greig was in the process of bringing about a complete revolution in world cricket. The South African-born England captain was a showman and a terrifically aggressive cricketer, but he was also a shrewd man and he knew that for years Test cricket had undersold itself with the result that cricketers were among the paupers of international sport. He came across Kerry Packer, the Australian television magnate, a man who shared his view that something should be done to make cricket into a high-profile big business entertainment industry. Together they came up with the idea of World Series Cricket to be set up in direct competition to Test cricket, and employing the best cricketers from every country. Once the news got out during the following summer’s Ashes series in England, all hell broke loose.
Long-standing friendships foundered as a result of the split in world cricket caused by Greig and Packer. Tim Rice, writing in the Daily Telegraph, summed up the mood of the establishment when he commented: ‘Is Greig so short of a few bob that he has to go to these clandestine lengths to make a buck? If our handsome ex-captain is prepared to hawk his talents in any market place, would he like a role in Jesus Christ Superstar? I may well be able to fix it if he would let me know which part would best suit him’.
There is no doubt that many saw Tony Greig as a traitor. As far as I was concerned, he was doing cricket a great service. The International Cricket Council, the governing body of world cricket, decided that the England players involved, Greig, Alan Knott, John Snow and Derek Underwood, should not be barred from playing in the Tests coming up against Australia, but told the England selectors that Greig should not be considered for the captaincy.
Then, two weeks later, after the ICC had announced a total Test ban on all 35 players recruited to World Series Cricket, Packer and Greig took them to the High Court which then upheld their complaint over restraint of trade.
Pakistan tried to break ranks by picking their Packer players in their team against us the following winter (1978/79), but they were forced to back down once we issued an ultimatum that we would not take the field against them. Those who joined Packer were left out in the cold until he reached a compromise with the ICC and the Australian Board of Control in April 1979. This granted Packer’s Channel 9 station exclusive rights to televise Test cricket down under and, superficially at least, the issue was instantly resolved.
The wounds took a long time to heal completely, but one undeniable good thing that did come out of it was that the life of the professional cricketer would never be as financially unrewarding again. In order to discourage another breakaway movement, the TCCB realized they simply had to raise more cash and did so mainly through deals like the Cornhill sponsorship of home Test series. And subsequent innovations that turned the traditionalists purple with rage, like coloured clothing, are now considered commonplace in one-day cricket.
As far as my career was concerned the Packer affair did me more good than harm. I was never likely to be invited to join, but once the England side had been stripped of Greig I was the obvious choice to replace him as all-rounder in the long term. Furthermore, as David Gower will agree, our early days in Test cricket were made somewhat easier by the fact that opposing sides had been deprived of some of their best players.
For the moment however, it was back to England and to Kath. The 1977 season was only a few weeks away. I had enjoyed my first taste of international cricket and experienced the atmosphere in the England dressing room during a Test match. I was now even more determined to become an England regular. It was going to be a hugely important summer for me.
By the time I was selected for my first Test, the third of England’s Ashes series against Australia at Trent Bridge on 28 July 1977, I had no doubts that I was ready to make the jump. Nevertheless, in the moments leading up to the first morning of the match, I have to admit I was a bundle of nerves.
The point is that no matter how confident you may be in your own ability, you never really know whether you can be a Test cricketer until you go out on the field and get involved. After all, how many great county players have never made the grade when their ability suggested otherwise?
It was the fear of that unknown which caused me to be uncharacteristically quiet in the Trent Bridge dressing room that morning. I can’t really remember much about what went on; everything seemed to be happening so quickly. I’ve no doubt that a thousand and one people came up to me during the days and hours before the match to wish me luck, but I simply cannot remember a single word anyone said, and that certainly applies to the moments immediately before we went out to play.
I do remember, however, that I was barely capable of speech myself. I had a knot in my stomach as big as a fist and my mouth felt dry. I had arrived in the Test arena, but the question flashing through my mind was: ‘What the hell happens now?’
I was lucky to be part of a team where new members were not treated as juniors, an atmosphere which had been created by Tony Greig, who was still a member of the team at this stage, although his involvement with Packer had resulted in the cricket authorities insisting he should not be captain. But Mike Brearley, his successor, made sure that tradition continued. Brears encouraged us to talk about the game, and every single player, whether they were making their first appearance or their forty-first,
