the atmosphere of the England dressing room before of course, not only during the one-day internationals at the end of the previous summer, but also during the Centenary Test at Melbourne that winter (rather too energetically, it seems, for the peace of mind of some senior players who were the victims of my practical jokes!). So it was not as if I walked through the door to be hit by a wall of blank faces. What’s more, the approach to man-management adopted by Greigy and Brears meant that there was no such thing as a pecking order, even though this was the match when the one and only Sir Geoffrey Boycott was making his long-awaited return to Test cricket after three years of self-imposed exile, following the selectors’ decision to award the captaincy for the 1973/74 tour to the West Indies to Mike Denness instead of him.
In some ways, I was also helped in those final minutes prior to going out on to the field by the fact that there were so many small details to attend to: just remembering to put my jockstrap on under my flannels rather than over, for instance. And I do recall that my tenseness was eased somewhat when Mike Hendrick came and sat next to me and started to talk about shooting. Mike was a keen sportsman himself, and just chatting with him about something other than cricket helped take my mind off things. But no matter how hard I tried to remain calm and focused on what I was doing, the nerves simply wouldn’t go away.
I remember I was desperate for us to field first. No one could ever accuse me of excessive patience at the best of times, but on this occasion the last thing I wanted was to have to sit around on my backside waiting. I wanted to get in the thick of things as quickly as possible. So when Brears returned from the pitch to announce that Greg Chappell, the Aussie captain, had won the toss and decided to bat, I felt a huge sense of relief.
As time passed, however, the nerves returned. The longer the wait the worse it got, and by the time I was given the ball for my first spell in Test cricket I was like a piece of elastic stretched to breaking point.
I had tried to remember Closey’s advice about not being intimidated by anyone or any situation, but the harder I tried the worse it got. I was like an actor going on stage for the first time. You can rehearse your lines until you are word perfect but there is still no guarantee that, when the time arrives to open your mouth and deliver them for real, any of them will actually come out, or even if they do, they will come out in the correct order. However, the moment had arrived; there was nothing for it but to take a deep breath and go for it.
As it turned out, had I been playing in my second Test rather than my first I might even have taken a wicket with that very first ball. Rick McCosker played nervously forward and edged the ball through the vacant third slip space. If I had been absolutely sure of myself I would have insisted to Brears that I should have three slips. What a start that would have been!
The incident taught me a valuable lesson all the same. Junior member of the team or not, from now on I would insist on getting the field setting I wanted.
The remainder of my first spell in Test cricket was something of a struggle, the problem being that even though I had got the first ball out of the way, I was still trying too hard and the adrenalin was pumping too much; I was almost bursting out of myself. Consequently, I strayed down the leg side too often and was generally wayward. When Brears told me to have a ‘blow’, I felt disappointed that I had not done myself justice. The question ‘Is Botham good enough?’ remained unanswered. On seeing how pumped up I was, Brears decided to let me have my head by giving me a second spell immediately after lunch. And then came the moment when everything that had happened in my life so far seemed to make perfect sense.
Greg Chappell attempted to drive a short, widish ball from me which instead nicked the inside edge of his bat and rattled into his stumps. As Chappell returned to the pavilion, I tried to look casual, as though this was the kind of thing that happened to me all the time. In fact, my heart was trying to jump out of my chest. Closey had always told me that I should fear nobody. But Greg Chappell? Of course it was a lucky wicket but to hell with that, I was in the book and Greg Chappell, one of the greatest batsmen of all time, was my rabbit!
Flushed with that success I then took the wickets of Doug Walters, Rod Marsh, Max Walker and Jeff Thomson. At one stage my figures were four for 13 in 34 balls, and I finished with five for 74. It all happened so fast that I never really had a chance to savour the moments one by one; all I do recall is that they couldn’t find a hat to fit my head for some time afterwards. And what better way to round off that day than being presented to the Queen, who was in the Midlands for the Silver Jubilee celebrations and was visiting the ground on that first day.
Boycott marked his comeback with a century, needless to say, then 80 not out in the second innings, and I managed to make 25 with the bat as we cruised to victory by seven wickets. As for Test cricket, the whole thing seemed so simple! The only negative feature of the match had been Boycott’s run-out of his team-mate Derek Randall, something I will come back to later.
There is no doubt that my early success for England was due in no small part to having Mike Brearley as captain. As he proved by trusting me with that second spell at a crucial period of my debut match, he had this great knack of recognizing what made every single player tick and exactly what was needed to bring out the best in them. Technically and tactically, he was as astute a captain as you will ever see. I remember one incident in particular from those early days that made me realize just how he put those qualities to use in the field. Earlier in that season I played under him for MCC against the Australians at Lord’s. He noted in that match that I had been bowling too many bouncers. He identified the need for me to use the weapon more sparingly, and then told me so in no uncertain terms at Trent Bridge. An observation on a player had been stored away in his head, and then used to great effect when he needed it. When I helped bowl out the Aussies that day, I hardly sent down a bumper at all. Yet, if Brears had not pushed the right buttons, the combination of my nervousness, my desire to do well and my sheer bloody-mindedness might have had an altogether different result.
The irony of my success in that Trent Bridge Test debut match was that during the game, the man who had done so much to shape my approach to the game, Brian Close, was announcing his retirement from first-class cricket.
Over the years Kath and I have often discussed what might have happened if I had had the benefit of Closey’s presence on and off the field for a while longer. He was a wonderful stabilizing influence on me, although he gave as good as he got on the field and in the bar. When he indicated to me that I was overstepping the mark, there was no beating around the bush and I respected him for it. As my career progressed the absence of Brian Close and later Kenny Barrington, at the very moments when I needed a firm hand to guide me, meant that I was left instead to my own devices. My attitude was that Beefy knows best; however, in certain situations, that simply wasn’t true.
Of course you have to learn your own lessons in life, but some people are better equipped to do so than others. The early successes I experienced simply reinforced my philosophy that I was going to take everything coming to me even if that meant some people getting hurt in the process. Kath was the one who was hurt most of course, and that is a recurring theme throughout my career. It is easy to say that if I knew then what I know now, things would have been different but I am really not sure that’s true either. A few years ago I caught sight of an advertising hoarding in Australia from which I can’t recall the product being promoted, but the message was unforgettable. It read ‘Life: Be in it’. I was determined to do that, even if it meant being in it up to my neck. If Closey, Kenny or even Brears had stayed around longer than they did, at least on certain occasions, when I was precariously poised on the line separating right from wrong, there would have been someone close to me with the guts to stand up and say: ‘Don’t be such an idiot’.
In the meantime, the only things that concerned me were reaching the top in cricket and having a good time in the process. My first Test match was a big hurdle cleared: it hardened my resolve to go out and conquer the world, and helped me to reappraise my targets. Closey had taught me there was no point in going out on the field
