19 June 1999
Waugh: last man out of kitchen when the heat is on
Martin Johnson
It's the eyes - barely visible through two narrow slits, and as cold
and unblinking as anything you'll see on a fishmonger's slab - that
let the bowler know exactly what he's up against. If they'd belonged
to a baddie at the OK Corral, Wyatt Earp would not so much have
reached for his six-gun as the lavatory paper.
When the heat becomes unbearable, as South Africa found out in two
epic back to back World Cup encounters, Steve Waugh is the last man
out of the kitchen. In selecting a man to bat for your life, you'd
eliminate Geoff Boycott on the grounds that watching him would render
life not worth living, and plump, every time, for the man who is the
biggest single reason - Shane Warne included - for England having
lost every Ashes series since 1986.
His features, as cracked and leathery as a dried up billabong, give
another clue to the fact that this is a man devoid of frippery, a man
with so much steel that a crisis sends ballbearings rather than
corpuscles coursing through his veins. If they cast the Waugh twins
in a re-make of Zulu, it's not hard to picture which one would play
the Michael Caine role, idly swishing flies from his saddle, and
which one Stanley Baker, up to his neck in sweat and sandbags.
The contrast between Mark and Steve is all the more remarkable for
their having emerged from the same womb, roughly 90 seconds apart.
Mark, all style and class, is the gambler, who occasionally gives the
impression that his mind wanders off to the card table, or the 3.45
at Randwick. Games of chance, however, have no such appeal for Steve,
despite a deadpan expression would make him a hell of a poker player.
His brother uses a rapier, but Steve goes to work with a chisel.
Another clue lies in the hairstyles. Mark's locks look as though
they've had more than a passing acquaintance with the hairdryer,
while Steve's coiffeur might have been the result of five minutes in
the shed with an Australian sheep shearer. Content, rather than
artistic impression, is what makes Steve the competitor he is, and in
a perverse sort of way, Australia will be happier if they're 10 for
three when he walks out to bat tomorrow.
In terms of style, Waugh is as poetic as the verse on his fan club's
website. "Our Stevie, Who Isn't Yet In Heaven, Thy Kingdom Come, Thou
Shalt Get A Ton." Ye Gods. In terms of substance, however, Waugh
epitomises the single biggest difference between Australian and
English cricket teams of the past decade. He does it not for himself,
but for his country.
If the rules allowed a Chinaman to play for England on the basis that
he had a great-great grandmother who once visited Stoke Poges, they'd
pick him, and the consequence of expediency has been a succession of
teams whose individual talent has been in direct contrast to
collective bottle. Waugh himself has some sage advice on the latest
English Cricket Board manoeuvrings in this direction, namely to
appoint, if needs be, a coach from Mars or Pluto if he has a bit of
success on his CV.
"Appoint an Englishman," says Waugh. "Australia has got its own team
song, and I can't imagine someone from England singing that song with
us after we'd won a Test match. When it comes to crunch time,
desperation time, if you're not born with that inner passion, you
can't make it up."
England's abject run of failure against the oldest enemy goes back so
far that it is something of a surprise to realise that the last
Australian survivor of a losing Ashes series is not only still alive,
but captaining the current team. His cricketing character may well,
in fact, have been moulded by his early experience of the
international game. "I was a loser for quite a few years," says
Waugh, "and I didn't much care for it."
When Australia arrived in England in 1989, they had been humbled on
their own soil by Mike Gatting's team two years earlier, and competed
with an intensity which made David Gower's side look as though they
were playing a cucumber sandwich match on the Duchess of Arundel's
back lawn. And Waugh played a gargantuan role in launching what has
now become a serial drubbing.
When Angus Fraser bowled him in the third Test at Edgbaston, the
scene of that extraordinary semi-final on Thursday, Waugh had been
batting for 13 hours and five minutes in the series without losing
his wicket. Fraser finally defeated him with the 568th ball he had
faced, during which time he had racked up 393 runs.
If Waugh had a perceived weakness, it was, as Corporal Jones would
have said, that he didn't like it up him. Michael Atherton caused
something of a media stir before the 1994 tour of Australia by
suggesting that Waugh might have benefited from wearing incontinence
pads under his flannels when the artillery was up around his
nostrils, but it didn't bother Waugh. Plain speaking is his own kind
of language, and in any case he was already taking steps to eradicate
this one area of vulnerability.
He gave up hooking and pulling, not because it frightened him, but
because it got him out too often. In his own words he is "a bit more
conservative than I used to be. It's not so much a matter of cutting
certain shots out, but I pick and choose which deliveries to attack
much better than I used to."
He has, unlike Mark, learnt to play to his own expectations rather
than that of others. The young, wet-behind-the-ears Steve Waugh was
labelled a strokeplayer, and played not to let other people down. Now
he plays not to let himself down. He has a simple plan for an
essentially simple game. Concentrate, watch the ball, and either play
it or leave it.
Waugh's philosophy is also mirrored in the way he produces hardback
tour diaries for the Australian book market. He never uses a ghost
writer, and every word is his own. As it is when he is at the crease,
if a job's worth doing, he does it himself.
It's hard to believe now that Waugh was under pressure as captain at
the start of this World Cup, with a number of respected Australian
commentators expressing the view that Shane Warne, with his more
aggressive and innovative cricketing brain, would have been a better
choice as successor to Mark Taylor. You can have an argument both
ways. The Richie Benaud style of leadership, or the Ian Chappell.
What England wouldn't give for such a choice.
Nothing said more about Waugh than when Paul Reiffel turned a
match-winning catch into what might have been a match-losing six at
Edgbaston on Thursday. Ten Australians hung their heads in horror,
while the captain's expression betrayed not a flicker of what must
have been a similar internal emotion.
Off the field, however, Waugh is a long way from being the taciturn,
poker-faced individual he is on it, and one of the better examples of
his sense of humour accompanied a moment of deep personal disappointment. Shortly before the fourth Test of the 1990-91 Ashes
series, Mark, expecting to be named 12th man, was approached on the
outfield of the Adelaide Oval by his elder brother: "Congratulations,
you're making your debut." Mark said: "Great. But who's been left
out?" Steve replied: "Me, you bastard."
Source :: The Electronic Telegraph