Mr Cricket (13 page)

Granted, we hadn't been playing well but it wasn't Bob's fault. It couldn't be easy coaching a team in which one player is romantically involved with another player's partner, for instance. There were a lot of things going wrong and Bob should not have been held entirely responsible. I believe he was made the scapegoat and I was furious that I didn't get the chance to defend him or at least discuss it with the board. The people who voted him out were not part of the playing group and they had little understanding of how the team operated.

After Bob left, the club replaced him with the former South Africa and Australia international Kepler Wessels. Kepler was very much a disciplinarian, a bit of a dictator at times and we were all on edge around him. By now I was captain and, though I was disappointed Bob wasn't there, there was a positive aspect to it because I felt that the players needed a kick along. They were pretty slack, they whinged a lot and wouldn't
do things properly. I knew it was part of my job as captain to instil a better attitude, but I didn't know how to do that without losing the friendship of the players. Kepler quickly got them into line. He told them a few home truths straight away, knocked some heads around and, sure enough, we had an amazing season.

Kepler had an aura about him and we'd heard the stories about how tough he could be. The first hint of what lay ahead came on his very first day at the club. One of our players, Graeme Swann – a fantastic cricketer who had an uncanny ability to impersonate people, whether it was imitating people's batting styles, accents or mannerisms. Kepler came up to Swanny and said: ‘I heard you do impressions.' Swanny replied: ‘Yeah, yeah! Do you want me to do one of you?' To which Kepler said deadpan: ‘If you do one of me, I'll belt the shit out of you.' The boys had a bit of a laugh about it afterwards, but it was a very clear message that whenever Kepler was around, you had to shut up and not put a foot out of place.

Dealing with Kepler behind closed doors was no easier, especially for me as captain. I was still lacking confidence and couldn't work out how best to stand up to him without getting flustered or making him angry. Luckily our assistant coach, Nick Cook, helped me out a lot in that department. Nick, a left-arm orthodox spinner who had played for England, took a leading role in the running of the team. Kepler, Nick and I were the unofficial selection committee for the side, but discussing selections with Kepler was hardly straightforward. Kepler hated losing and, if a result went against us, he would go off on massive rants. It wasn't unusual for him to declare: ‘Right! These eight players have to go!' I wasn't strong enough to pull him up and say, ‘Come on, mate. What are you talking about?' But Nick didn't hesitate. ‘That's rubbish, Kepler!' he'd say, without flinching. We'd end up having a much more rational conversation about it after that, perhaps make one or two changes, and work out the reasons why we'd lost. There was no need to panic and we had to get that through to the coach. I wasn't sure I could do it, but Nick's input ensured many more heads didn't roll.

We ended up being a good team. Kepler was the dictator and disciplinarian, Nick wasn't afraid of putting him back in line if needed and I began to feel more comfortable tactically because I'd had a good season behind me and I knew the guys and we were starting to get a lot of things right. Consequently, after being bottom of the second division in both competitions, we got promoted to the first division of both.

I learned a lot about cricket that season. But learning how to deal with Kepler proved just as valuable. One afternoon after we lost to Glamorgan he called me into his office. I hadn't been batting well and the whole team was disappointed in our performance. He pulled me aside and said, ‘Huss, do you want to say something?' I thought he was asking if I wanted to address the boys about the game we had just completed. So I suggested we should perhaps leave it for the day, train well and then think about the things we need to do better closer to the next game. He said, ‘No, no, no. We need to talk about your game.' We went into Kepler's office and, only as he can, he tore strips off me. ‘How do you think you can score runs when your stance is like this!?' he yelled. ‘You're leaning too far forward and that's why you were dismissed last game!' And, on it went.

I was terrified. But having seen how Nick had stood up to Kepler, I decided to contain my fear and, instead of cower to him, I very quietly and rationally said, ‘Okay, Kepler, let's work on that and see what we can do.' I was open to suggestions because I wasn't batting well and wanted to know what Kepler thought. I knew that yelling wouldn't get through to me, so I asked him, ‘Do you think I just need to move my head this way?' He lowered his voice and said, ‘Yeah.' We started talking openly and respectfully about what I was doing wrong and, consequently, I worked very hard on those tips over the next week. In the next game I scored 280.

For all his faults, Kepler was a good coach. He was very sound when it came to technical advice and was brilliant to talk to about the mental side of the game. But his headstrong nature proved challenging for me to contend with. He made certain everyone knew he was the boss and we had to do things his way or else there would be punishment. That might have worked for some guys, but it wasn't for me. I was always worried about what would happen if we lost three or four games in a row. Would I be sacked like Bob? Would he drop the whole team?

Northants had a good season in 2003, but I didn't play the next season and the club's results were quite poor, which suggests to me the authoritarian style of coaching has a shelf life. It's good for some time, but the coach's aura – the fear factor, if you like – wears off. Kepler moved on pretty quickly. I had a turbulent time in his company but I was happy with the way I learned to interact with him. It showed me that I could deal with different personalities respectfully and be able to keep my pride at the same time.

There have been times, however, when no matter what I've tried there was nothing I could do to rationalise a situation. One such instance occurred with Noddy Holder, a batting coach I enjoyed working with, but with whom I had a falling out over something that seemed to me nothing more than a miscommunication. It proved yet another great lesson in understanding myself and the people around me.

Noddy and I worked together at a time when I was very keen to learn more and improve my batting. We first met when I was having
a hit with Kade Harvey at Scarborough, where Noddy did a lot of his work. He offered me a batting tip that worked really well and I began having hits with him. I liked his philosophy on batting. He made me think about the game and I felt like I was really developing under his watch.

Noddy's approach was about power. He told me I could play every shot in the book and should turn myself into a more dominating batsman. He'd talk about putting pressure on the bowler. ‘You could hit nearly every ball for four,' he'd say. These words rang true in my mind because it was about the time when Australian batsmen were doing just that on the world stage and I believed that was what I needed to do to catch the selectors' attention.

CHAT WITH NODDY/TOM

Routines take you forward, habits hold you back

My cue is: watch the ball, see the ball. But after two years of saying the same thing, it isn't as meaningful. Try changing my cues for a while to make it meaningful. ‘See the seam.'

Think about batting at the end of a kitchen table. Clear away all the plates, knives, forks, other distractions and just bat on a clean, shiny table.