The Interview Series — Glenn McGrath
Pigeon Shit, a Sachin Spray and Losing the Yorkshire Tea Trophy
I was Glenn McGrath’s teammate. Only for an hour, and not on a cricket field. And we lost.
But before we get there, we need to rewind more than a decade, to Australia’s tour of India in late 2004. Steve Waugh may have retired at the start of the year, but the obsession with the Final Frontier — Australia hadn’t won a Test series in India since 1969–70 — hadn’t lessened with his departure.
I had started writing on Indian cricket for The Sunday Times by then, and with an Ashes series on the horizon and McGrath due to play his 100th game in Nagpur, the sports editor asked me to try and get hold of him. Jonathan Rose, Australia’s media manager at the time, suggested it would be best if we did it after the first Test in Bangalore.
Australia won that at a canter, with McGrath very much to the fore, and I was asked to be in the lobby at the Taj West End at 4pm the following afternoon. I got there five minutes early, and had just about found a place and set things up when this long shadow loomed over the couch and table. He was 20 seconds early.
Few players in history have had a nickname as apt. Brad McManamara may have called him Pidge because of his pale legs — “You’ve stolen those from a pigeon!” — but this was a man who shat on batsmen right through his career. Day after day, year after year. Relentless. You knew he was going to shit on you, but were helpless to stop it.
It was the dream interview. Some players can drone on a bit, sometimes go round and round in circles, without ever really saying much. McGrath was both precise and concise. He explained his craft in near-forensic detail, without any trace of romanticism. Instead of detailed explanations about wrist positions, changes of pace and other methods of deception, he essentially distilled the secret of his success into a couple of sentences.
“If you talk to batsmen around the world, the toughest thing to face is bounce, and I think I’ve been pretty similar to Curtly Ambrose in that I always got more bounce than most fast bowlers,” he told me. “I’ve been fairly accurate too, in being able to pitch the ball where I wanted to.”
We spoke of mental disintegration, targeting the opposition’s leading batsman, and the infamous run-in with Ramnaresh Sarwan — “The words said . . . if that was at any other time, I would’ve had a laugh about it. My reaction had nothing to do with cricket, and everything to do with the fact that Jane (his wife) was going through secondary breast cancer.”
Others tend to hold their cards close to their chests. McGrath opened up the full deck. Towards the end of the hour I’d asked for, I thought I’d try my luck. I asked him to talk me through how he might set up some of the game’s leading batsmen. I wasn’t expecting an answer. To my amazement, he described in great detail how he would bowl to a Magnificent Seven, that included two of his teammates — Ricky Ponting and Matty Hayden.
The one that sticks in my mind most is Inzamam-ul-Haq, who in McGrath’s words sometimes arrived at the crease ‘half-asleep’. He’d have him feeling for a couple of outswingers first, he said, and then nip one back sharply to trap him leg before. “The feet don’t move as well early on.”
It was an education, and it wasn’t just information and insight either. There were generous dollops of humour too. We spoke of the ICC Knockout Trophy game in Nairobi in 2000, when Sachin Tendulkar not only smashed him all over the park, but also sent a few pleasantries his way. “I never said a word that day,” he said with a grin. “Sachin smacked me for two straight sixes, and kept giving me a real mouthful in between. I’ve never seen him do that with a bowler since. So, you see, it’s not just me.”
Our paths crossed a few more times after that, but there was never a chance to sit down and have a chat. Then, the 2015 World Cup came along. On the eve of the England-Afghanistan game in Sydney, someone decided to organise a quiz. It would be Australia v England, with McGrath and Michael Vaughan leading the teams. I was drafted into the Australian side — “the more cricket geeks we have, the better,” he told me.
McGrath the quizzer wasn’t in the same class as McGrath the bowler, but he was fiercely competitive. Despite having Daniel Brettig, another anorak, in our team, we ended up losing 49–48 — the Edgbaston 2005 of quiz defeats. As Vaughan lifted the trophy, I turned to McGrath and said: “This time, you can’t even blame a ball on the outfield!”
I still have the Yorkshire Tea reusable cups we were given that day, and smile every time I drink out of it. Like the legend who captained my team, I hate losing. But sometimes, it’s enough to just have been there.
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