LITMIR.BIZ

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that my behaviour was a symptom of being totally absorbed in my own career. My whole world revolved around cricket, the team and my mates. So by the time I got into that England side for the one-day match in 1976, I must have been pretty unbearable.

      I did not exactly cover myself in glory on the field either, but I got the distinct impression from Greigy that I had done enough to be selected for the upcoming winter tour to India and Sri Lanka and to Australia for the Centenary Test in Melbourne. When I was not, to put it mildly, I sulked. Kath tells me I was hell to live with during the early part of that winter: really awful, a bear with two sore heads. Again, all I could think about was myself. Then, by the time I had settled down again and our life at home had stabilized, a telephone call from Donald Carr, the secretary of the Test and County Cricket Board, threw our lives back into turmoil.

      Donald informed me that I had been selected for the Whitbread young player scholarship to Australia. I was thrilled, of course, but it had been by no means certain that I could afford to take up the offer in the first place. The scholarship, clearly intended for young single players, merely covered air fares and living expenses. I had a young wife and mortgage to look after, and although my county salary had been doubled to £1000 it looked as if the trip would be financially impossible. Fortunately for me, when I explained this to Donald, Whitbread came up with a suitable package. Then, five days after I arrived down under with Mike Gatting, Bill Athey and Graham Stevenson to begin the three-month trip, I discovered that Kath was pregnant with Liam.

      Before the news broke, my first major cricketing trip abroad had been more or less purely a social one. One game, against an army side in Melbourne, was typical. After an 11 am start we stopped at lunch for what we thought would be the normal forty-minute break. In the end, after a barbecue had left us fed and watered like Royals, we staggered back on the field fully two hours later. The batting side then declared, we batted for twenty minutes, then stopped for tea. An hour later the game restarted, ran for another ten minutes then we all decided to call it a draw and pack up. I learned far more about surfing than cricket on that bizarre trip.

      So while I was busy enjoying myself, Kath found herself pregnant, alone and fed up. She had no idea how to contact me so she telephoned Colin Cowdrey, who had been responsible for selecting those to go on the scholarship, and told him to pass on a message that she urgently needed to get in touch with me. Trying not to appear like the neurotic wife, she explained her reasons to Colin and he made several calls before finally tracking me down. When Kath eventually managed to get through to me on the phone, all she heard on the other end of the line was total silence.

      ‘Ian,’ said Kath, ‘I’m pregnant.’

      No 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

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