The moment the penny dropped

When Adelaide came calling - Part Three

So, last week, I left you hanging with the following scene:

"... what I hadn’t prepared so well for was my second flight – to New Zealand.

International flights require a passport.

If only I had remembered to pack it."

A problem to solve

Once I got to Melbourne, I realised my mistake and phoned my flatmates to see if they could get my passport sent urgently to Melbourne International Airport.

It was to arrive in the morning, so I changed my flights (at great cost) and called a mate (who I’d been playing rugby with for Green Island just a few months before) to see if I could stay the night at his new flat.

‘Macca’ obliged – thanks mate!

I still owe you one.

Anyway, I got the exam done and a few months later I received an A for my dissertation and final year of study, achieving first-class honours, which felt like a massive achievement considering I only just managed to gain university entrance.

Job done, now back to the cricket

It took me a further four innings before I made another meaningful contribution – 49 not out in a Twenty20 loss to Woodville (I seemed to like them) which again included Chadd Sayers, as well as a young and sprightly Kane Richardson.

Three single figure scores followed before Christmas when it was time to welcome my mum, sister and future brother-in-law to South Australia.

My 'safety net'

I’ve made it this far without mentioning my South Australian ‘safety net’, uncle Danny and auntie Alice.

Two of the best human-beings you could ever meet.

I’d never spent much time with them before because they moved from Rotorua to Tasmania in the late 1990s in search of better work opportunities.

And, to their credit, they turned it into a life-changing move thanks to some old-fashioned commitment and hard work.

I never knew how much fun they were.

We even went to the kids amusement park by the beach to play mini-golf, ride the dodgem cars, bumper boats and ate ice cream.

So, they had this awesome house with a swimming pool, almost a pre-requisite in South Australia’s blistering 40-plus degree summers, which made the 45-minute drive to Gawler to see them worth it.

Their presence and energy was exactly what I needed as I struggled to stomach my poor performances on the pitch and life felt like it was getting the better of me.

A real wake-up call

Over the Christmas period, I did some work for Cricinfo courtesy of ball-by-ball commentary and scoring some of the Big Bash League matches.

On December 28th, after a post-lunch nap, I drove down to Adelaide from Gawler to score the match from the comfort of my couch while watching the match in TV.

I vividly recall listening to the radio in the car with Dale Steyn dispatching the Aussies to all parts of the MCG in a match-changing 180-run 9th wicket stand with JP Duminy.

The next moment I opened my eyes to discover I had fallen asleep at the wheel and caused a significant accident.

I failed to stop at the lights and as the lady in the car in front of me was slowing down, I didn’t.

She was thankfully uninjured but in a lot of shock.

I was in a state of disbelief and embarrassment.

How could I have fallen asleep at the wheel?

So deeply asleep that I can’t remember a thing.

I retraced my steps and worked out that for the first time in six months, I’d eaten gluten over the festive period.

I’d been warned off it by a doctor six months’ previous who suggested I had an allergy and I’d noticed a real lift in my energy since.

No longer was I suffering from severe fatigue after meals.

However, on this occasion, I did.

It was a harsh reminder of just how important nutrition is for me.

I’ll never forget those harrowing images of waking to find the mess I’d created.

Hitting rock-bottom

January became really difficult.

The car needed serious repairs, but my insurance wouldn’t pay out to complete the repairs until the police report was filed.

The routine breath-test in the aftermath of the crash confirmed alcohol was not a contributing factor.

However, this simple piece of information wasn’t passed onto the insurance company and panel beater for six weeks.

Six weeks without a vehicle when I was working in a different location every day and twice a week would be rushing back across the city at rush-hour to attend cricket trainings.

I was stressed to the max just trying to get to work and I still hadn’t figured out a successful method to find consistent success with the bat.

My performances suffered, and I went through a period in the New Year of scoring 38 runs in six innings.

I'd hit rock-bottom.

I was struggling to make ends meet financially because of the added costs with the car repairs and subsequent temporary transport needs.

I had fallen out with Jase trying to borrow his car to help me get around the city.

And, the reason I was there in the first place, to play cricket, wasn’t working out how it was meant to.

The moment the penny dropped

I had just edged a medium pacer’s slower ball to the keeper standing 15 meters back behind the stumps, for a duck.

I thought to myself: how is it even possible to edge a slower ball to the keeper standing back?

I’d been through a period of finding ways to get out.

I was overthinking it.

I’d lost all confidence and trust in my instinct.

It was time to give up thinking, watch the ball and just pump it.

I walked the four kilometres home from cricket that day.

Wallowing in my own self-pity for a period before summoning the strength to realise I needed to let go of all my inhibitions, watch the ball as closely as I could and bat with complete trust.

This is often easier said than done.

Isn’t it wonderful when it all comes together

The result: 61 off 48 balls against Sturt in the One Day Semi Final.

I entered the fray at 92 for two in the 34th over.

The grass hadn’t been cut since earlier in the week which ensured the going was tough for our pure stroke-players Alex Carey, Tom Plant and the West-Australian Alex Malcolm, who largely kept the ball along the carpet.

Not only was my mindset coming into the game clear, but the situation perfectly dictated the way I needed to bat.

With wickets in hand, I needed to get after the bowling.

With anything that was full, I just swung hard.

I clubbed four sixes, including two into a stiff breeze.

I rediscovered my groove.

We also got lucky.

Sturt skipper, Cam Borgas, had not signalled the bowling powerplay to the umpires by the 40th over which meant it had to be taken right away.

In those days, most captains elected to take it in the 35th over.

He was fuming.

It was funny to watch.

It meant we had a licence to thrill and I enjoyed the process of batting again for the first time in months.

As it turned out, we made 209 and won by exactly 61 runs, despite their openers putting on 108 for the first wicket.

The win put us through into the one-day final at the Adelaide Oval under lights two weeks later and I couldn’t wait.

Positive reinforcement

It was at this point when my form turned that I learned just how powerful positive support could be.

My teammates couldn’t stop talking about my innings.

It was all said in front of me too.

‘That was odd,’ I thought.

'We don’t do this at home.'

What it did do for me is build my confidence and gave me a sense of trust that my teammates had full faith in me to get the job done.

They had a laugh with it and did it in a way that was good humoured and talked up the significance of my knock and how I was going to dominate the rest of the season.

Backing it up

I vowed to stick with my new mentality and trust my instincts more.

Adopting a simple approach made batting fun again.

The very next week, I made 65 in a two-day match against Adelaide Cricket Club, which laid the foundation for a comfortable first innings win.

I can clearly recall the moment one of their experienced medium-pacers thought he’d have a crack at me with a few words.

I was down at the non-strikers’ end watching proceedings thinking I was safe.

I was wrong.

“Your teammates have told me that they think you’re a sh!t bloke,” he said.

I took a moment to consider my response and let him bowl his next ball.

It was outside the off stump and my teammate left it alone through to the keeper.

The bowler was at the end of his follow-through, so I made my way down the wicket to join him while acting as though I was doing some ‘gardening’ on the wicket.

“That’s funny,” I said, “I haven’t heard anything about you.”

Well, he lost his cool.

“A hundred A-Grade games and that’s all the respect you've got for me…”

When your hamstring goes ‘pop’

In the process, however, I had managed to pull my hamstring while stuttering for a single between the wickets.

A grade-two tear meant the two-week turnaround for the final was highly unlikely.

But, I wasn’t having any of that talk.

14 days’ recovery time was enough for me to put some serious effort into recovery – stimulating blood flow with regular use of a tens machine, as well as some light swimming at the beach to increase my range of motion.

It might not have been perfect, but there was no way I wanted to miss arguably the biggest game of my career.

Let’s be honest, how often does a kiwi get the chance to be a hero at the Adelaide Oval under lights?

Surround yourself with good people

With the match scheduled for a 2.30pm start, I thought it would be a good idea to stay the night in Gawler with Danny and Alice.

They are the epitome of chill.

I thought their positive and relaxed vibe would be just the tonic to limit any pre-game nerves.

The jitters were given extra weight by the fact that I was taking a huge gamble for the team by deeming myself fit to play with an injured hamstring that was probably another three weeks away from being right to play.

Thankfully, it was 43 degrees so my hamstrings were very warm!

Plus, I reveled in dry heat.

My body and brain just seem to work better in those conditions.

We fielded first, and I was stationed at the unusual position of third-man to stay away from all the high-octane action.

Kensington, Sir Donald Bradman’s old club, were just as nervous as me and they stumbled their way to 153 all out in the 48th over.

Stevie Rowe, our wire-framed yet surprisingly-strong opening bowler claimed the wonderful figures of four for 18 in 8.4 overs, placing us in the box seat.

Lunch certainly wasn’t enjoyable.

The nerves were at an all-time high.

I really wanted to produce a significant performance and share in the success with all my teammates on such a momentous occasion.

A couple of hours to really cherish

Batting at four, I didn’t have to wait long for my opportunity when we fell to 22 for two with Plant and Malcolm gone.

I joined young Alex Carey in the middle.

I was conscious of my tight right hamstring, but the adrenaline kicked in and I was ready to compete.

I got a full-ish ball outside off early on and threw my hands at it, playing and missing.

The Kensington players sighed in disappointment but were similarly encouraged.

They knew one more wicket would really test us.

Playing-and-missing reminded me to watch the ball even more closely – my mantra of the moment.

Shortly after, I set off for a single, stopped, then took off again and as I ran for my life to the bowler’s end, I felt the hamstring go again.

I called for a runner.

It was my good mate, Alex Malcolm.

In case you haven’t read his stuff, he’s a brilliant writer for ESPNCricinfo and does AFL commentary in the winter.

He’s also written this fantastic piece on how to convert your starts as batsman.

So, with the help of Malcs’ constant reminders, I started watching the ball more closely, got a few away off the middle and ended up making 55 off 70 balls.

As the natural light was fading and the stadium lights started to take effect, I got stuck into their left-arm Chinaman, slog-sweeping him high over mid-wicket and into the stands.

Eventually, I lost concentration and got out when we needed only 26 runs to win.

I got too excited about the potential outcome and failed to give enough attention to the process..

It's taken me many years to learn the mentality required to be there at the end of a chase.

A schoolboy prodigy

17-year-old Al Carey didn’t get ahead of himself, though.

He was there at the end.

64 not out in a seven-wicket win.

The maturity for his age was scary.

It was definitely a sign of things to come.

It was a special night.

We celebrated long into the morning.

As I didn’t want to thin my blood with excessive amounts of alcohol, causing my hamstring tear to bleed further, I enjoyed only one alcoholic beverage and then got stuck into water for the rest of the night.

It was absolutely worth it.

After all, it meant a shorter recovery so that I could do more of what I was actually there for in the first place to do – bat.

Closing out the summer

Even though the Grand Final was played on the 1st of February, there wasn’t much more cricket to be played that summer.

Our two-day campaign was to last only another four weeks because we missed out on the play-offs.

I spent three weeks recovering before returning to post my highest score of the season, 76 against East Torrens.

I blew yet another hundred, but I was enjoying playing with my new-found freedom.

Learning to score hundreds again would be something I’d have to re-learn at a later date.

A summer full of lessons

The summer of 2008/09 provided contrasting lessons in discipline and a care-free mentality.

Discipline with my nutrition and pre-match batting routine.

A care-free mentality when it came to my thought-processes while batting in the middle.

I’d had another harsh reminder about what not to do – paralysis via analysis – and therefore to enjoy the time in the middle by trusting your instincts and letting yourself flow in the moment.

I’ll forever look back on that summer with fond memories.

It was as challenging a time for me personally as I’d ever experienced.

But, I’d found a way to dig myself out of a hole.

I’d well and truly pushed the boundaries of my comfort zone both on and off the field and achieved exactly what I’d set out to do.