No Boundaries (13 page)

I
’ve never understood why so many professional sports people act like spoiled brats and think they don’t have to take any responsibility for their own welfare. Let’s face it: playing sport is a pretty damn good way of life despite all the ups and downs, occasional frustrations and the odd
bloody-minded
management making things difficult. To start with, you are paid well to do something many thousands would pay to do. You get to travel the world and stay in good hotels with someone else picking up the tab. You even get perks now and again like invitations to big sporting events and drinking corporate champagne from the comfort of an executive box.

But it seems this isn’t enough for some people. They start to believe they shouldn’t have to pay for anything. I get angry when I hear a highly paid professional whinge that his club or association wouldn’t pay for treatment he thought he should have. I want to say, ‘You can afford to pay for it yourself. It’s your career and your body you are talking about – take steps to sort it.’

There are, of course, some notable exceptions, and the more I looked into getting the best treatment I could find, the more I kept bumping into the same people who were willing to invest their own money in their own future – people like Jamie Redknapp, who has become a good mate and with whom I’ve spent a lot of time swapping stories about who is the best person to see for particular injuries.

My experience in New Zealand and with Hans
Müller-Wohlfahrt
convinced me how important it was to think outside the box and to seek out the best advice I could get, even if it cost me. I discovered an important truth: the people at the top of their profession don’t bullshit you. If they need to refer you to another specialist, they always recommend the best because they know it reflects on them.

I played no cricket in the winter following the NatWest Trophy win. I had an operation on my right knee and started my regular visits to see Hans in Munich. He was definitely one of Frank’s mountain people. He’d overcome enormous opposition from the established medical profession to his homeopathic treatments but his results spoke for themselves – literally, because most of his patients came from word-
of-mouth
recommendation by satisfied customers.

When I went to see him, he would put me on a drip of Actovegin, an amino acid created during a filtration of molecules of calves’ blood. It makes you piss like a race horse but it gets rid of the toxins and you feel wonderful after it. Eventually the World Anti-Doping Agency felt it might be too easy to include other, less desirable substances in a drip so it had to be administered by injection. No one in England would give me the injections, so I took Lorraine to Munich where they showed her how to do it and for eight years she would give me the jabs in our bedroom at
home. It was all perfectly legal and speeded up my regeneration incredibly. I had plenty of drug tests during this time but there was never a problem as all the treatments I used were homeopathic.

When he turned his attention to my knee, Hans used a substance called Hyalart and later Ostenil. Hyalart is processed from the comb of a cockerel. It stays on the surface of the skin for ages and seems virtually impossible to rub in, and it works miracles at lubricating the knee joint, preventing the bones grinding together. When the story eventually broke that I was having Hyalart injections, I had to put up with a lot of jokes and Ian Botham still insists that he finds it hard to understand how having a chicken’s head shoved in your knee can help. But I was happy to put up with the
mickey-taking
because of the relief I got.

For the next few years, I used to take myself off to Munich at least once a month for treatment. At first I didn’t tell anyone at Essex in case they thought it was too way out and stopped me. The schedule was always touch-and-go and it made me a keen student of weather conditions, especially the possibility of fog. I would fly out at 7.30am on a Monday and return the same night, ready for a game the following day. There were a few hairy dashes to the airport to make sure I didn’t miss the plane but fortunately it always worked out OK. I was lucky because I lived near Stansted airport where I could get an Easyjet flight to Munich for around
£
120 and at times as little as
£
60. If I’d still been with Lancashire, it would have cost me
£
400 to fly from Manchester. Eventually, word got out and I know our physio James Davis was a bit sceptical at first but he came out and saw Hans’s set-up for himself and became enthusiastic about it. And Essex were great. When they realised how much the
treatment was helping me, Alan Lilley and David East contributed towards the costs.

It was thanks to Jamie Redknapp that I met Kevin Lidlow, one of the best physios in the world. After my knee operation, Hans Müller-Wohlfahrt would take away the swelling while Kevin would work on getting rid of the scar tissue left from my earlier operation. He was another guy whose reputation went from player to player. Most of his work is done in the Third Space clinic in London, but sometimes I would ring him during a match and he would tell me to go to his place in Stapleford when I got home. I’ve often turned up from somewhere like Durham at 10 or 11 o’clock at night and found people like Jamie, Les Ferdinand, Scott Parker, Joe Worsley or Lawrence Dallaglio sitting waiting their turn to go in.

By this stage, some of you may be thinking that I’m some kind of hypochondriac flitting from treatment to treatment, but you have to remember that, if you are doing your job properly as a sportsman, and in my case that meant batting and bowling on a daily basis, you are putting strains on your joints, your back and the rest of your body that most people don’t experience. And I had been doing that from a very young age. Just as Formula 1 teams spend hours tuning their engines and going over every working part to make sure the car performs at peak levels, I reckoned I needed to treat my body with the same care. An athlete’s body is not something a GP can look after satisfactorily; it needs specialists in several fields and I was extremely lucky in that I became part of a network that passed me on from one expert to another. It was expensive but it prolonged my career by several years.

One of the guys Hans introduced me to was Thomas Mendelssohn, a chiropractor who immediately spotted my
neck, spine and hips were out of alignment and put them right, making bowling a whole lot easier. And he put me on to Martin Trautmann who updated my orthotics and later became a partner in OrthoSole, the product I launched in 2008 in the UK and at a massive trade fair in Salt Lake City in July 2009.

Back in 1997, I had plenty of time on my hands between treatments and, as soon as he heard I wasn’t playing cricket that winter, Fil Mercer got in touch with me with a business proposition. Fil had managed to get a good price from Securicor for delivering parcels across his range of companies. On the ball as ever, he quickly realised there was enough margin for him to offer a reasonably priced parcel service to his friends and make a few bob for himself.

‘Why don’t you set up something similar in Essex?’ he asked. ‘I’ll give you a good price and it will be a way for me to pay you back some of the money I owe you. All you need is a phone and a diary.’

It made sense so I started to help Parcels2Go.com in Essex and we did quite well. I could have continued with it but once my knee was fully fit and I was back playing there simply wasn’t enough time. Anyway, by that stage I was making more money out of another scheme with Fil’s brother Dougie, another Mercer who could duck and dive for England.

Dougie can be a bit flash and likes his sports cars – to my knowledge, he’s had at least one Porsche, a Lotus and a Ferrari – but I’d known him for years and was happy to get on board when he asked me to sell a damp-proof membrane that builders put down over the foundations of buildings. Despite a few hiccups and a writ from a
£
100m company who felt we were making false claims for our product, sales were going well and I was building up a nice
little business. An apology and promise not to repeat the claim dealt with the writ but there was no way past one of Dougie’s main customers.

The guy complained that I was nicking his clients and threatened to close his account, which would have been disastrous for Dougie. I had a word with the bloke – or rather I had a row with him on the phone and took such exception to his threats that I offered to meet him and sort it out. He backed off at that stage and we agreed to rub along together as long as I didn’t take any more of his customers.

I carried on selling for a few more weeks but, inevitably, without realising, I approached someone he usually dealt with and got an order. The guy instantly phoned Dougie, who came on to me and said, ‘I’m sorry, Ronnie, but I’ve got a lot of people whose jobs depend on me and I can’t afford to lose this bloke. I’ve got to ask you to stop completely.’

I wanted to argue – I was making some useful money that I needed right then – but I agreed to walk away. It wasn’t worth losing a friendship over it. Dougie and I are still mates. He has gone on to do very well with his business and property portfolio in England and abroad, on the back of which he drives around in a Bentley convertible. I’m still in my Mondeo classic.

I
n many ways, 1998 was one of the more forgettable years of my life. Only two occasions stand out as memorable – my wedding and another trophy with Essex in the B&H final.

I like to think I’m a decisive kind of bloke but I have to admit that it took me ten years to get round to proposing to Lorraine. It didn’t seem necessary. We were completely committed to each other and it was only when we began to talk about starting a family that we realised we were both a bit old-fashioned about things like that. So we named the day, 28 April, at the picturesque Norman church of St Mary and St Lawrence in Great Waltham. We had masses of friends from Bolton who we wanted to invite and a whole host of new friends we’d made at Essex, so we looked around but couldn’t find anywhere suitable. In the end, we persuaded Richard Bailey (uncle of my Essex team-mate James Foster), the landlord of the Green Man in Great Waltham, the oldest pub in Essex, to let us put up a marquee on his back lawn. We enjoyed a fantastic day with 250 of our friends. I was dressed up in my best bib and
tucker, courtesy of Moss Bros, and Lorraine looked breathtakingly stunning.

Things weren’t working out so well at Essex. I was still in reasonable form but Paul Prichard was struggling with the captaincy and we never really got our county championship campaign off the ground. The one bright spot was the Benson & Hedges cup. We came second in our group to Middlesex but then beat them narrowly in the quarter-final and made short work of Yorkshire in the semis to book a third successive final at Lord’s, this time against Leicestershire. They had a good pace attack that included England pair Chris Lewis and Alan Mullally but we hammered them. Paul Prichard and Nasser Hussain put on a lot of runs and, when Prich was out just short of his century, Nass and I smashed 60 in 11 overs.

Leicestershire were never at the races as Ashley Cowan and Mark Ilott carved their way through them. I have to say that, taken over those three finals, the guy who stands out in my memory is Mark Ilott. He was simply magnificent, bowling left-arm over the wicket from the Pavilion End and using the slope to perfection. In fact, we thought it should be renamed the Ilott End. Mark was in his pomp. He had a big heart and, although he bowled most of his career on flat pitches at Chelmsford, he never stopped trying to make things happen. Conditions at Lord’s suited him down to the ground. After Ashley had knocked over the first two Leicestershire batsmen with only six on the board, Mark bowled Phil Simmons with an absolute beauty, pitching on off and swinging back to remove his middle peg. It was an identical ball to the one that had rapped John Crawley on the pad two years before but which somehow David Shepherd saw as not out. I still think we would have won three finals in a row if it hadn’t been for that dreadful decision.

Mark was a bit of a character off the pitch but on it he would charge in all day for you. He had a great temperament. There wasn’t a lot of love lost between him and Nasser. At times Nass could be really cutting but Mark would just shrug and say, ‘That’s Nass. That’s how he is.’ I wish I’d had the opportunity to captain him more but sadly it wasn’t to be. He had a really good pain barrier but, being slim, if he picked up an injury it could be a bad one. One day at Southend he got his spikes caught in the turf as he was charging in and went down as though he’d been shot. We all laughed as he dropped like a stone but his cries of pain signalled it was serious. Mark was off for some time and, when he came back, he wasn’t the bowler he’d been. It was a worrying situation for him because he was due a benefit season. In order to qualify, he needed to get his contract renewed but there were a few people on the committee who were now reluctant to keep him in the squad.

One of the best things about Nasser is that he firmly believes people should get the rewards they deserve. He and I felt strongly about Mark’s situation and had a get-together with Graham Saville before going into the crucial committee meeting to discuss his contract. I had no doubts and said, ‘He must be given a new deal and a benefit year. He has sweated blood for this club and, whatever it costs in wages, he has earned a hundred times over. He was one of the key reasons we won good prize money in the last three finals and it was while doing his best for the club that he picked up his injury.’

Nasser and Sav agreed and I was delighted that the whole committee came round to our way of thinking.

People question whether benefit years are still valid these days but I believe they are a good way for the fans to show their appreciation for someone who has given long and loyal
service. More importantly, they also provide players with some cash to see them over the difficult period between retiring from cricket and sorting out what they are going to do with the rest of their life.

That meeting was one of the first official functions for the new team of Essex captain Nasser Hussain and his vice captain Ronnie Irani. Despite his man-of-the-match display in the B&H final, Prich had decided to stand down. Winning the cup lost its gloss when we finished rock bottom of the county championship, and it was never clear if Paul jumped or was given an ultimatum. Nasser was the obvious choice to take over. Stuart Law, who had just had his contract extended, was the only other likely candidate but even he acknowledged in an article in the local paper that the job should go to Nass. He also hinted that he would like to be vice captain so clearly he wasn’t too happy when I was named. Apparently, he wasn’t alone. It turned out that Nasser wasn’t keen on me getting the job either.

I only found this out when we had a pre-season training session on Dartmoor, part of which involved Nass, Keith Fletcher, bowling coach Geoff Arnold and I having a private meeting with every player. Robert Rollins was a key member of our squad, a fine wicketkeeper and a solid batsman, capable of getting runs. I believe it was only a bad injury that stopped him becoming England’s first black wicketkeeper. He came into his meeting and Nasser’s opening remark was: ‘Rob, you’ve got a big season ahead of you. I’ll be honest, you were my first choice as vice captain. If I’d had my way, you would have been my man. But don’t be too down about it. Keep working on your game and it can be a really big season for you.’

He carried on talking but I didn’t take it in because I was
thinking, What the fuck was that all about? I wondered if he’d spoken to Rob during the winter and told him he was getting the job. Anyway, the cat was out of the bag now, so what would Rob’s attitude be to me? We already had Stuart Law pissed off, and Prich was still hurting at having to stand down; now he’d provided those two with a possible ally before the season had even started. With Nasser’s commitment to England – always his number-one priority – I knew I would be skippering the side most of the season and it was looking likely to be a tricky job. Rob never gave me a moment’s trouble but it was an awkward situation that need never have occurred, as Nass admitted when Rob left the room. He said, ‘I’m sorry about that, Ronnie. I got that wrong. I shouldn’t have said that.’

I was captain for the majority of games during the two years that I was Nasser’s number two and it was a steep learning curve for me. I enjoyed the responsibility but wasn’t always sure how to handle certain situations and leaned heavily on the advice of John Bird and Frank Dick.

We had a modest season at Essex but I was playing reasonably well and, after some tight bowling against New Zealand at Chelmsford, I was called up for the final Test at the Oval the following week. This was Nasser’s first series as England captain. It had been a difficult summer and defeat at the Oval would mean we lost the series 2–1. I didn’t realise it at the time but it would be my last Test match.

Nass had said he wanted me in the team because he knew I was a fighter and the kind of player he wanted in the trenches with him. However, by the time they selected the squad to tour South Africa that winter, he and Duncan Fletcher had obviously decided they wanted new blood. A fresh-faced kid called Andrew Flintoff got the spot I was
hoping for. I was tossed the consolation prize of an A-team trip and found myself back in New Zealand under the guidance of Mike Gatting. Like Mike Atherton, Gatting was another former England captain who felt he had to live up to the meaning of his Christian name, ‘who resembles God’.

I was 28 years old and had been a professional cricketer for ten years but I felt as though my country was telling me I had to start over from scratch. In fact, it was potentially worse than that. Mark Alleyne was given the captaincy, even though his record as an all-rounder wasn’t as good as mine, so it was clear he was likely to get the nod ahead of me in the key matches. It appeared I was there to make up the numbers in the less important games and as cover in case Mark picked up an injury.

We had a three-week warm up in Bangladesh and then moved on to New Zealand. I never felt that my input was welcome by the management so I tended to do my work and keep out of the way. In the past, I’d done extra training to try to impress the selectors but it had never worked, so when we were given some time off in Christchurch I decided to go fishing. I was picked up at 5.30am and taken to Lake Shepherd, which has a stream running into it that is so pure my guide just scooped out a cupful of water and said, ‘Try that – you’ll never taste anything better.’ It was stunning and made a fabulous brew of tea. I caught a lot of brown trout and we also shot a wild pig. We took them back to the hotel and the chef cooked up a feast – fish with Thai sauce followed by roast pig. The lads loved it.

I didn’t think there could be a more attractive fishing spot – until the following week when he took me out of town in the opposite direction. As we drove along, I saw a pinhead of turquoise in the distance and slowly it got bigger. This was
Lake Coleridge. It was breathtakingly beautiful and we stood on crystal rock in the water, spinning for trout. Paradise.

The downside of Christchurch was that I caught chickenpox. Young Michael Gough, a talented prospect from Durham who was on his first tour, also went down with it and the two of us were quarantined from the rest of the squad. They then moved off to Wellington, leaving us in the hotel. At first the chickenpox was horrendous. I felt listless and itchy as hell but then the symptoms seem to ease up. However, the doctor wouldn’t release us to join up with the rest of the squad for a few more days. Michael and I hit it off and spent a lot of time talking cricket. We also had a couple of nights in the bar. We received a daily phone call from the physio, Anne, and one day she said, ‘You sound dreadful, Ronnie. Take care of yourself.’ Little did she realise that we’d only just got in from the night before.

Eventually, we were released and joined the rest of the party a few days before the first match against New Zealand A. It was only when I started training again that I realised just how much the chickenpox had taken out of me. As soon as I did any sustained exercise, I felt knackered, which was quite alarming because I’ve always prided myself on my stamina and ability to keep going no matter how gruelling it gets. Now I was putting in a bowling session in the morning and going back to my room for an hour’s sleep to recover.

As expected, Mark Alleyne filled the all-rounder spot to play New Zealand A. I joined in the nets and fielding practice with the team in the morning and again in the gym sessions in the evening, but in between I would often catch some kip in the dressing room. That apparently didn’t go down well with the management. As soon as the match was over, I was summoned to a meeting with Mike Gatting,
Martyn Moxon, who was acting as coach on the trip, and Mark Alleyne.

Gatting didn’t bother with pleasantries. ‘We’ve got a serious issue here,’ he said.

My heart sank. Not again, I thought. I wondered if Michael Gough had let slip that we’d had a couple of nights on the bevvies in Christchurch or maybe the hotel had said something, although we’d never caused any trouble.

‘We take it very seriously and I’ve already spoken to Lord McLaurin and David Graveney at the ECB.’

It looked as though, whatever it was I was accused of, I’d been found guilty before the trial had even been called. I said, ‘What exactly is the problem?’

‘We feel that you weren’t putting in enough effort in the warm-up this morning. In fact, we’ve not been impressed with you since you came back from Christchurch. You’ve not been mixing as we think you should and for the last two nights in the gym, especially last night, you didn’t work as hard as you should on the bikes and the cross-trainers. Can you explain your actions, because at the moment we are thinking of sending you home?’

If Gatting had hoped to intimidate me, he’d failed. As I listened to him, I sensed that he was trying to make an impression, to show the ECB how tough he could be as a team manager on tour. I was the ideal target. I’d had problems before and I was quite senior so he couldn’t be accused of picking on one of the youngsters. It seemed a bit rich to be threatened with public humiliation for failing to pedal a bike hard enough by a man who as captain of England had brought a Test match to a grinding halt when he went nose to nose with umpire Shakoor Rana and later had to apologise for his foul language. At that stage, I felt
as though I had nothing to lose, so I decided to say what I thought.

‘Is that it?’ I asked.

‘Yes. What have you got to say?’

‘You are fucking joking, aren’t you?’

‘No. I don’t think you realise how serious this is.’

‘Is that right? I have just spent ten days with chickenpox which has knocked the stuffing out of me and at times I’m still knackered. Nevertheless, I’ve joined in with everything you have asked me to do and, as to mixing, I’ve always helped and encouraged the young players but I didn’t want to cut across what Mark was doing. Now you are threatening to send me home because you don’t think I rode a fucking bike hard enough and didn’t put enough effort into the warm-up for a match I wasn’t playing in?’

Gatting tried to interrupt, saying, ‘Those fielding drills are important.’

I was seething by this stage and cut across him. ‘Shut up, Mike. You’ve had your say. I’ve been playing cricket professionally for ten years – of course I know how important fielding drills are and I played my part fully. I respected you as a cricketer and thought you were a fine captain of England but I have to say you’ve gone right down in my estimation today. And don’t bother to send me home, I’ll buy my own ticket because this is just a fucking farce.’