A short extract from the chapter Death by Silence

in
Out of my comfor t zone: the autobiogr aphy
by Steve W augh

For the purposes of cricket based discussion at

The Crick et W atcher’s Journal

♦♦♦

Our state of mind after the first Test debacle was best summed up by
one particular penalty awarded at the postmatch fines meeting. It was
decided to fine Graeme wood for kicking a Pakistani fieldsman’s
helmet that had been lying unused on the ground behind the keeper.
This was obviously an uncivil act, but there was a slight twist in that
Graeme wasn’t relieved of his rupees because of his boot but because
there hadn’t been a head inside that helmet. We all had a good laugh
and, of course, it was in jest, but still it provides a glimpse of the
attitude that had developed.

It’s hard to know where to start when describing the debacle of the
test played in Karachi. It was the stuff of a horror-movie script. A
shockingly underprepared pitch that resembled a parched creek bed
with cracks and fissures running through it and not a blade of grass in
sight, made the toss a must-win affair. But a despondent outlook in a
team will often be reflected in the outcome of the coin toss, so AB was
odds on to get the call wrong. Which, of course, he did.

Pakistan went in minus their captain, Imran Khan, who refused to

play cricket in Pakistan in September-October because of oppressive
conditions that he considered dangerous to players’ health. In his
place came the people’s hero from the Karachi backblocks, Javed
Miandad, whose fierce competitive spirit had few equals, not to
mention his trait of brazenly sledging bowlers and fielders while he
batted.

1
We had the perfect start when Bruce Reid accounted for Mudassar
Nazar in the first over with an in-swinger. Bruce could have been a
legend had the gods been kinder to him. His frame resembled a stick
insect and couldn’t do his rhythmical flowing action justice over any
extended period of time. This stunted his right to be cast alongside
the likes of Glen McGrath and Dennis Lillee in the pantheon of fast-
bowling great. Not long after Mudassar’s dismissal, Heals, on his test
debut, took a stunning catch, diving forward, to dismiss Rameez Raja,
and give us the impetus we had hoped for. I’m sure our new
wicketkeeper would hav been relieved to take an early catch to settle
his nerves, because he was an unknown quantity to the rest of us.
When he snared that one to get Rameez, we immediately thought,
We’ve got a beauty here.

Sadly, these were our last fond memories of the match. The arrival of
the prickly Javed in the middle had everyone on the edge. We knew
he was the player Pakistanis all loved to bat with, and as usual he
strutted around like he owned the place. Consecutive unsuccessful
lbw shouts when he was on 15, both from the bowling of Tim May and
both of which we thought were quite obviously out, only set the tone
but dramatically altered the course of the match. Javed was a brilliant
watcher of the ball, leaving it as late as possible off the pitch before
playing his shots, particularly against the spinners. But it was like he
was having a game of French cricket in the backyard – except he
wasn’t going to be given out lbw. Most frustrating of all, he knew it
and would tell you so whenever he got to the non-striker’s end. I
recall him saying to me just out of earshot of the umpires, during one
of my fruitless spells in the debilitating heat, ‘What are you doing?
Don’t waste your time. This is my turf.’ He was referring to an earlier
appeal for leg before. Javed’s wry smile and ultraconfident body
language conveyed the belief that we were never going to get him out.
He basically did as he wished, even to the extent of wearing a white
half-mesh, half-polyester, cheap-and-nasty tourist souvenir cap with
the “I♥NY’ logo instead of his national cap. Finally, he gave us a
chance on 211, but the damage had been well and truly been done
both on the scoreboard and through the mind games he had played.

By the time we had a chance to bat. The pitch had started to crumble,
and although it played okay once a batsman got used to its pace and
turn, the initial stages of the innings came down to a mixture of skill

2
and good fortune. Patience was the basis of my plan to score runs, but
after 11 balls of uncertainty the umpire imagined there were six
stumps instead of the usual three and sent me on my way for a big fat
zero. I was livid, especially as I’d been ‘sawn off’ in both lead-up
matches as well, adding further fuel to the already-ignited conspiracy
theories I’d consumed myself with.

A tray full of drinks in plastic cups was my first target, and then
anything and everything else was swiped off the bench in the
dressing-room as I screamed, ‘Get me out of this fucking place!’ I had
to let go of the pent up anger and frustration, but the ferocious way I
did so surprised even me. Seconds later, as I contemplated my
actions, only the room attendants remained in the room. My
teammates had seen the dark mood and had left me as quickly as
possible to wallow in self-pity at my wretched luck. Then just as
quickly, I snapped out of it, totally embarrassed at my trail of
destruction and the poor attitude I was carrying around. I cleared the
results of my ‘Babe Ruth home run’ off the floor and I went out to
watch the strength of character Peter Taylor and Ian Healy were now
displaying out in the middle.

Meanwhile, an international incident was brewing. Bob Simpson and

tem manager Col Egar were complaining to the press about the pitch
and umpire Mahboob Shah’s officiating. Bob and Col felt compelled
to stick up for the team, but because of their status in Australian
cricket – Simmo as an ex-captain and current coach and selector, and
Col as one of the game’s most respected former Test umpires – their
actions virtually gave the rest of us green light to air our grievances.
Perhaps the most inflammatory remark came from out manager when
he said, ‘The umpiring is totally unacceptable. We have to let the
world know what is going on!’

Such was our sense of injustice that we held a team meeting at the
conclusion of day three of the Test to discuss our position and the
options available. At the time we were 7/116 in ur first innings in
reply to Pakistan’s 9 declared for 469. We vowed to fight hard and
salvage a draw if possible, but also – dangerously – we openly
canvassed the idea of abandoning the tour if the umpiring didn’t
improve.

3
After a rest day, controversy just kept on coming, peaking with the
farcical dismissal of Peter Taylor in our second innings. Having
showed stubborn resistance in the first innings for 54 not out, he was
told by AB to keep his gear on and go straight back out to open the
batting with Geoff Marsh after Javed enforced the follow-on. Again
Peter looked the goods, leaving as many deliveries alone as possible
and kicking away balls he didn't have to play at, until he was 'undone'
by their designated shine remover and wicket scuffer, Aamer Malik.
Bowling around the wicket, Malik got one to jump off a length, but PT
withdrew his bat and allowed the ball to bounce off his thigh guard
and loop into the hands of Ijaz Ahmed at short leg. The umpire met
the inevitable orchestrated appeal from the Pakistanis with a shake of
the head - we'd finally got one to go our way - but then, under the
intense pressure of a continued shout from the fieldsmen and bowler,
suddenly the finger went up. This sent our viewing room into
meltdown. Even the mild-mannered, clear-thinking Taylor
remonstrated with Malik for having the temerity to appeal and then
to carry it on until the decision was reversed.

Only the calmest of temperaments and clearest of thinkers could hope

to do well now, for the atmosphere in the room was charged with
negativity and distrust. I waited for my turn in the middle as if I was
about to be summoned to the electric chair. Appropriately, I made 13,
and for the second time in the match felt like a prop on a movie set. I
was given out stumped, but by the time the keeper took the ball I had
retreated to the crease with plenty of time to spare, which to the
umpire was totally irrelevant, as he sent me on my way. Obviously,
my attempted resilience was slowing down proceedings; they wanted
to move onto the next ‘scene’.

This time my reaction was in complete contrast to the ‘toys out of the
cot’ dummy spit of day three. I just walked in and sat down, numb.
Surely test cricket isn’t meant to be like this – that was all I could
think. I needed to her my girlfriend’s reassuring voice of reason and
get comfort from my parents. Instead, I was stuck in an ordeal that
was spiralling out of control.

The massacre ended in an innings and 188 runs defeat, but the
mayhem was just about to begin. Comments from the Australian
camp at a spiteful post-test press conference left no one doubting our

4
beliefs and led to a split in the journalists’ camp. On the sympathetic
side were Rod Nicholson and Terry Brindle, while Mike Coward and
Phil Wilkins aligned themselves with the ‘bigger picture’ argument.
AB certainly didn’t hold back when he said, ‘This was a conspiracy
from the word go. We are not going to be allowed to win. We will talk
long and hard about the rest of the tour, because the ramifications of
us going home now are huge and we understand that, no matter what
was said, it would look like sour grapes after losing. But, ultimately,
somebody has to take a stand, because this sort of thing has been
going on for too long. If we are the ones who have to cop it, then so be
it.’

Later that evening at the Karachi Pearl Continental Hotel, we held an

urgent crisis meeting that ultimately led to a vote on whether or not
we should immediately abandon the tour. I’m not sure we were fully
aware of the consequences of our actions. I certainly saw it only from
my point of view – that I’d been ripped off and didn’t want any more
of it. In the end, the captain, coach and manager took the brunt of the
criticism we copped; it was courageous if not wise move to encourage
a boycott. A show of hands was called and only two players – Tony
Dodemaide and Jamie Siddons – were seemingly unaffected and had
the strength of character to want to stay on. Being first-time tourists
and not wanting to jeopardize future selection chances may have
influenced their vote, but it was a brave stance nevertheless.

I can’t recall any words of caution from the tour hierarchy, only
confirmation that we had taken the right decision. In my mind, we
were going home and all I could think was, Thank God it’s over! Col
Egar had the task of passing on the information to Malcolm Gray.

In Faisalabad the next day another emergency team meeting was

called and Col informed us that there was no way we were going to be
allowed to abandon the tour: it must progress as scheduled. We felt
let down, but deep down we also knew that, cricket politics being
what they are, the ACB had no alternative but to deny out request. In
many ways, it was good to know that our only option was to just get
on with it.

As a break from all the conjecture, I took off to the Faisalabad

markets, which were a real eye-opener. The unrefrigerated meat,

5
covered in flies and dangling from huge silver hooks, the goat’s heads
for sale pile up haphazardly on the sidewalks, and fashion items such
as fake beards being sold for as little as $2 reminded me that I was a
long way from home, but also intrigued me in a way that suggested
that being in a foreign land wasn’t necessarily a disastrous thing.

But then, just when we thought things had settled down, came the
arrival from home of a 60 Minutes crew headed by reporter Mike
Munro, there to do a yarn bout our threat to cancel the tour. Any
chance of a balanced account of events was scuttled by the ACB
gagging players and management from making any comment, and
death by silence was our sentence. AB, as captain, was put in the
nightmarish position of being ambushed by Munro at a press
conference during the second Test. He could only deflect questions
until Simmo intervened and put an end to the ad hoc nature of
proceedings. The board’s theory was that if we didn’t say anything the
storm clouds would pass over, but instead we became an easy target
and were made to look like prima donnas and bad sports.

Former Australian captain Ian Chappell didn’t miss his chance to slip
the boot in, accusing us of ‘lacking the “digger” spirit’. This, I thought,
was drawing a pretty long bow, particularly when it came from a
bloke who had never toured Pakistan with an Australian team during
his playing career. I would later learn that Ian’s style of commentary
was to deal in shades of grey but always be very clear in his intent.
Often though, I found there was no constructive element to his
criticism to balance his views.

When a tape of Munro’s story arrived during the third test, in Lahore,
we all squirmed in our seats at the bleak picture that had been
painted of the whole squad. Again like the Greg Dyer incident from
the previous Australian season, our version of events was suppressed.
Only half the story was told – and it was all bad!

♦♦♦

From Steve Waugh, Out of my comfort zone: the autobiography (Australia:

Penguin Books, 2006), pp. 164-70. Mr. Stephen Rodger Waugh was captain
of Australian Test cricket team in the period 1999-2004.

6
7