like an old-fashioned English seamer. Soon after, my dad told me what Jack Bannister had said of me on the radio, “ ‘He can’t play the inswinger, he can’t play the outswinger and he can’t play the short ball.” … He don’t think much of you then.’ That was the kind of comment that in those days could really hurt.
We took another hammering, and having Steve Waugh dropped by Athers in the 150s off a wide half-volley (the nearest I would ever come to taking a Test wicket) was no consolation. We were sitting in the dressing-room after the game when Gooch told us he was resigning as captain. He’d been England captain for four years but recent results had been poor. I was just a novice, but even to my inexperienced eyes it was obvious he was feeling the pressure. It was another indication of the unforgiving nature of Test cricket.
That series taught me some hard lessons. I was sledged out in the next Test at Edgbaston, Atherton’s first as captain, and, as it proved, my last of the series because a guy called Peter Dickinson, who played for Farnham, broke my thumb in the nets on the morning of the final Test at the Oval. Personally I did okay, scoring 37 and 60, but England were again on the wrong end of things, although, in company with the tail, I dragged things out as long as I could in the second innings. I’d gone past 50 and we were eight down and leading by 97, not yet enough to give us any real chance, when I patted a ball back defensively. Ian Healy, the Australian wicket-keeper, turned to his team-mates and shouted, ‘Hey! You know what? This guy’s playing for red ink …’, meaning I was only concerned with being not out.
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