Just before tea on the second day, I sat in the players’ balcony of the home changing room at the Sydney Cricket Ground, next in to bat and with a million thoughts racing around in my head. The capacity crowd was here to see a traditional Ashes battle, but with the series won, I could feel the expectation of the masses on me. The tide of goodwill was astounding. From my perspective, it was overwhelming, largely because I felt I owed the fans something in return for their support. I found it hard to focus. The longer I sat there, the more the dark forces seemed to gather, until I said to myself: “Take it easy. Just enjoy the experience.”
I saw immediately that a Justin Langer top edge off Andy Caddick had a trajectory destined for the hands of Matthew Hoggard at fine leg, and I put on my gloves, picked up my helmet and was out of my seat and already heading out when the catch was completed. I wanted to reach the middle before the emotion of the moment swamped me and distracted my senses too much, and to send a message to the Poms that I was ready for action.
The roar was tumultuous as I passed “Lang”, already almost halfway to the wicket. I noticed people standing in the aisles, cheering as loudly as they could in a show of support that made me proud and humbled by its intensity. Nasser Hussain went for the captain’s weapon of choice and threw the ball to his “white West Indian”, Steve Harmison, to try to ruffle me up. But that initial over passed without anything too memorable occurring, except for an amazing cloak of tranquillity that engulfed me. Then a clip off the toes behind square leg off Hoggard raced to the boundary and I was beginning to believe this day was meant to be. I’d entered the coveted zone and felt as if the scenes had been written for me with only one condition attached to them: concentration.
Coming into the last over of the day, to be bowled by off-spinner Richard Dawson, I needed five to make 100. In what everybody thought was a magnanimous gesture to give me a chance to complete the hundred, Adam Gilchrist had let the last ball of the penultimate over of the day go through to the keeper, but the truth is he thought it was the last ball of the day and was ready to walk and look forward to tomorrow.
After respecting three decent deliveries, I needed to force the issue more than I’d wanted to, and an improvised shot off the back foot past cover point initially had me thinking we would run four, as the nearest fieldsman, Caddick, had a lot of ground to cover. As I turned for two, my vision of a four was never going to materialise, but I also knew if any batsman was capable of finding a single from the next ball, then that man for the big occasion, Gilly, would sniff it out. And he did.
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I was aware of the crowd and their phenomenal support, but their cheers seemed muted or muffled as I stood intently, not really thinking about anything, almost detaching myself from the events going on around me. I reached for the security blanket, the old, worn, ragged red cloth, wiped the sweat from under my helmet peak and eyeballed Hussain as he walked back to slip after a long conversation with Dawson. As the bowler began his run-up, I didn’t have any doubts about the outcome.
Let it unfold, react to the opportunity, don’t force it . . .
The delivery was a quicker ball outside off stump, apparently intended to catch me playing across the line as I swung a slog-sweep over midwicket, but I saw it and released the arms and locked in the wrists. I didn’t follow its path, because it was fence-bound the instant the ball connected with the heart of the blade. Out of habit I ran the length of the pitch, totally oblivious to my batting partner, whose attempted high-five came to nothing. It was a massive relief to have waited until the last moment to convince everybody else that I wasn’t just talking a good game when I said I could still do it.
The next hour or so was a period I wish everyone could experience once in their life: the ovation from the crowd, the appreciation from the opposition, the encore demanded by the spectators, the joy of family sharing the occasion and the contentment I experienced sitting in front of my locker surrounded by teammates. To do something like that, passing 10,000 Test runs and equalling Sir Donald Bradman on 29 Test centuries, added up to the perfect day in cricketing terms.