Taming the Beast: The Fall and Rise of Jack Beasley

By Nicholas Fry

Jack “Beast” Beasley has been dealt a tough hand in life: his family has been torn apart, and he’s been left to pick up the pieces, with his younger sister Michelle. Only two factors keep Jack from throwing in the towel: his love for his sister and his passion for cricket. Jack must confront his own demons and battle against his own frustrations, his fiery temper, and pent-up anger, getting him into regular trouble at school and on the cricket field. Jack’s dream is to be the best cricketer he can be, with aspirations of playing for the Richmond 1st X1, pushing through to first-class cricket and then his ultimate dream: wearing the famous Baggy Green cap and representing Australia as a test cricketer.

In Taming the Beast, we follow Jack Beasley and the many ups and downs and twists and turns along his journey. Will all of Jack’s hard work pay off? Will his determination prevail? Will he be able to placate his inner demons? Will he “tame the beast”?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Feb 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796000443

Nicholas Fry

Nicholas Fry is an Australian businessman, cricket fan, retired cricketer, and keen writer. As a youngster, Nick fell in love with cricket, playing up until the age of 50. In ‘Taming the Beast’, Nick introduces us to Jack ‘Beast’ Beasley, an up-and-coming Australian cricketer who experiences many ups and downs in pursuit of his dream of wearing the ‘baggy green’. Having previously written short stories and business articles, this is Nick’s second novel, following on from ‘Chasing the Shark’, which tracks the life of Nick Giles, professional golfer. Nick lives in Sandhurst, Melbourne with his wife and 3 kids.

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Taming the Beast

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The Fall and Rise of Jack Beasley

Courage. Conflict. Controversy. Cricket.

Nicholas Fry

Copyright © 2019 by Nicholas Fry.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2019900864

ISBN:              Hardcover              978-1-7960-0046-7

                        Softcover                978-1-7960-0045-0

                        eBook                     978-1-7960-0044-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/14/2019

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

791428

CONTENTS

Foreword: Keith Rowe

Chapter 1     Attitude Transplant

Chapter 2     Taming the Beast

Chapter 3     Knock his Head Off

Chapter 4     At the Top of my Run Up

Chapter 5     The Slow Decline

Chapter 6     Most Improved

Chapter 7     Rock Bottom

Chapter 8     The School of Hard Knocks

Chapter 9     Zero Tolerance

Chapter 10   The Road Trip

Chapter 11   Easily Beasley

Chapter 12   The Hangover

Chapter 13   The Saint

Chapter 14   The Biggest Obstacle

Chapter 15   Golden Boy

Chapter 16   Funny Game Cricket

Chapter 17   Unforgettable

Chapter 18   You Wouldn’t Believe It

Chapter 19   Ashes to Ashes

Chapter 20   Up Close and Personal

Chapter 21   Mum’s the Word

Chapter 22   The Ballad of Billy Barnes

Chapter 23   The Man in the Stand

Chapter 24   The Set Up

Chapter 25   Sins of the Past

Chapter 26   Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 27   Better Days are Coming

Chapter 28   A Fighting Fury

Chapter 29   Unadulterated Frenzy

Chapter 30   Bombs Away

Chapter 31   Spooked

Chapter 32   A Career Defining Moment

Chapter 33   Elite Talent Management

Chapter 34   Naming the Beast

Chapter 35   Don’t F&#k It Up

Chapter 36   Do it for the Saint

Chapter 37   We’re Strong and We’re Bold

Chapter 38   Grand Final - Day 1

Chapter 39   Grand Final - Day 2

Chapter 40   In Very Good Hands

Chapter 41   Grand Final - Day 3

Chapter 42   Bye Bye Billy Boy

Chapter 43   Like Clockwork

Chapter 44   The Rough Edges

Chapter 45   Young Guns

Chapter 46   Heartstopper

Chapter 47   Close Count

Chapter 48   The Squad

Chapter 49   Rooster

Chapter 50   A Swan?

Chapter 51   Counter Offer

Chapter 52   Test Results

Chapter 53   Go North, Young Man

Chapter 54   Greg Chappell

Chapter 55   All Bases Covered

Chapter 56   Let’s Do It

Chapter 57   The Ring Around

Chapter 58   The Strangest Thing

Chapter 59   The Heat of the Battle

Chapter 60   Witness Protection

Chapter 61   Over the Moon

Chapter 62   The Third Wheel

Chapter 63   Tough Crowd

Chapter 64   Coping with the Heat

Chapter 65   First Class

Chapter 66   The Debut Blues

Chapter 67   Redbacks

Chapter 68   Bad News

Chapter 69   Fake News

Chapter 70   Here’s Your Scoop

Chapter 71   ICON

Chapter 72   Seize and Destroy

Chapter 73   Operation Green Hair

Chapter 74   Under the Knife

Chapter 75   The Poin End

Chapter 76   On the Radar

Chapter 77   No Expectations, No Disappointments

Chapter 78   The Tourist

Chapter 79   Brekky with the Beast

Chapter 80   Media Tart

Chapter 81   Swimming Against the Tide

Chapter 82   With a Bullet

Chapter 83   Green and Gold

Chapter 84   Internal Bleeding

Chapter 85   Bandwagon

Chapter 86   The Eagle The Beast and The Shark

Chapter 87   Best New Talent

Chapter 88   The Difference

Chapter 89   The Word on the Street

Chapter 90   The Leak

Chapter 91   Engaging Conversations

Chapter 92   Beau and the Beast

Chapter 93   Interview with the Beast

Chapter 94   The Mother Country

Chapter 95   Good Lords

Chapter 96   The Beginning and the End

Chapter 97   Summary

Chapter 98   Statistics

Chapter 99   In Their Words

Chapter 100   A Final Thanks

TAMING THE BEAST

My main motivation for writing this book is my love of cricket, a game I played from the age of nine, up until the age of fifty. I estimate I played somewhere in the vicinity of 400 games of cricket in that time, and I dedicate this book to all the teammates, opponents, coaches, captains, officials, umpires, volunteers and supporters I crossed paths with during those countless wonderful hours I spent playing the game I truly love.

Those people are the inspiration behind the characters and stories in this book.

Although this book is a fictional tale, I have drawn upon many people, games, incidents and anecdotes I experienced along my cricketing career to inspire the story of Jack Beasley in ‘Taming the Beast’.

This book features some mild course language, incidents of violence and some drug use references. Some names have been changed to protect the identity of particular individuals.

This story is set partly in the past, present and future and is a fictional tale. There are references to real people, real places and real historical events, but these references are not always factually accurate.

This is part fact, part fiction. This is a work of ‘faction’.

I hope you enjoy ‘Taming the Beast’.

Nicholas Fry

March, 2019

Nicholas Fry is an Australian businessman, avid cricket fan, retired cricket player, and keen writer. Growing up, Nick fell in love with the game of cricket as a youngster, his fascination for cricket sparked as a 9-year old when his hero, Greg Chappell, scored a century in each innings of his debut Test as Australia’s captain at the Gabba.

Nick went to represent his school 1st X1 from the tender age of 13, and also represented Richmond Cricket Club for six years, captaining their Dowling Under 16 team during his time as a Tiger. Nick also represented Victoria in the U19 Schoolboys Championships, where he dismissed a young up-and-coming NSW player named Steve Waugh.

He then went on to play for, captain and coach St. Kevin’s Old Collegians Cricket Club (Premiership player, Life Member, Team of the 80’s, Team of the 90’s, Team of the Century, 5-times Club Champion) in the ECA for 16 years, and then represent Carrum Cricket Club (3 x Premierships, Club President, Life Member, Hall of Fame, Team of the 00’s, 2-times Best & Fairest) in the MPCA for another 14 years, playing 1st X1 cricket up until the age of 50. Nick also played a couple of seasons of 40+ ‘Veterans Cricket’ for St. David’s Cricket Club, before retiring to take up golf.

In ‘Taming the Beast’, Nick outlines the story of Jack ‘Beast’ Beasley, an up-and-coming young Australian cricketer who experiences many ups and downs in pursuit of his dream of playing first-class cricket and his end goal of wearing the ‘baggy green’, the ultimate symbol of success and achievement in Australian cricket.

Having previously written many short stories and business articles, this is Nick’s second novel, following on from his previous book ‘Chasing the Shark’, which tracks the life of Nick ‘Eagle’ Giles, professional golfer.

Nick lives in Sandhurst, Melbourne with his wife and 3 kids.

FOREWORD: KEITH ROWE

You may ask … who is this Nicholas Fry?

Well, I first met him almost 30 years ago. With Nick a Melbourne boy and me Sydney based, we didn’t get to meet all that much in the early years. Even so, as business adversaries within the intensely competitive electrical appliance industry, we managed to cross swords here and there, and over time, I couldn’t help but develop a distant, but deep, respect for his commercial acumen and integrity.

However, it wasn’t until 2013 when we actually finished up on the same team. It was then - working together side by side to launch an exciting new business venture - that I got the chance to fully appreciate his extraordinary breadth of talent.

Over the odd coffee, we also got to talk about things outside the business circle, sharing important personal stuff like our background, our ethics, our beliefs. It seems that, despite the age difference (I have children almost Nick’s age), we happened to share an extraordinarily compatible mix of family values, philosophies, and interests. We both enjoyed our music too, and our love of writing; we even managed to reach a kind of truce on political issues.

As you might imagine, with two avid sportsmen locked in conversation, the topic inevitably gravitated to sport, as we each relived our daring pursuits out on the field. With neither of us too shy in boasting about our accomplishments, the discussions got a bit competitive here and there. It started when Nick proudly talked about AFL and proclaimed his (almost fanatical) support for the Carlton Football Club. I inadvertently mentioned that way back in my National Service days in 1968 - while temporarily based in Melbourne - I had actually trained-on with his beloved club while he was still trying to kick a rubber ball around the cot in his nappy. If this was to be some sort of rivalry thing, then one-up to me!

We talked most about our mutual love of cricket. Sure, I was aware that Nick was a distinguished cricketer and that he was a life member of a couple of clubs in Victoria – a Hall of Famer no less, and with a trophy cabinet as big as my house! Even that was OK until he revealed that he had topped my best ever career batting effort of 160 with an impressive 177 not out. Unfazed, I bragged about my best schoolboy haul of 7/10 with the ball only to learn he had outdone me with an 8/25. Howzat!

At this stage, he had me stumped … I was now on a hiding to nothing, and we hadn’t even got to talking golf yet. There was Nick, at worst an 11-marker and me an absolute hacker!

Then, just last year, with the release of his powerful first book – Chasing the Shark – Nick delivered the ultimate game-changer, and I realised that I would have to throw in the towel - to finally concede defeat. With the power of the pen, Nick had taken all his journalistic training to a new level, using his incredible writing skills and knowledge of the game’s tradition and heritage to change the course of history with an absorbing tale of a young golfer named Nick Giles obsessed with chasing down his idol – the legendary Greg Norman.

If ever you’ve enjoyed a round of golf, if ever you’ve aspired to be half good at it, or even if you’ve simply enjoyed watching the Masters at work on television … yet haven’t had a chance to read that book, you must do so. It’s an absolute page-turner!

Having been captured from the first page and unable to put it down, I was in awe, and naively suggested to Nick that he should consider doing something similar on a cricket theme. Too late, he replied, I started it a couple of months ago, and the manuscript is all but finished.

So here it is - Nick’s second book - Taming the Beast. He has quite deliberately kept the manuscript from my prying eyes, but I am dying to get my hands on it, because I can’t wait to follow the journey of our young cricketer Jack Beasley, as he strives to overcome extraordinary odds to reach the pinnacle of his sport.

I know it’s going to be one hell of a tale, so, I’m just as keen to turn this page as you are!

Keith Rowe

Sydney, 2019

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CHAPTER ONE

Attitude Transplant

I t was February, 2023. It was the lowest point of my cricketing career, just as I was optimistic of it being the highest point of what had been an adventurous, action-packed and often tumultuous journey. I’d been through a lot of ups and downs over the years, but I thought, at last, at the age of 23 I was making some serious progress. I’d managed to become a respected and important player for the Richmond Cricket Club, playing in two 1 st X1 Premierships for the Tigers, and for whom I’d strung together 67 good, consistent games over five seasons, including a recent purple patch where I’d taken 23 wickets in four games. I’d also played a number of good games for the Victorian 2 nd X1, and there were rumours I was very close to state selection, where my dream of representing Victoria in the Sheffield Shield competition would come true. These hopes were enhanced by a headline in the sports section of Melbourne’s major newspaper, the ‘Herald Sun’, which read:

JACK BEASLEY READY FOR HIGHER HONOURS

After another fruitful Saturday afternoon, where I’d snared 4/37 for the Tigers, bowling them to a decisive win and stretching my dominant recent form to 27 wickets in five games, one of my Richmond teammates assured me I could expect a phone call from the state selectors in the coming days, with a Victoria vs NSW Shield game scheduled for the following week at the SCG. Get ready for the call up Beasley! Keep your mobile phone on, you’ll be getting a call in the next few days. Pack your bags my teammate stated confidently as we enjoyed a victory beer. I tried to play it down, not wanting to get ahead of myself, but I was excited at the prospect. I was in career-best form and I was ready for higher honours.

But the phone call never came, and in its place came words which cut me to the core and changed the course of my cricketing career and my life.

The week after the Victoria vs NSW game was finished, I was chatting to Richmond’s vice-captain, Dan Hayden, at training. Dan was a senior and established Victorian player and he’d pulled me aside for a chat.

"I know you’re disappointed to have been overlooked for state selection for the NSW game Beast, but it’s got nothing to do with your form. Your form is faultless. I overheard a conversation between Stu McLellan (Chairman of Selectors) and Sarge, (Jeremy Sargeant, captain of Victoria) during the game and I thought I probably should relay what I heard so you can make sense of the situation. It’s difficult for me to tell you this but knowing you, I thought you’d want to know what was said."

What was said? I asked, frowning, curious, frustrated.

Sarge brought up your name, asking how close you’d come to selection. As you know, he rates you highly, especially after your devastating spell against Melbourne a few weeks ago when you knocked him, and the entire Melbourne top order, over in a great spell of bowling. So, he asked Beasley must’ve been close to getting picked? He’s in great form. And McLellan laughed. He said You’re not serious are you? I don’t care how many wickets he takes, or how many runs he makes, that loose cannon would need a complete attitude transplant before he gets selected for Victoria. His papers are stamped ‘not for selection’. He’s no chance of being selected for the Bushrangers. He’ll never play first-class cricket. Ever."

I was shocked, angry and disappointed at what I was hearing, but in reality I shouldn’t have been, because I’d been my own worst enemy for a long time. I’d had run-ins with teammates, coaches, administrators, opponents and umpires for a number of years, and my reputation was in tatters, no matter how hard I tried to mend my wayward behaviour, and no matter how many wickets I took. My papers were stamped.

After being in career-best form and full of confidence, this news completely deflated me, and I failed to take a wicket in the next two games for the Tigers. I was also reported by the umpires for dissent in the second game after an lbw appeal was turned down. I’d told the umpire he was a ‘useless old bastard, completely clueless about the game’ and when the square leg umpire tried to intervene to calm the situation, I told him to ‘f&#k off’.

As a result, I was reported by both umpires, and, given my poor track record, I was suspended for six games, which for me meant the end of the season. From dreams of representing Victoria one moment, suddenly I was on the sidelines and in the bad books, my dreams crushed.

I urgently needed an attitude transplant.

CHAPTER TWO

Taming the Beast

M y name is Jack Dylan Beasley, but you probably know me as ‘Beast’. I am a retired Australian cricketer, and this is my life story.

To get things started, allow me to go back to the very beginning.

I was born 1st March, 2000, the first-born child to my parents, Kevin and Josie. When I was six, my little sister Michelle arrived, and our ‘perfect’ little family unit was complete.

We resided in the outer Eastern suburbs of Melbourne, and on the surface of it we lived a very normal life. But my formative years were anything but normal, and I found myself working against enormous challenges as my seemingly idyllic young life was slowly torn apart by forces beyond my control or comprehension.

This story follows my life story and is a ‘warts and all’ account of the pretty interesting ride I’ve been on since coming into the world. I haven’t tried to sanitise this tale, nor have I embellished this account of what has been an adventurous, tumultuous and demanding adventure: I have told it as it is.

There are parts of this story which are very difficult to share and which brought up long-forgotten memories and aroused some long-dormant emotions. As you take this trip with me, there will be times you’ll question my behaviour, criticise my attitude and bemoan my actions, but please be assured that I don’t, and never will, shy away from my conduct and while I accept that there were times I deserved the harshest criticism and most severe scrutiny, I hope this story provides some context and insight for the reader.

I hope you enjoy this story of my life’s journey. I hope you enjoy ‘Taming the Beast’.

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    Jack Beasley

    December 2035

CHAPTER THREE

Knock his Head Off

I remember the day very clearly. I was 13 years old as the 2013/14 Ashes series played out on my TV. I’d just got home to find Dad highly animated as he watched the game, urging Australian fast bowler Mitch Johnson to finish it off.

It was the 3rd Test in Perth and Australia were on the verge of winning the Test to take an unassailable 3-0 lead, thus regaining the coveted Ashes urn.

My sister Michelle, six years younger than me, sat quietly in the corner, happily taking in the game. I gave her a kiss on the head. Hey Shell. Michelle smiled and replied Hey Jack. I sat on the couch next to Dad and watched intently as Johnson stood at the top of his run up. What’s the score Dad? I asked.

The Poms are 9-for and still need 150 to win. Mitch has ripped through them again. One more wicket and we regain the Ashes. Come on Mitch, finish it off.

I observed intently as Mitch Johnson commenced his run up, his dark locks and big bushy moustache making him look more like a villain from a James Bond movie than an elite athlete. As he proceeded through his smooth run up, his long dark hair flowing in the afternoon breeze, his tanned skin glistening as the sweat dripped from his forehead, I sat on the edge of my seat, thrilled at seeing how animated Dad was, and excited at the prospect of seeing the Aussies win back the Ashes.

Australian captain Michael Clarke had set a very aggressive field as English tailender James Anderson took guard, nervously awaiting another thunderbolt from the big scary fast bowler. Johnson dug the ball in short, angling it in at Anderson’s ribcage. As the ball bounced and rose up off the hard WACA pitch, Anderson instinctively stood up on his tiptoes and lifted his Slazenger bat in a defensive reflex action, the 5.6-ounce red leather missile hurtling dangerously towards his torso. At the same moment Anderson rose to full height, Dad rose up out of his chair in eager anticipation. The ball made solid contact with the splice of the bat and hung in the air for a moment. Catch it Dad called out, as we both urged George Bailey, the short leg fielder, to intercept the ball’s flight.

Bailey lunged forward, at full length with both elbows on the turf as the ball descended. Just inches from the ground he wrapped his cupped hands around the Kookaburra and caught it. You beauty Dad screamed, as the TV commentator shrieked In the air…..and that’s it! That’s it, after four long years the most famous trophy in world cricket returns to Australia.

As the players hugged each other in elation, Dad grabbed me and hugged me as we jumped up and down in unbridled excitement. Cop that you Poms he yelled. "Mitch and Ryno (Ryan Harris) have ripped you apart this series. You beauty Aussies!" I looked over at my sister Michelle and she was excitedly jumping around in her chair, cheering for the Aussies.

Indeed, by the end of the five Test series that summer, Johnson had taken 37 wickets and Ryan Harris 22 wickets, and one of the greatest fast bowling duos of Australian Test match history had sent England home with their tails between their legs, having suffered a humiliating 5-0 whitewash defeat. Dad loved his cricket, so he was naturally ecstatic.

The aggressive tone of the series was established in the very first Test of the series at the Gabba, when Australian captain Michael Clarke told James Anderson to get ready for a broken f&#king arm as he faced up to a rampant Mitch Johnson. Dad loved his cricket and was often heard talking to the TV: come on Aussies. He loved the rough and tumble of cricket. He’d say to me They call it the gentleman’s game son, but there’s no time for niceties on the cricket pitch, especially against the Poms and nobody plays it harder than the mighty Aussies. That’s how you play cricket son.

It was, for all intents and purposes, a perfectly happy family scenario, no doubt played out in many lounge rooms across Australia as dedicated cricket and sporting fans gathered around their TV’s to watch the Aussies win back the Ashes.

However, I have embellished this anecdote and there are a few gaps I need to fill in, and a few details I need to add or change within this depiction. I have given you the sanitised version. Allow me to elaborate a bit further and add a number of important details. Let’s start again:

I was 13 years old as the 2013/14 Ashes series played out on my TV. I’d just got home from my after-school lawnmowing job to find Dad highly animated as he watched the game, yelling at Australian fast bowler Mitch Johnson to knock his f&#%ing head off. In front of him on the coffee table were around eight empty beer cans and he guzzled another beer as he screamed at the TV.

It was the 3rd Test in Perth and Australia were on the verge of winning the Test to take an unassailable 3-0 lead, thus regaining the coveted Ashes urn.

My sister Michelle, six years younger than me, sat quietly in her wheelchair, pushed into the corner where she couldn’t see the TV and could only just hear the commentary. I turned her chair around and wheeled it closer to the TV so she could watch the cricket and turned up the volume as I gave her a kiss on the head. Hey Shell.

Michelle grunted her typical welcome to me, in very slow deliberate garble: Hey Jag. ‘Jag’ was her way of pronouncing ‘Jack’, and I loved her special name for me, the unique way she pronounced my name. Michelle was seven years old and suffered from cerebral palsy, confined to a wheelchair, barely able to speak, prone to seizures and forced to endure Dad’s rampant alcoholism and mood swings while I was at school and work.

Where’s my money Jack? Dad aggressively asked as I sat on the couch, just as Johnson stood at the top of his run up. I reached into my pocket and took the $20 I’d been paid for mowing two of my neighbour’s lawns and handed it to him. He snatched it from me, having not once taken his eyes off the TV since I got home.

What’s the score Dad? I nervously asked, worried a bad Aussie performance could result in me receiving a backhander across the head. Thankfully the team was performing well, so Dad was reasonably happy, albeit very drunk and highly strung.

The Poms are 9-for and still need 150 to win. Mitch has ripped through them again. One more wicket and we regain the Ashes. Come on Mitch, knock his f&#king head off. Get me another beer will ya? Now!

I stood up from the couch and moved towards the kitchen, watching intently as Mitch Johnson commenced his run up, his dark locks and big bushy moustache making him look more like a villain from a James Bond movie than an elite athlete. As he proceeded through his smooth run up, his long dark hair flowing in the afternoon breeze, his tanned skin glistening as the sweat dripped from his forehead, I was glued to the TV, worried at seeing how drunk and highly agitated Dad was, but excited at the prospect of seeing the Aussies win back the Ashes.

Australian captain Michael Clarke had set a very aggressive field as English tailender James Anderson took guard, nervously awaiting another thunderbolt from the big scary fast bowler. Johnson dug the ball in short, angling it in at Anderson’s ribcage. As the ball bounced and rose up off the hard WACA pitch, Anderson instinctively stood up on his tiptoes and lifted his Slazenger bat in a defensive reflex action, the 5.6-ounce red leather missile hurtling dangerously towards his torso. At the same moment Anderson rose to full height, Dad rose up out of his chair in eager anticipation, spilling his beer everywhere. The ball made solid contact with the splice of the bat and hung in the air for a moment. Catch the bloody thing Dad yelled, as we all urged George Bailey, the short leg fielder, to intercept the ball’s flight.

Bailey lunged forward, at full length with both elbows on the turf as the ball descended. Just inches from the ground he wrapped his cupped hands around the Kookaburra and caught it. You f&#king beauty Dad screamed, as the TV commentator shrieked In the air…..and that’s it! That’s it, after 4 long years the most famous trophy in world cricket returns to Australia.

As the players hugged each other in elation, Dad grabbed me and then pushed me towards the kitchen….my beer….as he fist-pumped the air in unbridled excitement. Cop that you Poms he yelled. Mitch and Ryno have ripped you apart this series you weak bast@#&s. You beauty Aussies!

I looked over at my sister Michelle and she was excitedly bouncing around in her chair, cheering for the Aussies. Shut up Michelle, stop grunting Dad belittled her as I handed him his beer.

Indeed, by the end of the 5 Test series that summer, Johnson had taken 37 wickets and Ryan Harris 22 wickets, and one of the greatest fast bowling duos of Australian Test match history had sent England home with their tails between their legs, having suffered a humiliating 5-0 whitewash defeat. Dad loved his cricket, so he was naturally ecstatic. And very drunk.

The aggressive tone of the series was established in the very first Test of the series at the Gabba, when Australian captain Michael Clarke told James Anderson to get ready for a broken f&#king arm as he faced up to a rampant Mitch Johnson. Dad loved the verbal sledging and was often heard yelling at the TV Cop that you pommy bastards. Break his arm Mitch. He loved the rough and tumble of cricket.

He’d say to me They call it the gentleman’s game son, but there’s no time for niceties on the cricket pitch, especially against the Poms. It’s kill or be killed, and nobody plays it harder than the mighty Aussies. That’s how you play cricket son. If you’re gonna play cricket, which is highly unlikely because you so bloody uncoordinated and useless, you’d better not be a wuss, like the Poms. You play the bloody game hard, you hear me? Never take a backward step. Always go your hardest. Now go get me another beer and then feed your sister.

CHAPTER FOUR

At the Top of my Run Up

F or me, that Ashes series of the summer of 2013/14 planted a seed in me which sent me on a journey which consumed me for the next 20 years.

As I was also a left arm bowler, Mitch Johnson became my hero and fast bowling became my passion. This gangly, uncoordinated impressionable 13-year-old wanted to emulate Mitch Johnson and be the biggest, meanest and best fast bowler in the world. Deep down I wanted to knock blokes’ heads off as a way of expressing the pent-up anxiety and frustration I felt at how my life was unfolding. However, I was, by all measures, a very ordinary cricketer. I struggled through the cricket season in the school Under 14 C’s, only occasionally getting a bowl, and batting at number nine. With just three wickets and 17 runs for the season, my ambition clearly outweighed by ability.

At the end of that summer, on March 1st, I turned 14. After getting up early on the morning of my birthday, I turned on the radio to hear that Australia had defeated South Africa in the Third Test at Cape Town to win the series 2-1. I raced out of my room to tell Dad but he was asleep on the couch, the TV still on, and beer cans strewn on the coffee table and floor. He’d obviously stayed up during the night to watch the game. He was snoring loudly and I grabbed a blanket from the closet and as I covered him up, Dad stirred briefly, opened his bloodshot eyes and tried to focus his sights on me. The Aussies won Dad I excitedly told him, but he just muttered get to school, and then went back into his self-induced coma.

After tending to Michelle, getting her up and cleaned and dressed, organizing her breakfast and then getting myself ready for school, I went to my bedroom, sat on my bed and opened up a notebook, picked up a pen and wrote myself an ‘Action List’ for the following six months leading up to the next cricket season:

- Spend the winter getting fitter and stronger.

- Use the school gym, ride bike, go for long runs.

- Study Mitch Johnson’s run-up and action and copy it.

- Practice bowling down at the nets every night.

- Read cricket books and study YouTube videos of how to swing the ball.

I was determined that the winter of 2014 would be the start of my journey to becoming a champion fast bowler playing Test match cricket for Australia. I was, in cricket parlance, at the top of my run up, ready to unleash. Cricket was my escape from the very challenging hand my family and I had been dealt. I pushed Michelle in her wheelchair down to the bus stop where her bus arrived at 8:05am, ready to take her to her special needs school. Five minutes later my school bus arrived.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Slow Decline

A llow me to rewind and go back a few years. A few months after I turned six, Mum gave birth to my sister Michelle. Mum and Dad had been married for nine years and Michelle’s arrival capped off their idyllic life: they now had a son and a daughter, just as they’d hoped. My Dad, Kevin was 36, and a partner in a very successful sports management business, and Mum, Josie, who’d just turned 34, had created a very successful mortgage broking business. Mum and Dad had just bought their dream home and the arrival of their baby daughter completed their perfectly laid out plans for their family and their lives. However, there was one problem: shortly after her birth, Michelle had a seizure and was soon afterwards diagnosed with cerebral palsy.

The diagnosis rocked my parents ‘perfect world’ view, and within her first 18 months it became apparent that Michelle suffered visual, learning, hearing, speech and intellectual impairments and was prone to seizures. She required around the clock care and it also quickly became clear that my parents were struggling to come to terms with the challenges of raising a special needs child. They fought regularly, yelling and screaming at each other and even though I was only a little tacker at the time I could sense the drastic change in the environment in our house: it was toxic, and on the day of my eighth birthday, by which time Michelle was almost two years old, it all came to a head.

What was supposed to be a happy occasion, with family and friends gathered around at our house to celebrate my eighth birthday, deteriorated into a horrible scene. Both Mum and Dad were drinking excessively and when Michelle, who didn’t like big crowds or too much noise, suffered a small seizure during the party and started screaming, things turned nasty. Dad threw his half-empty beer can at the wall while yelling Jesus Michelle, can’t we just have a few hours of peace, whilst at the same time Mum was heard to mutter Not today Michelle, it’s not about you today, as she poured herself another glass of wine, guzzled it down, and then topped up her glass again.

Dad refused to assist Michelle, instead grabbing himself another beer from the fridge and going outside to mingle with his mates. Mum, seeing that Dad was ignoring Michelle, took exception to this and stormed outside to confront Dad. While this increasingly volatile scenario was playing out, Michelle was lying on the floor writhing in pain, until my uncle Cory and I attended to her and placated her.

Mum stormed up to Dad and screamed in his face "How dare you walk outside and leave me to assist Michelle. It’s so typical of you to avoid your responsibilities. Why don’t you man up for a change, you