The ugly Australian: the evolution of a cricket species

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http://www.thecricketmonthly.com/story/1181098/the-ugly-australian--the-evolution-of-a-cricket-species

The ugly Australian: the evolution of a cricket species

How did Australian cricket come to be synonymous with hostility,
gamesmanship and verbal abuse? A year on from Sandpapergate, we explore
a thorny subject

JARROD KIMBER | APRIL 25, 2019

GREENVALE, Melbourne. 1993. Something hit me in the chest, hard.
Knocking me a step back. Why was this guy purposefully bumping into me?
It wasn't a normal under-14 game. This was a special event. The crowd
was full of not just parents but senior players from the club. The one
umpiring was a thickset middle-order batsman from the 1sts named Darren;
most called him Dazza. Mid-pitch I looked around to see if anyone had
seen the bowler charge through, but no one had. So I went on batting
until I ended up at Dazza's end. He whispered: "If he does that again,
hit him with the bat." It would never have crossed my mind to do that. I
grew up in a tough league where everyone played hard, aggressive
cricket. But I was 13 and having fun. Cricket was the thing I loved the
most, and as much as I wanted to win, it was still just a game. The next
over I went down to talk to my batting partner and looked up in time to
see the same bowler charging. This hit was harder. Straightaway I swung
my bat, clipping him on the knee. He went down yelping.

His team-mates came from everywhere. None had seen the original shoulder
barge on me; everyone had seen me whack him. Some ran at me, others went
to the fallen bowler, and their captain raced over to the umpire. It was
Dazza, and he smiled while pretending he hadn't seen it. So they ran to
the square-leg umpire, who was their coach, and he said he'd seen it.
But he'd also seen the bowler drop his shoulder into me and said he
deserved to be hit. Of the two people over 14 years of age on the field,
one encouraged escalating, the other said the extra violence was
justified. Welcome to Australian club cricket in 1993.

Dazza and their coach had a quick word with the bowler and me. Their
coach was adamant I'd done nothing wrong. I was not as sure, but
according to him, I'd been "harsh but fair." What he didn't say was the
real truth: it was ugly.

Someone's pinching you at school, not once but over and over, for hours.
Some are painful but most are annoying, and the frequency bothers you.
You tell your teacher and they give the pincher the odd strong look, but
they also make it clear you should handle this. It's just pinching. Move
away, ignore it, be the bigger person, and it will stop eventually. But
it doesn't, and you let it fester. With each pinch the fury within you
builds.

Then there's one - not the hardest, not the most gratuitous, but the one
that makes it too many, and you explode and throw a punch. Who gets in
trouble? The pincher will be taken aside and talked to about their
behaviour, but any severe detentions or suspensions are for the puncher.
That's what Australia has been doing for generations. They needle until
you crack. And when you blow up, they claim persecution. No one plays
the moral high ground better than an Australian who seconds earlier was
the instigator. It's something Australians, especially boys, are taught
from a young age. When you complain: pfft, it's just a joke. When you
retaliate: whoa, you went too far. Until the moment you react, it's all
hard but fair, something you can laugh about over a beer, and what
happens on the field stays on the field. But when you flare up, they
adopt the victim card quicker than an Australian fast bowler spits the
dummy. There have been three textbook occasions of this internationally.
When Virat Kohli mentioned Ed Cowan's sick mother. Quinton de Kock
talking about David Warner's wife. And Ramnaresh Sarwan bringing up
Glenn McGrath's wife, who happened to be ill at the time. In Australian
cricket you are called (insert all the expletives you've ever heard
here) quite regularly, where everything about your appearance, alleged
sexual preferences, schooling, or the car your dad drives are
weaponised. If you're not born into that, it can be hard to know how to
react. It's not like Australian cricket ethics are easy to understand.
What we are really talking about here is their infamous line, which no
two people ever seem to agree on. Yet it is the moral arbiter all
Australian cricketers are judged by. Their line, their mythical line,
their ever-changing line, is hard not to cross when you grew up in the
game, but harder if you're only exposed to it once you're playing
international cricket. It's a miracle the Australian team can headbutt
the line, given it moves so frequently. Australian cricketers are
experts in cognitive dissonance - the ability to have two separate
beliefs at the same time. In the same breath as letting you know they
never walk, they'll sledge you out of the corner of their mouth about
how you should have walked. You can't win this - they were born into it.
You can only be soft for failing to stand up to the pressure, or a
villain for going too far. There is no right reaction. The line is
wherever they want it to be; you are always on the wrong side. That is
its sole purpose for existing. "I know he's your captain, but you can't
seriously like him as a bloke. You couldn't possibly like him". That was
Tim Paine chatting to M Vijay as they played the second Test on India's
last tour to Australia.

In ten years of writing on Australian cricket, I've never heard a bad
word about Paine. When he was brought back from the abyss for Tests,
people were desperate to say lovely things about him. Jimmy Anderson
recently said, "Tim Paine is a genuinely nice guy", on the BBC.
Australian cricket believes in the good-bloke rule. This is about
keeping your head in (ego), being harsh but fair (knowing where the line
is on your hilarious banter), and not being a dickhead (not breaking
whatever local rules there are that you can't possibly remember). You
can be anointed a good bloke - even if you are a woman - by someone who
has that authority. If there are good blokes, there are also bad blokes,
and if you're a terrible bloke, you can be called a flog. (Look, mate, I
don't have time to explain every bit of Australian culture, but a flog
is someone who is really bad, like the sort of bloke who uses your ute
to haul shit, fails to wash it, and does doughies on your front lawn
when they return it. Or someone who doesn't share your outlook on life.)
There's no commission or court you can appeal to to have your lousy
reputation fixed. The whole thing is really about fitting in. You need
to pass the test of an ever-changing checklist. Often this involves
personality traits that the person who decides who the good bloke is
believes in. Can you take a joke at your expense, and when you give one
back, does it upset the person who joked at you? Do you drink, and do
you get a round in at the bar? Will you not take offence - basically,
can you handle the odd off-colour joke about (insert every part of
marginalised society here)? And finally, will you complain? Because
complaining, pointing out obvious logical fallacies, double standards,
racism, sexism or homophobia, that's often not allowed. A few weeks
after my childhood cricket club appointed their first non-white coach,
the singer Mandawuy Yunupingu was not allowed into a bar in Melbourne,
since he was an indigenous man. The bar owner was afraid: "If these
Aborigines saw one of their own kind in here, they would come in, booze,
shoot up heroin and cause all sorts of trouble." The blokes at my
cricket club thought it would be funny to put up a sign in the club bar
saying, "No black blokes allowed." When the coach came in, he was
refused service, and they pointed to the sign. Almost everyone with
white skin laughed, and the coach smiled awkwardly, but one other guy
didn't laugh or smile. He was the only other non-white player at the
club - his parents were Sri Lankan. And he was furious. He called the
stunt racist, and ignored the people who told him, "Calm down, mate,
it's just a joke."

I remember the talk around the club after that. The coach who had
accepted a joke about him in good spirit was a good bloke. The man who
had called out this obviously racist joke was a bad bloke. It seemed to
me the guys who made the joke weren't the best arbiters of who a good
bloke was. But they were the best cricketers, or the loudest and most
gregarious. Or as we'd call them these days, alphas. Let's use a
concrete example of being the person who gets to decide if someone is a
good bloke. Darren Lehmann said when Stuart Broad didn't walk in the
2013 Ashes that it was "blatant cheating" and also said, "And I hope he
cries and goes home. I don't advocate walking, but when you hit it to
first slip, it's pretty hard." He doesn't advocate walking, so why was
he complaining? Because Broad's edge was so blatant, it went to slip. So
even non-walkers should walk. Except that the edge wasn't that big - it
was a decent nick that hit the keeper's glove and rebounded to slip. But
despite the apparent evidence of the keeper's glove and the fact that
Lehmann doesn't advocate walking, Broad is a bad enough bloke that you
hope he goes home crying. Dennis Lillee and Javed Miandad clash,
Australia v Pakistan, Perth, November 17, 1981 Miandad v Lillee, 1981 ©
PA Photos Ugly Australians: a brief history 1981 Greg Chappell,
Australia's captain, asked his brother Trevor to roll the last ball of
the tri-series final on the ground so that Brian McKechnie couldn't hit
it over the fence for the six runs needed for New Zealand to win. Richie
Benaud called it "one of the worst things I have ever seen done on a
cricket field".1981 The image of Javed Miandad, bat raised, ready to
smash Dennis Lillee over the head, after the two had words in the wake
of Lillee obstructing Miandad while he took a run did not, thankfully,
translate into actual physical violence.1995 Curtly Ambrose had to be
pulled away from Steve Waugh after the Australian swore at him in the
Trinidad Test.2003 Glenn McGrath v Ramnaresh Sarwan could have turned
uglier than it actually was, after McGrath needled Sarwan with
homophobic abuse and Sarwan retaliated with a comment about McGrath's
wife2004 and 2009 Two Australian players (Justin Langer and Brad Haddin,
now both on the Australian coaching staff) have knocked the bails off
"accidentally" and had their teams try to claim wickets.2013 David
Warner got in trouble when he took a swipe at Joe Root in a pub in the
UK.2017 Steve O'Keefe was suspended and fined A$20,000 for a "drunken
rant" aimed at fellow New South Wales player Rachel Haynes. 2018 Warner
again, this time in an argument that nearly led to a fistfight with
Quinton de Kock in a stairwell after de Kock said inappropriate things
about Warner's wife. Lehmann also sent a tweet in June 2018 to cricket
reporter Alison Mitchell. On her way into The Oval, Mitchell and fellow
commentator Mel Jones had been offered "4" and "6" cards printed on
sandpaper. Mitchell noted this on Twitter and Lehmann quote-tweeted
Mitchell saying: "Your [sic] better than that @AlisonMitchell?" Better
than what? Reporting on something that happened to her on the way into
the ground? Lehmann once called Sri Lankan cricketers "black c***s", and
in the book Race, Racism and Sports Journalism, you can find him in a
case study entitled "Good Blokes and Black C***s". There they quote
Malcom Knox from the Age in 2003: "Yet for Lehmann, the logic has been
reversed. His defenders cannot reconcile his outburst against his Sri
Lankan opponents with his reputation as a 'good bloke'. Teammates and
associates have described Lehmann's slur as an 'out of character' act,
committed 'in the heat of the moment' by someone who is 'universally
regarded as a nice guy'. Instead, it is the Sri Lankans who are rendered
villains, oversensitive and unmanly to complain". These days we'd just
call it locker-room talk, I suppose. Yet Lehmann is not only still a
good bloke (see this for proof) he's also still allowed to call out the
opposition for doing things he does, or reporters for doing what they're
paid to do. When Lehmann stepped down from his coaching position, after
the culture he was in charge of tampered with the ball, it was Justin
Langer who took over. Langer believed in the good-bloke theory so much
he had a book placed prominently in his office, The No Asshole Rule.
Which is the American version of the good-bloke rule (also see New
Zealand's no-dickhead policy). At the MCG back in the day, the crowd
used to abuse Langer heavily in state games. One day he turned around
and threatened to beat up the guy abusing him.

In the 2002 Boxing Day Test, the Barmy Army decided to goad Brett Lee,
whose bowling action had been subject to an ICC review in 2000, with
chants of "no-ball". Langer was quick to judge: "I think they were a
disgrace. These people standing behind the fence drinking beer, most of
them are about 50 kilos overweight, making ridiculous comments. Gee
whiz, as far as I'm concerned, it's easy for someone to say that from
behind a fence. While they pay their money and all that sort of stuff,
gee whiz, I reckon there's some sort of integrity in life." On the field
Langer once took the bails off as he walked past the stumps and then
pretended nothing had happened as Australia appealed for a hit-wicket
dismissal. Which was every bit as much cheating as using sandpaper was.
He offered this explanation to the Good Weekend magazine: it was a
habit. "Actually it was the most innocent thing," he said. "I swear to
God, I would have done it 10,000 times. It was like a superstition. I'd
just touch the top of the bails and walk off." When Langer received the
coaching job, he said, "It doesn't matter how much money, how many
games, how many runs you made. If you are not a good bloke, that is what
people remember." A few months ago when Australia were struggling
against Pakistan, he good-bloked again, "So there are opportunities for
guys in the team, and there are opportunities for guys who are good
blokes and make a lot of runs." Maybe Langer is a good bloke. Perhaps
I'm just cherry-picking memories about him that annoy me. Langer and I
are very different people. So we have a fundamental clash there, and I
possibly hold little things against him that I'd forgive others for. Of
course, if I can do that, then Langer can too. And if it's almost like
anyone can decide whether someone is a good bloke, then it's not really
a proper system to judge people on. No one experience can claim to take
in all of Australian club cricket. Many will have played in Queensland's
coastal Rockhampton but will never play in the mural-infested town of
Sheffield, Tasmania. There have been slight generational shifts as well.
The Saturday night bar is no longer the centrepiece of clubs. But most -
if not all - who have played club cricket and internationals say the
sledging in the club game is way worse. When overseas players talk about
their time playing for a club, they do so with wide eyes, even years
later, still shocked by the treatment they received. David Warner, one
of the world's biggest sledgers, walked off the field in a grade game in
Sydney when Phil Hughes' brother, Jason, went at him very hard and
personally. In my time in Australian club cricket, from '88 to '05, I
saw some truly heinous things that don't happen at Test or first-class
level. Once, when a legspinner bowled a double bouncer, the batsman
somehow missed it, and the bowler, for no real logical reason, sent the
batsman off by following him from the ground, screaming. The batsman
returned and jumped on him. A brawl ensued. Another game involved a
near-certain run-out for our team, but their umpire at square leg
disagreed, and our point fielder took a stump and charged at him with
it. I played in a game with two brothers, one on each side, where they
sledged each other so viciously that they eventually swung punches. At a
low-level club cricket grand final, one team decided it would be their
last season together and they went nuclear with their sledging. Every
over they manhandled the batsmen, threatened the umpires and opposition
with violence, told the supporters they would get one if they talked
back. They said they'd "f*** up" their cars, which in Australia seemed
to be the point many thought was too far. This violent, sociopathic team
won, and after that most of them were banned for the following season or
more. One for life. But it didn't matter, because they won.

It may only be club cricket, but that is not how it feels. My father
played for his team until he needed two knee replacements because of his
frequent 30-over days. My uncle would toss his bat when he was out, and
used his knowledge of the laws to push the limits of cricket. Once, when
I was 13 and my finger was snapped at slip, I went off the field,
someone got some electrical tape and taped my fingers together and sent
me back out. That is what you did. It was your club, your mates, it
meant something, so you put in. You risk your body, or sledge until you
get a lifetime ban. It was about winning, at any cost. Forget academies,
development squads, school cricket or underage competitions, Australia
believes club cricket makes them great. Throwing boys in among men.
Amateur cricket with a professional work ethic. The baggy green is only
the final thing to dedicate yourself to. David Warner was fielding
close-in during the Cape Town Test in 2014. You didn't have to see him
there; you could hear him. He was on the howl. In the first innings,
when Faf du Plessis had assumed the ball was dead, he'd picked it up,
and the Australians abused him for it. They didn't appeal, though du
Plessis had grabbed it before it was dead, and without consent from
them. At the press conference after play, du Plessis said, "They run
like a pack of dogs around you when you get close to that ball." Hence
the howling. It lasted for almost all of du Plessis' second innings. He
made 47 off 109 balls in 157 minutes, and the Australians howled through
most of it. TV and radio both turned up the sound off the mics, often
when Nathan Lyon or Steve Smith were bowling, and there were men (read
Warner) around the bat. But you could see it even with the fast men;
fielders coming in and acting like cartoon dogs barking at the moon.
There are various styles of Australian nicknames: descriptive, your name
but shorter, random, and ironic. Warner became known as the Bull - a
comment on his physicality and personality. But his nickname evolved; he
became the Reverend. It happened after he got married, became a father,
stopped drinking, and took his fitness seriously. Warner no longer
wanted to be the attack dog. He had matured; he wasn't the same guy as
when young. The bloke who smashed Dale Steyn back into the Southern
Stand and took a swing at Joe Root in a bar was now the best runner
between the wickets in the world and a family man. The Australian team
didn't always need him to be that wild dog; it had others. Brad Haddin
was around. It was Haddin who mocked New Zealand for being too nice when
people suggested that the Australian team could be like them. This was
the same Haddin who failed to alert the umpire that it was he who
knocked the bails off when Neil Broom was "bowled". Not just failed to
report that he'd broken the bails, he celebrated a wicket as bowled when
he had to have felt his gloves break the stumps. Peter Nevill replaced
Haddin. Nevill is no one's idea of an angry man, but when the team
failed, Steve Smith said he wanted Nevill to be more vocal. While he
didn't want Nevill to be an attack dog - he'd be little more than a
stern-looking Mexican hairless - it's clear Australia had decided they
needed one.

So when Nevill's form with the bat didn't improve, and he made some
uncharacteristic mistakes with the gloves, Matthew Wade replaced him.
There was little talk of Wade being the superior keeper, and until that
point in the season, Nevill had made more Test runs than Wade had in
Shield cricket. Their first-class records were also very similar. But
Wade could be vocal. Wade is known as one of the harder guys in
Australian cricket, and he's always in the ear of batsmen - whether it's
with the catchphrase of "Noice, Garry" or by sledging. Wade is often up
at the stumps, arms folded, glove just across his lips, giving the
batsman his advice. And Wade will do whatever he needs for a win,
including when he did a Baryshnikov twirl on the wicket during a game
for Victoria, which earned him a suspension for pitch-doctoring. While
Wade was loud, in his recall he averaged 20, two fewer than Nevill. So
he was dropped, and rather than go back to the quiet Nevill, they went
to the equally nice Paine - who can talk, but even his sledges end up as
friendly memes. It wasn't the "noise" or aggression they were looking
for when they hired Wade again. So the Bull was reactivated, and the
reverend collar returned to the costume-hire shop. Before the 2017-18
Ashes, Warner said he planned on "being vocal". During the series,
England were annoyed twice by him. At first, it was with ball-tampering,
which they assumed he was doing using his finger bandages. They even
asked journalists to keep an eye out for it. Also, his sledging of Jonny
Bairstow, which started being about Bairstow headbutting Cameron
Bancroft, then crossed into other abuse. England suggested privately
that it was incredibly personal and hurtful. After the Ashes and before
the infamous tour of South Africa, David Warner sat down for an
interview with Adam Collins and Geoff Lemon on their Final World
podcast. "You are always going to say something in the media," he said.
"That's what I love doing... [being] the pantomime villain. If you want
to be that person you want to be. And that's me." Pantomime villain.
That's how he referred to the role, because it's not serious to them. It
is make-believe, nothing more. And if you are seen as the bad guy by a
few other countries, or get the odd angry op-ed about you, then so be
it. It's about the team, the cap, your mates. You do what you have to
do. When Warner was seen in his off-field confrontation with de Kock,
Adam Gilchrist said on radio, "the Reverend's gone, Bull's back". When
Bancroft gave an interview about his role in the ball-tampering scandal,
much of what he said was him trying to play his role as the victim.
Aside from that he said one thing that showed the way Australian cricket
is. "I've asked myself this question a lot. If I had said 'no', what
would that have meant? If I actually said 'no', and I went to bed that
night, I had the exact same problem. I had the problem that I had using
the sandpaper on the cricket ball. And the problem was that I would have
gone to bed and I would have felt like I let everybody down. I would
have felt like I would have hurt our chances to win the game of
cricket." An Australian player messaged me when the first Al Jazeera
documentary on match-fixing was released last year. "Do you know
anything about this Al Jazeera thing? Can't believe any Aussie
cricketers would be involved?" A few other Australian players have since
shared that sentiment. They seem to think that as if by birthright and a
devotion to the baggy green, they won't do anything wrong.