On the road with Oz

One morning in 1990, with a roomful of waiting patients, I was surprised by a phone call from David Richards, the chief executive of the Australian Cricket Board, offering me the managership of the team going to New Zealand. In those days all teams were managed by a board member, which was very good for relationships with the players, provided that the manager was competent.

The manager liaised with the local authorities, spoke at luncheons, handled the press when captain or coach were unavailable or unwilling, arranged player interviews, chaired most team meetings, looked after the finances, paid the players via the local association, organised the transport, and made and handled complaints where necessary - the whole bit. I told David I'd ring him back next day, but 10 minutes later I accepted.

At first I was a bit overawed, but I was forced to learn quickly. The team, and especially the captain, Allan Border, had a quirky sense of humour, especially at the expense of a new "Ger", a bit wet behind the ears. I asked AB what was team dress for internal flights, and was told "jeans and team shirt". When I arrived at the airport, they were all in blazers and ties! For years afterwards, Peter Taylor would ask me when we met how the crease in my jeans was.

It rained torrentially for three days before the Wellington Test, but fined up on the day. The wicket seemed underprepared, but AB won the toss and batted. We were all out in a couple of sessions, and after stumps we were all sitting disconsolately in the room when there was a noise outside the door, something like the baying of wolves. Clearly the press was hungry for comment.

Bob Simpson was back in Sydney, as his mother had died, and the captain did not speak to the press during the match. I knew exactly what they would ask, and asked the V-C, next to me, why we had batted. He replied in biological terms that he had no idea, but that I would be most unwise to inquire. So out I went, to mutter some inconsequential comment about batting if you weren't sure what to do, and tomorrow being another day. I was saved from further embarrassment by Don Cameron, the doyen of Kiwi cricket writers, who was chairing the conference.

Simpson transformed Australian cricket in the mid-1980s. He was the power broker in the team. He did a late-night round of the likely spots, so he knew exactly what was happening and who might have had a big night. Such an indiscretion would mean 50 up-and-under catches next morning, all just out of reach. He was tough but usually he was right. Simmo was a great believer in getting the basics right, especially in the field.

In 1991, I took an Academy side to Sri Lanka. This included Michael Slater, Stuart MacGill, Greg Blewett and Justin Langer. Damien Martyn had already begun his career with WA, and Shane Warne was in disgrace after an indiscretion on a tour of the Northern Territories. Justin's work ethic was obvious. He was a crickaholic, but in those days not a good captain because he regarded a team failure as his personal responsibility.

Richards told me that I could inform the Sri Lankan authorities that we would support their full membership of the ICC, and would tour there next year - which we did, and I was again manager. I was on radio when we got our first look at Muttiah Muralitharan in Kandy. AB just could not pick him, but his action looked unusual. At the end of the over, my Sri Lankan co-commentator asked me what I thought of their new spinner. I knew exactly where he was coming from, so all I said was, "He turns the ball a lot." Back in the dressing room Simmo remarked, "You should have said he has a very unusual action".

That was the tour when Dean Jones informed me of the offer of money for comment about the pitch, weather and team. I advised him to have nothing to do with it, though it may be totally innocent, as he would not look good if it came out and he had failed with the bat.

I told the coach and the captain of the incident, and later when I returned, Graham Halbish (CEO of the board), but I did not put it in my formal report. For this I was castigated by Rob O'Regan, who led an inquiry into match-fixing and illegal betting activity; he felt revealing details may have nipped matters in the bud. It is easy to be wise after an event, but the bald fact was that we had no inkling of the magnitude the problem would attain.

Sri Lanka could have won this series, but seemed initially to lack belief. We were outplayed for four and a half days in the first Test, in Colombo. Sri Lanka had about 180 to get in about 60 overs to win, and were 127 for 2 when Aravinda De Silva played an injudicious shot and was caught by a sprawling Border in the deep. Wickets then fell steadily, but they only had about 30-odd to get, with three wickets in hand, when the skipper brought back Shane Warne, who had been expensive earlier.

The dressing room was electric. Nobody moved. Out of the corner of my mouth I said to Simmo: "Courageous". He did not reply. In 10 balls or so, Warnie took 3 for 0, and the match was ours. In retrospect, Aravinda was probably just impatient. The hosts made some unusual decisions, like dropping their best opener to the tail, and then not trying to give him the strike.

In 1994 we went to South Africa, which was a pivotal moment for me because I had worked in Cape Town in 1972 and had returned frequently. It was a tough tour, and nothing was tougher than the first Test, in Johannesburg. I still think the ACB was wrong in coming in over the top of the referee and team management in inflicting further penalties on Warne and Merv Hughes, but I have to admit that our on-field behaviour improved for a while as a result.

Big Merv was particularly unfortunate. You had to be there to understand the circumstances. South African crowds are particularly partisan, as our rugby players had found a couple of years earlier. The players' path to the field was through an open hill, known aptly as the "Bull Pit". Late in the afternoon this hill became particularly restless and unruly as the alcohol began to take effect. A thunderstorm was brewing and Merv was trying to save the match, as Fanie de Villiers and Alan Donald thundered in with a new ball. During a temporary break in play, he was coming up the hill when a drunken spectator made a derogatory comment about his mother. He hit the siding near the spectator with his bat, and a Channel 7 cameraman got it on tape. It was played ad nauseam back in Oz, though it attracted little attention in SA. The ACB felt forced to act.

I outlined what had happened at a subsequent team meeting. Dean Jones best summed up their reaction. "The Ger and Simmo have done their best. We've just got to forget it now and get on with the rest of the tour". It didn't quite happen that way, but we did come from well behind to draw both series. Ali Bacher offered to make a public apology for the crowd behaviour but I declined. That would only have exacerbated matters.

We asked the groundsman at Kingsmead, in Durban, how he thought the wicket would play. He replied, "I haven't asked Kepler what he wants yet." Ask a stupid question…

South Africa could have won this Test series, but they seemed disinclined to take any risks at all.

In 1996 I went to Sri Lanka again, and there were a few problems because not long before that we had pulled out of the Sri Lanka leg of the World Cup on very specific security advice. I tried to handle the first press conference in Colombo by declining questions on the World Cup, preferring to concentrate on our new captain and coach - Ian Healy and Geoff Marsh. To the credit of the press corps, they accepted this graciously. In fact, they were probably as tired of the topic as we were.

On playing days, two buses would wait outside the Oberoi Hotel with shutters drawn. The players would go in one and the gear in the other. Each had a different route to the ground and the routes were changed daily. The security was intense. As Steve Waugh remarked, it was not a good way to start a day at the cricket.

We came home for a few weeks, and then returned to India under the captaincy of Mark Taylor. We were underprepared, and failed to win a game on tour. I stood behind Mark at numerous press conferences, trying to give him moral support as he struggled to explain why we were playing so poorly and what we needed to do to improve. There is only so much you can do from a position of weakness.

In 1997, Malcolm Speed decided there was a good case for a full-time manager year-round. I argued hard at a board meeting in Hobart that this would sever for all time the close relationship board members could build up with players from states other than their own. Denis Rogers told me later that this was the hardest meeting he ever had to chair. But the deed was done, and Steve Bernard got the job.

He did an outstanding and largely unnoticed job, which says something in itself. But my initial reservations remain. The strength of the board-player relationships in that era revolved around the fact that we had been there, done that, and experienced it together. I was sent to India in 1998 as a board "observer", as Steve had never been to India before. It soon became apparent that he was fully in control of the situation, and I stopped observing.