Cricketers who can excite the public are a rare breed, but they are the ones who are loved the most. For all the joy that comes from winning, when people turn up to watch sport they want to be entertained and Eoin Morgan is a player who guarantees entertainment. He hits the ball hard and into unusual areas. He is clinical, he is unorthodox and he gives punters value for money. Who wouldn’t want to see him reverse sweep an Aussie bowler for six? Born and raised in Ireland, he made the right choice in coming over to play for England because Test match cricket is where he belongs. One day that might become a reality for Ireland but, until then, I’m glad we’ve got his services.
There are one or two recurring nightmares that cricketers have, only I’ve experienced both in real life. Back in 2006 I was playing for Middlesex against Sussex at Lord’s in a Pro40 game and got taught a very valuable lesson about communication. I turned up, looked for my name on the team sheet and there it was, as per usual, down at No. 6. That was my spot as a young player making his way in the game; I was learning my trade.
We won the toss and chose to bat so I settled into my normal routine. I like to have a cup of tea, sit and have a look at a paper or a magazine and then, when the first wicket falls, think about changing into my kit. When the second wicket falls I get changed into the right clothes. When the third wicket falls I put on my protective gear and my pads, ready to make that move down the steps and on to the field when the fourth wicket goes down. It is the same for No. 6 batsmen the world over and never usually causes a problem.
On this day, Paul Weekes, our opener, fell instantly, second ball, so Owais Shah went in. He lasted just five balls, so I had to get changed in the second over.
I was mid-change when John Emburey, our coach, came into the dressing room and shouted, ‘Morgs! What the f**king f**k do you think you’re doing in here, you’re in!’
Occasionally Embers could be a bit of a joker and I thought he was having me on. So I stood there completely naked, with nothing but a jockstrap in hand ready to get my kit on.
‘Don’t muck about now, Embers,’ I said.
At that point our captain, Ben Hutton, put his hands to his head and said: ‘Oh, crap, sorry Morgs, I didn’t tell you – you’re batting at four today!’
This was my worst nightmare. Due into bat and being stark naked. Normally, in my nightmare I am walking out to bat like this in front of a huge crowd, so at least I was spared that part, but my heart was going 19 to the dozen anyway. By now Owais has reached the gate at the pavilion and I’ve got three minutes to get dressed, get my pads on and get out to the middle to face the next ball. No chance.
Thankfully, Sussex were oblivious to the problems in our dressing room and weren’t exactly ready to appeal for timed out. Also, our No. 5 that day, Scott Styris, was further along the road than me and he unselfishly walked out to bat. After about 20 minutes it became clear that he was struggling with a back problem and had to retire hurt. Things were going from bad to worse for us. At least I was ready to bat this time and walked out to the middle confidently and took guard.
After what had gone before I couldn’t believe what happened next. I played a big drive and out of nowhere my back went, too! I had to retire hurt, just like Scott. If it wasn’t for Ed Smith’s 87 we’d have been sunk already. As it was we lost the match anyway, using two substitute fielders in the process. It was not a day I cared to remember too much.
However, the one saving grace was that at least I turned up.
Fast forward to 2012 and another nightmare that taught me about back-up plans. I was due to play for Middlesex in a CB40 match against Lancashire at Old Trafford and it was a big game because we were pushing for a semi-final spot. With the game being a day/nighter starting at 4.40 p.m. I thought I would take the train up rather than drive. It is much quicker and easier and I wouldn’t have to worry about anything en route.
I got to Euston for my 10.30 train and sat patiently waiting for it to move. It remained on the platform for 20 minutes before there was an announcement that someone had fallen on to the track and therefore the train on this line was cancelled. I had two options. Either I could go home and get the car, which would make it touch-and-go as to whether I got there in time for the warm-up; or I could go to King’s Cross where there was a train stopping at Leeds, from where I could easily get to Manchester in good time. I chose the train.
We set off okay and I telephoned Angus Fraser, our director of cricket, to let him know what was going on and he was happy with it. As the train got into the Midlands it started slowing down to a crawl. It seemed to stop at every little station and take ages to move on again. Somewhere just north of Nottingham there was another announcement. This train was now not stopping at Leeds, but instead was heading to York and then on to Durham.
A little nervous, I asked how easy it would be to get from York to Manchester. Not a problem, the guard told me.
Imagine my horror when the train reached York and then refused to stop. Off it trundled towards Durham. Nightmare number two was in full swing. I called my agent in a bit of a panic and was looking for some advice and support. The best he could come up with was, ‘I’m glad I don’t have to phone Gus.’
I put it off for as long as I could, but with the clock ticking I dialled the number. ‘Hi, Gus.’
‘All right, Morgs, you in Manchester now?’ he asked.
‘Erm, not quite. I’m actually in Durham.’
‘You f**king what?! How bloody stupid are you?’
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t really my fault, but I knew that wouldn’t cut it. I had a responsibility to be at the ground by a certain time and I wasn’t going to make it. He had every right to have a go, and he did.
I got on a train from Durham back to York and then from York to Manchester and arrived at the ground two overs into the game. Middlesex were batting and rain had stopped play, so theoretically they could have named me in the side and then I could have batted. But Gus couldn’t take that risk, what with me being halfway between Durham and York and, based on recent experience, not really sure whether or not the train would actually stop at York. I watched the game with the rest of the squad and thought of what might have been, as we lost by seven wickets.
The next two games were both away, to Essex and to Gloucestershire. Needless to say, I drove to both.