‘I meant it. I’m going to watch out for you. Ignore people who are negative. But also remember, if you take someone on in a match, try to shake hands with them afterwards. If they won’t have a beer with you, it’s their problem, not yours, but you should make the effort.’
I spent the next hour in the great man’s company, loving just being able to listen to him talk about cricket. As he got up to go, he said, ‘Do you need a lift somewhere?’
‘No, it’s all right. My mum and dad are waiting for me.’
He chuckled. ‘You are a young lad, aren’t you?’
I never forgot that day. I didn’t see him again until 2008 when we hooked up to do four dinners in as many nights, four of the best nights of my life. I’d learned a lot about cricket from watching Viv on TV as a kid but he also taught me about being a professional sportsman, what it means on and off the field of play. Superstar is an overused word in modern life but he truly was one in every respect and I just wish some of today’s sports people carried themselves with as much dignity and sheer class as he does.
I’ve got no time for people who think that, because they have a talent, it gives them a licence to act as they please and feel no need to put something back. I remember Tommy Smith, a key part of that great Liverpool football era, telling me that, when he was trying to raise funds for some of the older Anfield players who had fallen on hard times, a few of the current side refused to sign shirts because they were being sold. I’ve heard of clubs stopping players signing photographs because they were being auctioned on eBay. So what? Football and footballers make enough out of the game. Does it matter if someone else makes a few quid out of a photo? Some of them need a reality check.
Back in Bolton, the greengrocery business was doing well but then along came the recession of the early 1990s. We got through the summer OK because there is a good margin on soft fruits but then we struggled. It’s hard to make a living out of spuds and carrots. Fil tried to reassure me that things would turn round but I was worried about finding myself lumbered with a load of debt and knew I couldn’t afford that kind of distraction at this stage of my career. So we agreed that I would leave my money in the business but would sign it all over to him. Fil finally sold the shops and eventually paid me back my £25,000 out of his other businesses, which was an incredibly honourable thing to do. It had been a massive learning experience for me and I would apply some of the lessons when I again went into business with the Mercer family later in my career.
Life as a young professional at Lancashire was a strange mixture of emotions. I loved my cricket, and the bunch of guys I was with in the second team was terrific – the spirit and camaraderie in that group were as good as I’ve ever experienced. But there was also growing frustration. I became aware that my first-team chances were going to be few and far between. That was partly because there were some very good players ahead of me and I had no argument with that, but there was more to it than that. There was a divide between the first and second teams, right down to capped players changing in a different room from uncapped ones, even when they were playing in the same match. We put a sign on the second-team dressing-room door that read ‘MUSHROOMS’ and, when one of our senior colleagues asked what it was about, we explained it was because we were kept in the dark and had shit shovelled on us from time to time.
I also felt there was a lot of snobbery in the club, with people like Mike Atherton, who came from the posh part of Lancashire and was educated at Cambridge, looking down on oiks from Bolton like me, people who had too much to say for themselves and didn’t know their place. I sensed that, for me to make it, I would have to work a lot harder than most people. It was a challenge I needed to face up to. It was no good whingeing and moaning that it was unfair. That would just confirm what people were thinking. So I buckled down and worked even harder. I was determined I wouldn’t let them grind me down and vowed never to let them see a moment’s doubt. I kept on smiling, even when I felt low. I kept on offering my opinions – partly because I knew it annoyed them but partly because I’d grown up in dressing rooms where everyone’s view counted and I thought that’s how it should be. I’m a great believer in saying what you have to say to someone’s face and then moving on.
It wasn’t all negative. I received terrific support and encouragement from those in charge of the second team, people like John Savage, Alan Ormrod, the Lancashire manager, and ironically, in view of my later experiences with England, the coach David Lloyd. Bumble, as he was known throughout cricket, was a chirpy character and his enthusiasm for the game was infectious. He would hand out bollockings when he thought they were due but mostly his criticisms were constructive. I remember working on my game with him and thinking he’s a top man. He also seemed to rate me, which made his change of heart later in my career even more puzzling.
I was doing well on the field. The highlight was the double hundred I scored for the second team against a Kent attack that included England bowler Richard Ellison, Min Patel and a guy named Duncan Spencer who was seriously quick. His bowling was once timed at 98mph but he was later banned from the game when it turned out he’d been taking steroids.
My cricket education increased when I was introduced to the joys of reverse swing by one of the masters of the art. I don’t want to get too technical but, for those of you who are not familiar with this magical weapon in the bowler’s armoury, it is the ball the batsman expects to move out towards the slips but which cuts sharply back and rattles his stumps. Pakistani bowlers discovered it with devastating results. If you want to see some perplexed expressions on batsmen’s faces, go on YouTube and call up reverse swing. It’s the stuff bowlers’ dreams are made of.
Wasim Akram was one of the best in the world at what was then called late swing. He was Lancashire’s star bowler when I was at Old Trafford and I think Javed Miandad had asked him to look out for me, because he was always helpful from the day I joined the ground staff. He was a great role model for any wannabe bowler, not just technically sound but with a massive heart. He struggled against injury but time after time he would shrug it off and keep powering in. All fast bowlers bowl through pain – if they don’t, they won’t play much cricket – but this guy was special. I have seen Wasim steam in without wilting when I’ve known he should be on the treatment table. Even when he was only 90 per cent fit, he was a better bowler than almost anyone else out there.
It was on one of his appearances in the second team, on his way back after an injury, that he handed me a key to bowling glory. Different bowlers have different targets in their mind when they run in – some aim for a spot on the pitch, others concentrate on the stumps but I have always visualised the ball flying past the edge of the bat. If the batsman misses, I’ve got a chance of lbw or bowled; if he just makes contact, it could carry to the keeper or slips. That’s what I had in mind in this game as the ball started to move around. I ran in and let go of a peach of a delivery, but, instead of beating the bat on the off side, it shot down the leg side for byes. I was confused. What had I done wrong? The same thing happened to the next ball and I started to panic inside. Had I lost the ability to swing the ball? What should I do next?
Wasim came running down the pitch as I walked back to my mark. ‘Ronnie, hold the ball exactly as you would for an outswinger but pitch it six to eight inches outside off stump and let it go as fast as you can,’ he said.
Now I was really bemused. Everything I knew about bowling told me that if I followed his advice I would bowl a wide. But who was I to argue with Wasim?
I ran in and zipped one down the off side. Instead of swinging away, it cut back sharply, beat the batsman and almost took his off peg. Wow! The next over I sent one down that completely bamboozled the batsman and trapped him plumb lbw.
As we gathered in a huddle, Wasim said, ‘Well done, you’ve got it.’
I wasn’t sure what it was that I’d got, but I knew it was important. I’d never been blessed with tremendous pace but now I’d got something even more lethal.
I gradually learned that the reason the ball behaves in that extraordinary way is the contrast between the shiny side, which you keep polishing, and the other side which has been roughened