SOMEONE IS BANGING ABOUT IN MY HEAD

Mark Wagh was one of only five English batsmen to score 1,000 runs in Division One last summer but, as this extract from his diary reveals, he had some low moments to overcome.

Monday 27 May

Trent Bridge , Friends Provident Trophy

Nottinghamshire 241 for six wickets (Voges 82, Patel 75, Read 53, Wagh 10)

Ireland 240 for six wickets

Nottinghamshire won by one run

I’m feeling despondent about my performance so far this season. My batting form has been rubbish in the one-dayers and adequate at very best in the four-dayers. Adequate is not a great description actually, inadequate scores hiding behind an average of 47 would be better. My fielding has been poor as well. Not fielding well is an awful feeling – imagine gut-wrenching dread for six hours a day.

I had a good chat with Mick (Mick Newell, the coach) last night. He was heartfelt and honest, expressing frustration with my performance and perplexity at my reactions to getting out. My apparent equanimity in the face of failure is something he couldn’t understand. He felt I looked uninterested in the field. He also said I was the best batsman in the side and that I should lead the batting. When he said that, I had this huge surge of appreciation. I felt I was letting him down, and I had a desire to do everything he wanted me to do, as a way of saying thank you for having this faith and belief in me.

All I’ve been able to think about since is doing well, scoring runs tomorrow, diving and making great saves in the field. I want to convert this will power, this desire to excel, into actual results on the field. I want to dispel this fallacy that I don’t care, lack interest. I’d do anything to show people how much I care about my game and that of Nottinghamshire. I’ve never done the whooping and hollering, and I guess I’m pretty laid back, so there are no obvious signs to how much failure hurts or winning matters. And I wish Mick and the rest knew how much I’d love to field well. Actions speak so much louder than words, so every misfield just reinforces the outward impression, leaving any claims to the contrary looking spurious. Yesterday, when I dived over one, I felt humiliation and disgust with myself. And to think that others might think I don’t really care just hurts even more.

The game itself was a bit of a wake-up call for us. They needed six to win off the last ball but only managed four. Our innings was almost a replica of the away game: three early wickets, Samit (75) and Adam (82) rebuilding, then Chris (53 not out) adding the finishing touches.

Samit played some lovely shots over extra cover off the spinners. It’s a difficult area to defend as the off-side sweeper is often squarer, leaving a big gap to aim for. Nevertheless, there aren’t too many batsmen who hit it as well as him. He is ambitious and confident, a good fielder and useful bower. Runs in the televised Twenty20 games might be enough to push him into contention for an England place.

Adam is a classy batsman. He drives imperiously, defends with the widest bat I’ve seen and looks very organised. Bizarrely for someone from Perth , he has one of the least tanned bodies in the changing room, only comparable to Chris ‘ Casper ’ Read. He’s an extremely amiable man and has a very uncomplicated mindset to batting.

It always strikes me how simple the Australian batters I’ve spoken to keep things: stand there, watch the ball and hit it. A few years ago Brad Hogg was the overseas player at Warwickshire. He averaged 70 at a run a ball that year. I asked him about his pre-delivery movements, something that at the time I was concerned with. Should I go back and across or press with the front foot? Brad just looked blankly at me and said, “I don’t know.” But surely he must know what he does before the bowler releases the ball? “Not a clue, mate, sorry.” I couldn’t understand how he didn’t know. We spent so long analysing what we were doing, so much thought went into our set-ups, that it seemed vitally important to batting. But, if you watch the best guys, there’s virtually no common technique, and what is promoted as poor technique is sometimes the bedrock for someone else.

Technique is important, of course it is. But there comes a point at which it becomes less important than having a belief in your game and a simple objective of hitting the ball. It’s funny how aiming to middle every ball causes the rest of your game to fall into place.

Wednesday 28 May

Oakham School , Friends Provident Trophy

Leicestershire 147 for seven wickets (35 overs)

Nottinghamshire 47 for three wickets (12 overs)

Leicestershire won by 13 runs (by Duckworth-Lewis)

Leicester ’s innings finished early because of a shower, and then our reply was cut short by a drizzle which turned into persistent rain. Bil Shafayet and I were batting when it rained, at which point we were 15 behind the Duckworth-Lewis target. Against the Leicester opening bowlers, we couldn’t get a run: good-length balls bounced up, and we both got pinned trying to hit shorter balls that flew through. So we ended up seeing off the opening bowlers and trying to make up against the second string, knowing that getting out would have made the Duckworth-Lewis situation even worse. The pitch had taken a lot of spin so we were also worried about how to score off their left-arm spinner Claude Henderson. However, just as the second string came on, it started raining, leaving us well behind with nowhere to go (we did eventually get back on for ten balls to try to score 26 which we failed to do).

When we came off, Mick was incandescent with anger, and the rest of the team barely spoke to us. It was a truly awful experience. If we had known that it would rain when it did, and if we had known that their opening bowlers were going to be so miserly for their entire spell, we obviously would have played it differently. We made a decision in real time that didn’t work out. In many ways I wish I’d tried to slog one and got out. At least I wouldn’t have suffered the post-match fall-out.

Thursday 29 May

It feels like someone is just banging about in my head, hitting me with a hammer, except the hammer is images, feelings, words from yesterday. I wish it would stop, but my inner world is on constant loop, playing, replaying. It’s just killing me.

I can’t stand the thought of seeing anyone; I feel like a condemned man, the accused, the wrong-doer. I can hear Mick, see him shaking his head, full of disgust. The feeling of animosity as Bill and I walked off in the rain. Mick’s summing up, wanting to get out of the changing room, wanting the car journey to end, just desperate to be on my own.

Self-pity is hardly going to help things, I suppose, and the hurt will fade over the next few days. The correct response is to come out fighting, score runs, field like a demon and give Mick the finger, something at the moment I’d love to do. But another part of me just wants to crawl under the duvet, hoping it will all go away.

Monday 2 June

It is so easy to say all those pop psychology phrases that are supposedly the precursor to success. Mental toughness is child’s play; courage, belief, no problem. Just look up on the internet, find appropriate language and there you are. I am, however, a walking example of someone for whom it is becoming very hard work to fake the part. It disheartens me a little, putting that hitherto nebulous thought into words. Practice today is something I am definitely not looking forward to, and the trip to Durham (if I make it, far from a certainty) will just be a reminder of that awful day last week.

Reflections

I suppose writing a diary there is a bound to be a tendency to focus on the big emotions. It would be rather dull if I just said I was OK all of the time. I also think that I have a leaning to over-emphasise the negative aspects in this diary and play down any positive emotions. I think that in reality I am more balanced than has come across so far. But does this emphasis on the negative confirm that I am indeed mentally weak? I can imagine the ‘tough’ cricketer rubbishing some of my reactions to events.

We are emotional creatures. Emotions evolved because they aid survival; they are useful. For me, whatever a person’s emotional reaction is, what is crucial is how that person subsequently acts. Let me illustrate with a hypothetical example. Two cricketers, Bert and Bruce, both experience exactly the same event: they bag a pair in their first county game. Bert, brought up to believe it’s un-masculine to show emotion, just scowls and barely utters a word. Bruce, on the other hand, is clearly distraught, holding his head in his hands, perhaps even a tear in the corner of the eye.

Now, is Bert mentally stronger than Bruce? Their initial emotional responses are irrelevant for me; what matters is how they use their differing reactions. Does Bruce convert his despair into solid determination or does he crumble at the first thought of failure? Is Bert’s refusal to show disappointment just a symptom of someone unable to accept help from other people? Or is he so confident in his abilities that a failure has no effect?

It is possible that both Bruce and Bert will turn up in exactly the same state of mind for the next game: equally focused and determined. They have just arrived there by different routes. I can understand coaches favouring those who choose one particular route over the other, as everyone understands people who are similar to themselves. But both Bruce and Bert would bring equally valuable qualities to their team.

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