No. 4: Andy Flower (Part Two)

The second instalment of our interview is rich in wisdom. We discuss Brian Lara, turning points, coaching, the All Blacks, Buddhism and Hippocrates.

Who were your heroes?

In South Africa, the Springbok rugby players and the old Springbok cricketers were our heroes - even though they were still banned from international cricket at that time. Graeme Pollock was the left hander I always talked about. But we didn't see much of these heroes, and when we moved to Rhodesia in ‘78, there was no international sport on television. There were sanctions on Rhodesia at that time but even after independence in 1980, we saw very little international sports on TV. You might see a little bit of World Cup football, but we had no role models to watch and the only cricket I could see was our interprovincial matches or when the national team played against touring county sides. Or when someone turned up with tapes of old World Series Cricket. It was only when I started playing club cricket against people like Dave Houghton that I could start copying and learning from other players.

Now, I think copying is one of the easiest and best ways to learn. I remember in my very first Test match, behind the stumps, watching Sanjay Manjrekar play, and I thought, ‘What a beautiful defensive technique.’ I tried to emulate his technique and it helped my game immediately. With all the footage that's available now, you can see the cloning of players and how they build techniques very similar to some of their heroes. It's such an easy way to learn. My second test match was against New Zealand and Martin Crowe was a guy where I thought, ‘Oh my God, look at his technique.’

Brian Lara was another. I remember very clearly playing him in a triangular series in Singapore. I was keeping wicket and I was astounded by how late he played the ball. It was a little epiphany for me because I'd always believed that you needed a proper stride to play front foot shots. And then I looked at him - he didn't get a big stride in - but he played the ball so late that he was able to hit it hard along the ground with incredible placement and control. Straight away I started copying him. And in fact I think I made a really good 80 in one of the games, just trying to copy the way he played. I even tried the big backlift, trying to get my hands up high, bat pointing directly upwards. It all came from watching him up close, from behind the stumps, seemingly gliding the ball inches away from my gloves. It was a vivid moment for me as a learning batsman.

Did you have any major turning points in your career?

From a coaching standpoint, I was really lucky to be assistant coach to Peter Moores. It gave me a profile as a coach straight away, and it was an amazing experience. Of course, it also gave me the opportunity of becoming head coach when Peter moved on. But I had done a lot of hard yards as a coach by then because I started coaching when I was 20 years old. When I spent two years in Holland, we coached Monday to Saturday, even on the mornings of games. But I was lucky to get that early chance with England. I had a good team around me as well. Recruitment was one thing I did do well - Graham Gooch, Richard Halsall, Mushtaq Ahmed, David Saker - some really good support staff as well, and I worked for a good boss in Hugh Morris who I really respected and liked. I was also lucky enough to work with some really good captains as well - Strauss and Cook. A number of things fell into place nicely.

As a player, one turning point came in my first Test match against India. I scored 50 or 60 in the first innings and Dave Houghton made a brilliant 114. We ended up putting India under pressure, and it was only Kapil Dev who whacked it and got them past the follow-on mark. But that first 50 in my first Test match was a huge moment for me - I was playing against Kapil, Prabhakar, Srinath, Anil Kumble and Ravi Shastri. After scoring those runs, I thought, ‘These are guys that I've heard about, read about and seen on TV, but I can play this international game. I've just proved it to myself. I scored 50 … and it wasn't that hard.’ Until you do well against international opposition, you question yourself, and I did well in my first innings. It was very significant in my growth and self-confidence.

Another came when I lost the captaincy in ‘99 or 2000. I had just been made captain for the second time. During my first three year stint as captain - from ‘93 to ‘96 - I didn't think I did a very good job at all, so I resigned after the ‘96 World Cup. I thought, ‘I'm not doing this group any good at all and the best thing for me - and the more responsible thing to do for Zimbabwean cricket - was to give someone else a crack.’ When I regained the captaincy, I was better placed. But it was short-lived. I lost the captaincy because of a pay dispute.

We threatened to strike before the Lord's Test match. We had made our stance very clear two weeks before the test was played and following that we had a torrid two weeks. We were supposed to be preparing for an important Test, but the whole time was spent under threats from the Zimbabwe Cricket Union - loss of earnings, future non-selection. It was a hugely stressful time. Finally, we won the case that was put to an arbitration panel, led by the MCC President at the time, Lord Alexander, but the retribution for my part in the stand-off was losing the captaincy. I was so pissed off, and I am not particularly proud of this, but I thought ‘Screw you. I'm going to become the best player that I can be.’ Sticking together meant not allowing anyone to be blamed, but I had been blamed and lost the captaincy. So I became quite selfish. It was a turning point, especially in the way that I trained.

I took a winter off from playing club cricket [in England]. I got really fit and analysed how I could genuinely become a better player, and I started getting results right away. I set the goal to become the number one batsman in the world and was meticulous in the way I went about it. I applied my own subjective measurements - physical speed, power, mental toughness, eyesight technique. I pulled my game apart. The theory was that if I could make little differences in a lot of areas of my game, the overall package would become more powerful. Grant was my training partner, and we would work hard in the gym, play squash and tennis as cross-training. I even hired a jiu jitsu specialist in Harare to try and improve my balance and speed. I was training myself to be a better mover, more balanced than others and that gave me confidence.

I suggested Andy was often prepared to experiment as a player and a coach, to borrow from a variety of sources, to try new and unusual methods despite the cynics.

Yes, without a doubt. In the examples I’ve mentioned, some worked, some didn't. In fact, one was counterproductive. But also, when I was head coach of England, I thought it was important to try and bring a broader perspective to the players so that they could handle themselves better when they were under pressure. Having more rounded players was one way to build a more balanced dressing room. Visiting the WWI trenches to give them a sense of where they stood in British history, holding Alistair Cook’s first team meeting as captain in the Churchill War Rooms under Westminster, visiting Dachau after completing a hardship camp. My intention was to give young men a greater understanding of where we fit in the world, and therefore when you're under pressure, understand that everyone is under pressure, all the time, but in various ways. Just because you are a professional sportsman and the cameras are on you doesn't mean that you are unique.

This reminded me of Graham Henry’s tenure as coach of the All Blacks and the practice of improving the whole man, the legacy and whakapapa of the black jersey, the ‘No Dickheads’ policy.

I would say that's an area that - I’m slightly embarrassed to admit - I’ve come to quite late in my coaching career. I did all those things I mentioned with really good intent, but when we got down to it, quite frankly, I think I was very impatient with the people I worked with - the players and other coaches. Sometimes, I was overly hard and didn't allow for personal foibles. I was about output, about winning and efficiency and effectiveness, and definitely now in my coaching, there's more of what you describe in Henry, and I consciously work at that.

As a side topic, I met Graham Henry once when I was at a sports conference and he was speaking. I grabbed him afterwards and I said, ‘Tell me about this No Dickheads policy.’ He leaned in and quietly said to me, “Listen, mate, you’ve always got to compromise a little. You can't get rid of all the dickheads, otherwise you wouldn't have some of the great players in your squad.” The concept of the No Dickheads policy makes sense to a certain extent, but I think all sides compromise a little - you have to. You have to work with all sorts of people. In practical terms, you've got to get on with it.

But another phrase I had heard often before, but never paid real attention to until more recently was, ‘Try to leave an organisation in a better state than you found it.’ It's such a cliche, but actually, there's so much truth in it, because it gives you - even from a personal goal perspective - real direction. I remember when I left the England job and things were in a state of turmoil because of the whole Kevin Pietersen affair. I've never felt good about that. Although at the time I felt, ‘Look, there's just no light at the end of this tunnel, I should leave and let them get on with it.’ If I was placed in that situation again, I wouldn't do it the same way. I would have to find some way of stabilising everything, of turning the ship around and maybe only then stepping away. I wouldn't step away and leave an organisation or team in that sort of turmoil again.

Nonetheless, I put it to Andy that he was a rare specimen - a great player and great coach - usually one does not translate to the other. The qualities of a great player - egocentric, introspective, intensely focussed - do not lend themselves to extracting the best out of other people.

I would say probably two things in response to that. I'd say I don't think I was a great coach. I don't think I am a great coach. I think I can do a pretty damn good job, but I wouldn't put myself in the ‘great’ category at all. And in fact, I don't think I was a great player. I think I was a good player who got some good results. In some ways I was unlucky representing Zimbabwe because we were always struggling, but in other ways, I was lucky because I didn't have the pressure of selection over my shoulder, and I went through periods where I might have been dropped if there had been greater competition. I made the most of what I had. If you'd seen me at school level, I was better than most, but not special in any regard. And you and I have both seen truly talented players, the greats, and I wasn't in that category. I made myself efficient, effective.

In the end, did you enjoy your cricket?”

‘That is a really valid question. I recall large swathes of my career when I wasn’t enjoying the game. It was more like a serious challenge to overcome, a challenge to see how good I could be. Could I overcome it? Some of the feelings that struggle engenders are unpleasant - it brings about doubts and tension and anxiety. And sometimes I didn't react well to the pressure - you might overdrink to escape from the pressure of the constant, ‘Am I good enough? Can I do myself and my family and my teammates proud here? Can I come through?

I have known players who really suffered from some of their cricket experiences. They aligned their success in cricket too closely to their success as a person in the world, to their self-worth. Sometimes these players tortured themselves if they didn't score runs. I try to fight that identity in my thoughts about myself - it's got me into trouble before. I don't just want to be a good cricketer or a cricket coach. I want to be a better influence on the people in my life, then I can sleep better at night.

But it's a constant fight because I think part of the problem is that we know that through obsession you can do extraordinary things. We see it in artists, too. Sometimes that obsession is what makes the difference. It's a paradox - we want to live a more balanced and wise existence, but we also understand that to get extraordinary results, you have to be more focused than the average, sometimes you have to sacrifice. The people who can get incredible results and still be well-balanced individuals are rare - Alistair Cook is one.

But what do we do? The artists or outliers explore the boundaries, and just look at the words that we choose to describe a life that is not extraordinary. The words are demeaning – mediocre, humdrum or normal. Even ‘normal’ in that context sounds negative. But actually, neither way guarantees fulfilment or contentment because there are other things at play. How you relate to yourself and the depth of your understanding of yourself or how you want to live, for example. And what is it that actually gives you contentment in the end? The key word, I think, is acceptance. It's a very big part of Buddhism or some of the Eastern philosophies: acceptance of where you are, acceptance of reality, acceptance of yourself and your foibles, and therefore of others as well.

What lessons does cricket teach us?

One of the things it definitely teaches you is a degree of humility. At certain stages, it could teach you the opposite of that, without a doubt - the recognition and fame. Some of the things that go with that are alluring, and it's scary how easily you can slip into an ‘I'm something special’ attitude. I remember some of those thoughts flitting through my mind - which I'm not very proud of - but ultimately, it will teach you, if you're willing to learn. It will teach you a level of healthy humility, because you will encounter failures, repeatedly. You come to realise that nothing is permanent. You might be number one in the world today, and you might feel very, very confident about yourself at that moment, but there will be times when that confidence dips and it might be something completely out of your control. Becoming more comfortable with that uncertainty has helped me grow as a person.

Cricket - and life - is about change, the ups and downs, and that realisation is actually comforting in the long run. Even though as a young man, you want to feel invincible and to feel in control, the wiser stance is to understand and be comfortable with the fact that your performance will fluctuate. Sometimes you're going to feel good about yourself and sometimes you'll want to close the curtains and stay in bed. I've learnt to accept that and look for things to be grateful for. I'm thankful for all of those lessons.

‘What advice would you give your younger self?’

Oh God. The first thing that springs to mind is, ‘First, do no harm.’ I think that's a phrase associated with the medical profession - but I mean in your interactions with people throughout your life, ‘First, do no harm.’ It sounds quite negative, doesn't it? But I carry some guilt about harming or hurting people and if I was talking to my son, I think that's a good thing to always keep in the back of your mind.