No. 9: John Bracewell (Part One)

A long-time hero of my mine, Braces is my Development Squad's off-spinner. We discuss sibling rivalry, meeting your heroes, rugby, playing for Otago and digging graves.

My spin bowling slot was the last and most difficult to fill. I’m sure Braces won’t mind, but my original pick was Ashley Mallett, the Australian off-spinner who liked what he saw in a young lad from Timaru and opened many of my cricketing doors. When I approached him for an interview, I was touched that he even remembered me. He said that he was busy with the media response to his latest book on Neil Harvey. And … that he was undergoing chemotherapy. He said he would gladly answer any questions I had for him in writing. I held out for an interview - intrigued by someone who left the game and became a writer. Unfortunately, Ashley Mallett lost his battle with cancer.

I then approached John and didn’t hear back. I pursued Greg Loveridge, the one Test leg-spinning wonder who didn’t get to bowl because his knuckles were smashed by Henry Olonga while batting. He went on to study at Cambridge, is rumoured to have starred in a Bollywood film and is now General Manager at Robert Jones Holdings and is a regular on the NBR Rich List. It was some story, but I wasn’t convinced we had ever crossed cricketing paths. I reached out to John again.

John Bracewell was one of my heroes. As a young off-spinner, I can still see the ball that took the outside of Allan Border’s off-stump. It was the off-spinning equivalent of Warne’s ‘Ball of the Century.’ That delivery meant that a teenager from Timaru believed he could bowl the world’s best batsman, too. I always loved bowling to left-handers and wanted to bowl Bracewell’s ball every ball.

I was lucky to grow up in the 80s - not only was the New Zealand team one of the best teams in the world but we also had access to the top players. The Dennis Lillee fast-bowling clinics were expanded to include batsmen and spin-bowlers. Mallett crossed the Tasman with his ex-team mate and we had homegrown coaching from Hadlee, Bracewell and Martin Crowe. From our cerebral corner of Hagley Park, we spinners watched the poor batsmen duck and dive on green pitches, only to crawl across the ground to us, loosen their shoulders and start slogging.

I recalled bowling to Martin Crowe in an open-wicket scenario - it was a nervous thrill, but I landed every ball and he defended them graciously. Paul Unwin, Crowe’s Central Districts and Somerset team mate, was a fine bowler and he bowled the next over. Crowe hit him for three sixes in a row, pausing between balls to discuss and dissect Unwin’s fielding positions. During breaks, I watched Mallett and Bracewell wrap their fingers around a ball, walk up and bowl, marvelling at how the ball dipped in the air and seemed to explode off a length. It looked so easy.

John was only the second of five Blackcaps to secure the double of 1000 runs and 100 wickets in Tests, but he is more recently remembered as the national coach from 2003-2008. He took the role after a successful stint with Gloucestershire in which he transformed a humble county into the dominant white-ball side in the country. Bracewell’s Blackcaps continued to thrive in the shorter format, but success and consistency in Test cricket proved more elusive. Never afraid to experiment, Braces dubbed himself ‘a mad scientist who threw ideas’ at his players, an approach that didn’t always endear him to critics. After a return to Gloucestershire, John coached Ireland. A keen student of psychology and team dynamics, he has professed a love for grass-roots cricket and building teams from the ground up.

John’s interest in people was a swirling theme in our conversation - where people come from, where they fit, the size of the fight in the dog. We always returned to personalities and teams and how to bring the two together. Never far from laughter, Braces continues to talk cricket (and rugby) and analyse performance, but after 40 years, he has removed himself from the game. John now runs a lawnmowing and gardening franchise.

I actually enjoyed lockdown. I'd been commuting down to Hamilton staying in WINZ motels [motels used by Work and Income NZ to house the needy] in the winter, and I just thought, ‘Let’s try something different for the first time in 40 years.’

You'd use the word ‘gardening’ loosely with me. I can turn over soil for somebody and I can do a hedge. But you wouldn't really want me pruning your roses.

John had read my ‘Letter to Ezra’

It follows quite a rural New Zealand pathway - a game through the family rather than a game through schooling, that a lot of the city kids go through. Your story was of a blue collar upbringing. Before it went pro, cricket in New Zealand was quite a white collar sport. It rekindled a lot of thoughts for me. Backyard cricket, the rules you made …

Your backyard must have seen some fierce competition [four of the six Bracewell brothers played first-class cricket]

My first memory of cricket was when Dad built a concrete pitch in the backyard, next door to the chicken coop when we were in Taupō. I also remember we had a cricket pitch at the primary school, just outside the school’s boundary, where the kids used to tie up their horses. I would have been five through seven while we were in Taupō, but I didn't play a game of organized cricket until we got to Tauranga. This was during the 60s so it was all ‘boom and bust’. Dad was a bricklayer and we had to go where the work was. At Tauranga, I basically wandered across the road to the Domain and got a game. From that point on, I played cricket in the summer and rugby in the winter.

Kevin was the eldest brother and was six years older. Brendon and I were the youngest so we had to compete just to get a turn on the slip machine in the backyard. You had to learn to tackle because big brothers don't go soft on you, but there was always someone who wanted to go out and play a game. It was an education in itself. That was the only edge we had because, on reflection, I think our brothers were always more talented than Brendon and I. I just don't think that they were as hungry - whether it was for recognition or praise. We became more - not resilient - but certainly more ambitious. We were just more competitive … and cheekier. I always played with older people, right the way through. I think I started playing men's cricket at about the age of 12.

And did your backyard literally shape your play?

My offside shots were limited by the garage wall. The on-side was reasonably open, so my bottom hand tended to dominate. We had a two-storey state house next door done in concrete block. If you hit that in the right place, the ball would bounce back [into the backyard] so you could get six, and stay in … so I perfected the drop kick and the pull off the front foot [laughs]. Brendon would steam in for hour after hour so it was great.

We had a book that was pretty ear-bitten called Six and Out by Jack Pollard which tells folklore tales about Australian and New Zealand cricket - mainly Australian. I remember Eddie Gilbert and Jack Marsh [two Aboriginal Australian cricketers]. They were easy to read and romanticised the game, humanised the whole thing. So when I was in the backyard, most of my heroes were Australian cricketers. I used to pretend to be Doug Walters and Brendon was Dennis Lillee. They say, ‘Don’t meet your heroes’? Well, my first Test was against Australia and Doug Walters. How the hell do you bowl to the man you pretended to be? It was surreal.

And you know, he was an absolute champion. I remember we were about halfway through the last test and Lance Cairns said, “Stick this under your arm.” He handed me half a dozen beers.

“Where are we going?”

“We're going next door to have a chat.”

Jesus. I was dreading this. He goes and sits me down beside Doug Walters … We had to break out of the MCG at one o'clock in the morning. They’d locked up and we had to climb the security fence to get out of the place. It was one of the greatest nights of my life.

Were you an obsessive cricket adolescent?

I kind of wasn’t. I just played cricket and I loved rugby. Playing in the First XV was more important because I played in the First XI from about the third form [Year 9]. You were always in the First XI but you had to make the First XV. You didn’t just turn up. Rugby was important.

You talked about receiving a bat after your first hundred. I was the same. By the time I finished school, I’d filled my kitbag. Every time you scored a hundred for the school, you earned a bat. I had pads and a decent bag and I’d earned every piece. The last thing my parents could afford was to kit us out.

Brendon and I made the New Zealand secondary schools side. Jeff Crowe was our captain. Martin Snedden was in the side, Vaughan Brown. A few of us played for New Zealand through the strong period of the 80s and almost the whole of that team went on to play a lot of first-class cricket. It was a bit of a ‘Golden Era’ team. We were the first side to win the Kookaburra Shield in Australia (NZ used to send a side to the state-wide U19 tournament). I was obviously a good enough cricketer but I kind of just played cricket.

When I left school, and went down to Dunedin, it took me about six months to get there because I hitchhiked and had to find jobs on the way. I arrived in time for the rugby season, played the season and then I joined a cricket club [Grange] and broke the club record for runs - 500 runs or thereabouts. The next year, I was in the Otago team and a year after that I was in the New Zealand side. It happened so quickly. When I look back on it, I didn't even know if I was going to be a cricketer. I was a batter who bowled a bit. Within about two games, I was a bowler who batted a bit. Because in those days if you were a spin bowler, you were expected to bowl throughout practice and you faced the Mickey Mouse bowlers at the end. My batting declined and my bowling improved.

I was lucky enough to have somebody like Stephen Boock in the side. He thought completely differently than I did about cricket and about bowling, more like an accountant: ‘the more dot balls I bowl, the better chance the batsman will make a mistake.’ Whereas I was thinking the more great balls I bowl, the better chance I’ll have of taking a wicket. Warren Lees [ex NZ wicketkeeper, coach and Otago captain] worked out the math - if I was going for two fours an over and Boocky’s, going for none, we can set them 270 and always keep them interested. Out of that, I learned to bowl.

I wanted to know more about why John had gone to Otago. I had made the same move south at a similar age 15 years later.

My brother [Mark] was down there at university, and I was pretty keen on going to Teachers’ College. I’d enjoyed school, the company and environment, but I couldn't really afford to go to College, so I had to get a job. And as I said, it took me several months to work my way down there. I eventually made it and went flatting with him. The rugby season started, so I thought, ‘I'll apply for Teachers’ College next year.’ By the time I got through that summer and I’d been away to the Rothmans Under-23 tournament and the Brabin [Under-20s], I never got around to it again. I found a job and then I was in the Otago team then New Zealand and you go, ‘Well, I wonder what happened there?’ [laughs]

What was it like being picked so young?

It didn't really worry me. I kind of knew as a kid - in the back of my mind - that I was going to be successful at sport. I played a season of rugby with my oldest brother in Napier one year, and he said, “I always knew that you were going to be the one who was going to be successful. You were just that bit more confident than all the others. There was a sense of destiny and it didn't scare you.”

Back to Otago … it was very amateur in those days. You found work so you could play cricket in the summer. [This included his famous gravedigger job.]

My back has never been so good. There were no gyms in my day, and during the winter months especially, we were busy … we dug every grave in Dunedin. It was a great job! The Council paid 60% of your wage if you were away playing for your province and 80% for New Zealand. Up until then, I’d find a job, have to leave in the summer and try to live off the $10 a day you got from Otago Cricket and hope you had enough money to get through. Then you’d have to find yourself another flat when you got back. It was very much hand-to-mouth, but you didn’t notice it - it was part of being a kid.

There were a lot of positives to living and growing up in Dunedin. It was a safe place if you got into trouble as a kid, when you were learning to make mistakes. You didn't need to drink and drive. You didn't need a car. You could walk anywhere. No one was likely to beat you up in a pub or bottle you or king-hit you. It was a safe place to be an idiot and make mistakes. It was a good, small environment for people who were like-minded. It was different to Auckland where parents drive you to the swimming pool at five o'clock in the morning so they can put gold medals on their mantelpiece.

Half my classmates in Tauranga were dead by the time I was 21. There was nothing there. If you stayed in Tauranga, what did you do? You joined a gang, became a boy racer, went surfing or hunting. A very few left to go to University. The 70s was an interesting time. You still had School Certificate where half the fifth form [Year 11] was destined to fail, regardless of how bright they were. There was a cut-off point, so they almost encouraged people to be dumb and leave school. But it was also a time where there were no trades. Apprenticeships had dried up. These kids just had nothing to do. How the hell did we let people be treated like that?

How did you start bowling spin?

You talked about people who influenced me at a young age. We had a guy called Max Hiemann who coached the First XV and First XI - a traditional Head of PE type. He had coached all my brothers, too. He used to play with us on Saturdays and captain the side in senior club cricket. I think we won the club competition three times while I was in the First XI which was unheard of in those days. We played in shorts because it used to piss the adults off, to really emphasise that we were school kids. But we had Brendon and Mark who were by far and away the quickest bowlers in the competition.

I used to stand at first slip to the quicks, and I’d occasionally get a bowl. At practice, I used to bowl with those compo balls because that's all we could afford. And I used to make them spin a lot, to the point where I used to hit guys in the ribs and on the inside thigh. I hit more guys than Brendon did. Matt said, “You should be concentrating on line and length. Don't worry too much about the spin. You need to be accurate.” I said, “No, I disagree. If I learn to spin the ball hard and I do it often enough, I will get more accurate.” His reply was that until you start bowling more accurately, you're not going to bowl on Saturdays. “That's fine,” I said, “But I'm captain in the interschools. I’ll bowl in those games.”

I carried that philosophy on because it suited my mentality - to attack. I'm a great believer that when you work out a guy's personality you can find the right position for them. In rugby, it is quite easy because it's a somatic game. ‘I'm short and fat - so front row. I'm tall and big so we’ll stick number five on your back.’ By and large, you've got to have a mentality that suits your size, for the sake of the team. Cricket is similar in that respect. You can't have everybody - even though Brendon McCullum wants to … You can't have everybody wanting to be the D’Artagnan cavalier saving the world. For every one of them, you've also got to have a steady block, a cornerstone. That was the thing that fascinated me about coaching - teams and personalities.

Cricket is so much like society. It's a cleverly thought-out game because it caters for different personality types - it allows for people with Asperger’s to be very successful, for example - but it's finding that balance. The yin to the yang.

It was like your combination with Boocky at Otago.

Yes, it worked perfectly, and Warren Lees was never a drummer in the band. He orchestrated a performance - he would pull the strings of a game. I watched him and learned so much about how to run a game of cricket.

Part Two will be with you early next week.