Matthew Hoggard - Hoggy - Welcome to My World

HOGGY

Welcome to My World

To Sarah and ErnieMy strength and salvation

Title Page

Dedication

Fore Paw-word

Introduction Thought I’d put this near the start

Chapter 1 - My Family and Other Animals by Matthew ’oggard, aged 8½

Chapter 2 - Gardens, Gags and Games A few early cricketing lessons

Chapter 3 - Wild and Free Beer and bowling in South Africa

Chapter 4 - England Calling First days of national service, 2000-02

Chapter 5 - Meat and Three Veg What goes into a fast bowler’s belly …

Chapter 6 - Touring and Toiling A series of reality checks with England, 2002-03

Chapter 7 - Physical Jerks The pains and strains of keeping fit

Chapter 8 - Getting Better All the Time The winning streak and the awesome foursome, 2004-05

Chapter 9 - Mind Games The stuff that goes on in my head when I’m bowling

Chapter 10 - Time to Produce The biggest series ever and other more important things, summer 2005

Chapter 11 - Drinking for England We do like the occasional pint, you know

Chapter 12 - Swinging the Balance Life goes on after the Ashes, 2005-06

Chapter 13 - A Word from the Wife Sarah’s view from the girls’ gallery

Chapter 14 - Nightwatchman’s Tales My life as England’s sacrificial lamb

Chapter 15 - Squashed by the Big Fat Lad The Ashes comedown, 2006-07

Chapter 16 - Press-ganged My fun and games with the British media

Chapter 17 - It’s all Gone Haywire Some very high highs and very low lows, 2007-08

Epilogue Hog

What next?

Index

Acknowledgements

Hoggy Stats

Copyright

About the Publisher

‘He’s just a bit silly. He rings you up and leaves daft messages and silly noises on your phone. It’s just madness. He’s a good lad though.’

Ashley Giles

‘He gives you it straight. If he thinks you’re a pillock, he’ll tell you. He won’t ask for anything that he wouldn’t do himself, that’s the way he is. Hoggy is Hoggy.’

David Byas, former Yorkshire captain

By the HOGGY DOGGIES, BILLY the Doberman and MOLLY the Border Collie

BILLY:So what’s all this about, then?

MOLLY:Apparently, this is the bit of a book where important people or animals are asked to say nice things about the bloke on the front cover.

BILLY:About him? Why I should say nice things about him? All he ever does is shout at me.

MOLLY:That’s because you play too rough half the time, Billy, and you don’t do as you’re told.

BILLY:Whenever I try to play with you, you don’t give me the time of day. You can be a cantankerous old bitch sometimes.

MOLLY:You forget that I’m an old lady. If I was five years younger, I’d still be able to run rings round you.

BILLY:Like to see you try. Anyway, I still don’t see why I should be so nice about the bloke. What does he ever do for us?

MOLLY:He takes us for lots of long walks.

BILLY:I’ll give him that.

MOLLY:Even when it’s raining. And he feeds us most of the time.

BILLY:Well, yes, you’ve got a point. Sometimes I want to bite him, but I’m worried that the walks and the food might stop if I do. Shall we gang up on him and both bite him?

MOLLY:He’s in charge, Billy boy, whether we like it or not.

BILLY:But if he’s so tough and reckons he’s top dog, why does he always send me outside first if he hears a noise in the garden? I can never understand that.

MOLLY:Strange creatures, these humans, Billy. I’m still trying to work them out.

BILLY:They must be strange if they want to read a book about him. What’s so interesting about him?

MOLLY:Apparently he’s quite good at some weird game they play. They throw a red ball, someone hits it and they chase it around a field. It goes on for hours.

BILLY:Well, I chase a ball around a field with him all the time and I’m much better at it than him. This book should be all about me.

MOLLY:I’m inclined to agree with you, Billy. But like I said, he’s in charge.

BILLY:He talks a load of rubbish as well. He makes up words of his own that nobody else ever uses, words like ‘ridonculous’.

MOLLY:Yes, I’ve always wondered what that means. Any ideas?

BILLY:Haven’t got a clue. Do you think they’re all as odd as him?

MOLLY:I very much doubt it.

Go on, admit it, you turned to the photo pages first, didn’t you?

Before I had the chance to say even a word in my defence, you plunged straight into the middle of the book to check out my dodgy haircuts from when I was younger. Don’t worry, though; everybody does it, me included. Those embarrassing old photos are sometimes the best bit of the book, aren’t they? I tried to get the publishers to let me have a book full of pictures, but they insisted I put a few words in here as well. Sorry about that.

Anyway, at least you have now made it as far as my first page. I bet there are some buggers who’ll pick up the book in a shop, have a quick look at the dodgy photos, then put the book back down again with no intention whatsoever of buying it. I’m thinking of putting on a disguise one day and spending a few hours hanging out in a bookshop to see how many people do that.

When we first started talking about writing a book, it was suggested that I should try to give the reader a feel for what it would be like to sit next to me in the England dressing-room. That’s what these books are supposed to do, I was told; to give a flavour of what it is really like to play for your country.

But I didn’t think that would really be fair, because most people don’t find it a particularly pleasant experience to sit alongside me for the duration of a five-day Test match. I’ve got very smelly kit, for starters. My cricket bag begins a Test match in a pretty disorganised state, with everything just thrown in. And by the end of the fifth day there will be stuff strewn everywhere and it’ll take me an age to find all my kit when it’s time to go home. It’s not a pretty sight, so I think I’ll spare you that experience.

Actually, one thing about sitting next to me in the dressing-room that may be worth sharing is my vast store of completely useless information. Sitting on the balcony during a Test match, watching our batsmen pile on the runs, the conversation may flag from time to time. And to while away a bit of time, I have been renowned in the England team for nudging whoever is sitting next to me and producing a random fact to start a discussion of some kind.

Such as: ‘Did you know that peanuts are used in the manufacture of dynamite?’

‘Really, Hoggy? How interesting.’

‘And did you know that peanuts aren’t actually nuts?’

‘Well, I never did.’

Andrew Strauss has always been especially keen on my little factoids. He says that my ability to produce these pearls of wisdom is evidence of my HIDDEN INTELLIGENCE, however well concealed it might be. But I only know so much rubbish because I’ve got some very good trivia books in the loo at home. How dare he call me intelligent?