Marcus Trescothick - Coming Back To Me - The Autobiography of Marcus Trescothick

Unfortunately our plans had to change when, on the morning of Saturday 22 March, the first day of the third Test, sitting at home in my dressing-gown watching Soccer AM , I took a phone call from Richard Gould.

‘Morning, Marcus,’ Richard said. ‘There’s a bit of an issue.’

My heart sank.

‘The BBC radio Test Match Special guys have been on to Andrew Walpole [the England Media relations general manager, in New Zealand with the team] enquiring whether it is true that you are about to announce your retirement from international cricket.’

Not again, I thought. This was the fourth time since my troubles began that confidential information about me had been passed on to the media – first, to the Sun regarding the possibility that I might be flying home from the 2005 tour to Pakistan to comfort Hayley following her father’s serious accident; next, to the News of the World , concerning the background to the infamous interview I gave to Sky TV on my return from India in early 2006; later, to the Sun again, about me making myself unavailable for the 2006 Champions Trophy in India in September the same year; and now this. I found all four incidents disturbing and the middle two quite damaging. But now I was simply saddened that my efforts to announce my retirement on my own terms had been spoiled by careless talk.

The release of the statement was duly brought forward to the morning of Saturday 22 March. It read:

‘ Marcus Trescothick today announced his retirement from international cricket .

‘ The 32 year old Somerset batsman’s decision follows his recent withdrawal from the county’s pre-season tour to Dubai with a recurrence of the health problems which caused him to quit two England tours .

‘ Trescothick said: “I have tried on numerous occasions to make it back to the international stage and it has proved a lot more difficult than I expected. I want to extend my playing career for as long as possible and I no longer want to put myself through the questions and demands that go with trying to return to the England team .

“ I have thoroughly enjoyed my time playing for England and I am very proud of having been selected for 76 Test matches and over 120 One-day Internationals. It has been a great privilege to represent my country and I am grateful to the game of cricket for giving me the opportunity to excel at a sport that I enjoy so much .

“ My desire to play cricket is as strong as it ever was. But, due to the problems that I have experienced, travelling abroad has become extremely stressful for me. I now think that it is in the best interests of all concerned that the issue is put to rest so that the England team can concentrate on moving forward and I can concentrate all my efforts on playing well for Somerset .”

‘ England managing Director Hugh Morris paid tribute to Marcus from New Zealand: “I would like to place on record my thanks to Marcus for the enormous contribution he had made to the England team in both Test and One-day International cricket. I fully respect and understand his decision to retire from international cricket and wish him every success in his future career with Somerset .”’

I was particularly touched by the response I received from the public. Down in New Zealand, the BBC’s Alison Mitchell neatly captured what I felt in her Test Match Special internet blog: ‘Far from succumbing to the strains of his illness, Trescothick is taking charge of his life,’ she wrote. Her comments had encouraged a number of replies from fellow sufferers, perhaps the most poignant from one named ‘Owls Fan’, who wrote: ‘I have every sympathy. Depression and stress over several years nearly cost me my home, my family and my life. Nothing’s more important than removing the causes and getting on the road to recovery. If it feels right, it is right.’ The website received 117 other such responses before it was closed to new comments.

I made sure the day’s play in the Test was over and done with before texting four or five of the team; Andrew Strauss, who, with his wife Ruth and young son had visited us the previous winter, Kevin Pietersen, Michael Vaughan, Paul Collingwood and Steve Harmison, my colleagues from our Ashes victory of 2005, just saying thanks.

The next time I sent a message to Vaughan he probably wished I hadn’t bothered. Prior to the final Test in Hamilton, the skipper was coming under growing pressure not just because the team had failed to dominate supposedly weaker opposition, but also because of his poor form with the bat, 7 runs in six first-class innings on the tour thus far. When I saw him scratch around for 2 in 11 balls on the first morning of the match, when England slumped to 4 for 3, with the ball zipping around, I decided the time had come to intervene. My text message was brief and to the point. ‘What the hell is going on? Just go out there and whack it.’ I told him. In the second innings he took my advice and, after amassing a glorious four in four balls, he made a ludicrous attempt to slap a good length ball on off stump from Chris Martin to the square leg boundary, only to feather a nick to Brendon McCullum behind the stumps. Vaughan didn’t text me back, but I got the message. It was definitely time to leave England well alone and get on with the rest of my life.

There was one other bit of unfinished local business to deal with. Word had reached me that, on the night of the Heathrow incident, as soon as the other lads heard that I was not going to be getting on the plane with them, poor James Hildreth was distraught. I learned later that he had spoken to one of the other guys and said, ‘I wish I hadn’t said those things to Banger.’ There was a suggestion that he felt responsible for what had happened because of the piss-taking as the coach approached the terminal building. Apparently he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that by saying what he had said he had set in motion the chain reaction that culminated in my collapse.

When I heard that I knew I had to speak to him as soon as the guys got back from Dubai and I did. I told him: ‘Listen, I have absolutely no problem with what you said. It was nothing and it had no bearing on what happened afterwards.’ He seemed pretty relieved. And by then, so was I.

Chapter 2 MARCUS TRESCOTHICK

‘ In the kitchen, in the living room, in the garden, wherever she happened to be, I’d hand the ball to her [mum], she’d bowl it, I’d hit it, fetch it, carry it back to her and say again “bowl to me, bowl to me .”’

You’ve heard of people who eat, drink, sleep and dream cricket. For a large part of my life, that was me.

My earliest memories are not of teddy-bears, bows and arrows, mud pies or ray-guns, but of bats and balls, and mainly bats. I can’t recall when I first picked one up, but I have retained a fuzzy memory of what happened when I did. It felt great, and even better when I hit a ball with it. That feeling has never left me.

I was born into a cricket-mad family. With my dad Martyn – a stalwart, top-order batsman and brilliant slip fielder for Keynsham Cricket Club, in between Bristol and Bath, good enough to play second team cricket for Somerset and be offered a contract which he turned down – and my mum Linda, already well into her eventual 35 years of making the club teas, it was hardly surprising that I should have an interest in the game.