Ricky Ponting's difficult final days as an international cricketer

In his autobiography, Fierce Focus, legendary Australian batsman Greg Chappell gives the reader interesting insight on how he managed the relentless pressure of batting in the middle. Asked by an American fielding coach how long he could concentrate in a day, his answer of “about thirty minutes” caused some consternation. Pressed further, he expounded that he only really focused for the few seconds it took to negotiate the bowler’s offerings and in between deliveries he did his best to relax.

Chappell surprised another friend by listing all he did in the stands from the moment he arrived at the game – when he got a drink, what time he had lunch, took a bathroom break and to whom he’d spoken.

“How can you know all this stuff?” his friend asked, “aren’t you meant to be concentrating?” “This is part of how I concentrate,” Chappell replied, “Between balls I have to relax, so I look into the stands to see what Charlie’s doing.”

In Opening Up, former England captain and opener, Mike Atherton tells of an approach similar that of Chappell: “The key to concentration, and therefore to playing long innings, is the ability to focus intently for long periods of time and then switch off completely.” He went on further to say that his biggest strength as a batsman was his ability to be totally relaxed after each delivery and at the end of every over.

It could hardly have been otherwise when you think about it. Fierce attentiveness over a long period is taxing. To prevent fatigue, which often results in lapses, it is necessary to take intermittent breaks. The talent to single-mindedly focus on the task of batting, blocking out all distractions, while allowing the mind to unwind at regular intervals seems integral to long occupation of the crease.

Implicit in this is the ability to play with an uncluttered mind, and a level of imperturbability that allows the batsman to play each ball on merit. This might not be an easy a task as it sounds, but it is vital for the batsman playing at the elite level.

One batsman who appeared well schooled in the science of resisting pressure in the middle was Ricky Ponting. His 156 at Old Trafford in 2005 to save the test for his country while everything crumbled around him was a lesson in the art of standing tall against foreboding odds, and this scorer of 41 test hundreds spent years repelling the best efforts of his opponents in all sorts of conditions.

It comes as a shock then, that the former Australian captain blamed his poor form when nearing the end of his test career on “pressure,” rather than on collapsing technique or slowing reflexes, or anything associated with advanced age.

In his recently released autobiography, At Close Of Play, Australia’s best batsman since Bradman, mentions that he averaged almost 90 in eight games during his last season, and was even selected in the Big Bash all-star team. “This confirmed for me what I already knew: that it wasn’t a decline in my reflexes or my eyesight or my fitness that stopped me scoring runs in test cricket. It was the pressure that got me.”

This is an astounding admission. How could one of the best batsmen the game has known — a batsman who had conquered almost every bowler and thrived in every hostile environment, be overwhelmed by the game’s demands at the last?

“When I was distracted and under the pump,” Ponting wrote, “I tended to struggle.” As the Australian team slipped — as the batting talent dwindled, Ponting felt the need to carry a greater load. The fact that he couldn’t, despite showing good form outside of Tests, must have been a huge disappointment to one of the toughest competitors in the game.

It must also have been a mystery to him. Convinced as he was that he still had what it took, and having gathered runs in large numbers throughout most of his career, would have felt some frustration as they dried up. It is therefore understandable that he would have searched for an explanation.

What is surprising is where his search led him. It is strange that Ponting came to believe that toward the end he lost the ability to handle pressure, or, though he claimed it was self-generated, that the pressure became so insurmountable that even he could not overcome it.

Ponting seems to think his batting skill had not really diminished. But those who observed him as his career came to a close might, would have realized that the game’s most ferocious warrior was not the player he was at his peak. As he grew less adept in the execution of his famed pull-shot; as Kemar Roach scored hits on him in Australia in 2010; and as he began to be harried by bowlers he would have dismissed with utmost ease in his prime, it was clear his powers had waned.

As unbelievable as it sounds that it was the pressure in the wake of a declining team that got to him, there might be some truth to the claim, especially as it was made by Ponting himself.

Things became more difficult for Australia after they lost players of the caliber of Warne, McGrath, Hayden, Langer, Martyn, and later Katich and Hussey. And since the replacements could not fill the big shoes of their predecessors the remaining seniors had to bear a heavier burden. But maybe Ponting’s reduced production was brought on by a combination of both added pressure and shrinking skills. That might be the simplest and best explanation.