Jack Russell (1997) — Unleashed, London: CollinsWillow

Why are there no characters in the game anymore?’ is the semi-frequent refrain of the sporting nostalgic. Like many such utterances, it’s the kind of thing that can get people nodding along without ever having to be specific about what they mean.

Is it a player with a silly haircut? One that swears at opponents? Someone who drinks too much? These players are beloved largely in retrospect, or in moments of glory, otherwise any individuality is considered unprofessional by the massing online hordes: why doesn’t he cut his hair, stop sledging opponents, or get out of the pub, and spend some time in the nets instead?

In 1988, the late Brian Johnston wrote: ‘People say that there are fewer personalities in cricket today… I suspect every generation has said this, thought there is perhaps even more reason for saying it today.’ Johnston argued that batting helmets hid players from spectators and rendered them indistinguishable from each other.

It was in that same year that Gloucestershire wicketkeeper Jack Russell was named in the side for first time during the one-off late summer Test against Sri Lanka. Russell would rarely have been mistaken for another player, and was a true individual both on and off the pitch, known variously for his tatty sunhat, collection of off-field superstitions, and an increasingly idiosyncratic batting technique.

Though generally acknowledged as the premier gloveman in the country during the 90s, the appeal of instead using Alec Stewart, a superior batsman, as an all-rounder was never quite banished, usually because results were going against the team. The hardback edition of Unleashed (1) sees Russell firmly behind Stewart in the pecking order on the 1996/7 tour to Zimbabwe and New Zealand, and reflecting that his career at the highest level might be over.

He did make one final return, for the following winter tour to the West Indies, which meant that Russell played in all of England’s Tests in the Caribbean in the 1990s, (2) a strange quirk given the historic prominence of pace bowling and the received wisdom that specialist keepers are most valuable on turning pitches.

However, after the trips to India and Sri Lanka in 1993 – for which Russell’s non-selection was appended to the more significant omission of David Gower – England didn’t actually play a Test in the sub-continent again until the winter of 2000/1, by which time Russell was long retired from international cricket.

And despite being a regular tourist, the Caribbean became an increasingly unhappy hunting ground for Russell, who first played there in 1990 under Graham Gooch, newly established as the first-choice keeper and one of the only players to emerge with any credit from the 1989 Ashes. Subsequent returns were less successful.

The 1994 series was my first experience of Russell the player, his selection for Mike Atherton’s first tour as captain showing the clarity of thought that accompanies most new regimes, before sketchy performances and bad results muddy the waters. With Graham Gooch absent, Alec Stewart opened the batting with Atherton, with Russell selected as the best available keeper.(3) It all sounds so simple, when you put it like that.

The curse of the specialist wicketkeeper is that you’re never supposed to drop a catch. Once you do, people reason that they may as well pick someone who also might drop catches but will bat better. Russell had a difficult time in 1994, to the extent that – as revealed here – he experienced suicidal thoughts during the second Test in Guyana.

Unleashed doesn’t linger on the dark moments, although there are quite a few more, including the death of his brother David at the age of 21 and an early-career battle with alcoholism.

The cynicism and negativity of the county grind is a factor in the latter, and without wishing to avoid taking responsibility for his own actions, Russell points to a dressing room culture that dictated a ‘proper team man’ should be the last one to leave the pub. Possibly here his individuality and desire to go his own way was forged: giving up booze and knowing his own mind only helped him to go further in the game.

Russell’s experiences during the Ray Illingworth years provide evidence of the former chairman’s capricious selection policies: after being publicly criticised for his performances and losing his place to Steve Rhodes, Russell battled his way back into the team and played a key role in securing a draw against the West Indies at home in 1995.

By the time of the winter tour, Russell was an Illingworth favourite, finding himself promoted to number six to accommodate an extra bowler for a ‘must-win’ Test in South Africa,(4) and somehow also earning a place in the one-day side for the 1996 World Cup, playing alongside Stewart.

For all of the infamous habits – reusing dried out teabags, not telling anyone where he lived, refusing to change his lucky hat – Russell comes across in this book as a pretty sensible chap. He holds no grudges against Stewart and praises his ‘keeping but is more critical of the rationale that frequently saw the Surrey man take the gloves in crucial Test matches when the series was on the line, those so-called ‘must-win’ games. ‘Don’t we want to win all the time?’ he asks.

Russell also has little time for journalists getting carried away about ‘world-class’ wicketkeepers who remain untested in international cricket, referring to an article published in The Mirror in 1988, before his England debut, claiming that ‘when practically anyone sits down to choose a World XI these days, the name of Gloucestershire wicketkeeper Jack Russell is the first to be inked in.’

It’s a curious status to bestow on someone with only domestic county experience behind them, and as Russell rightly points out, part of being a truly great player is delivering under pressure at the highest level. While football fans might wonder if Lionel Messi really can do it on a cold and rainy night in Stoke, few would surely bestow the same significance upon a decent performance by a Test great during a county match in front of three old men and a dog.

Aside from his class with the gloves, Russell was a true fighter with the bat, producing some fine battling innings in tight situations: 29* in partnership with Mike Atherton during the latter’s 185* against South Africa is certainly the most famous, but his 31* against the West Indies to guide the team home in a tight run chase in 1995 also stands out.

Allied to his passion and patriotism, which really come across on the page, you’re left wondering if England really got the best out of him. Although apparently different in so many ways, Russell was, in some respects, very similar to many of his 90s colleagues: a player who suffered for a focus on what he was not rather than what he was, and a victim of constant tinkering with the team who would have benefited from more considered and sympathetic handling.

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Notes:

(1) In case you didn’t quite ‘get’ the reference – Jack Russell, dog, leash – the word ‘Barking?’ has also been written on the cover, almost as an afterthought.

(2) I suppose if you want to get technical, Russell did miss the first Test in Jamaica in 1998, quickly abandoned due to an unsuitable pitch.

(3) Gooch once told Russell that he should be the England wicketkeeper for the next 10 years, only for him to be dropped 18 months later.

(4) As with lots of these deciding matches, England did not win this particular ‘must-win’ game.

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