Picture this: It's one o'clock in the morning and you are halfway through watching your second DVD. You're tired and know you should be sleeping but you don't want to because tomorrow you know how you will be feeling - and it isn't comfortable.
At 7am you're woken by your
alarm. Well, three alarms really, cause you're so anal you've set your watch, your cellphone and asked for a wake-up call. The light framing the edges of the curtains looks ominously bright and your suspicions are confirmed upon opening them: "Bugger! It's fine. Cricket today". Then you run straight to the toilet.
Your wife laughs at you as you do your Tai Chi. You've built it into your routine lately, as you desperately try to grab anything that eases the nerves and that you think will help you perform.
Breakfast at a five star hotel is one of the perks of the job, but the novelty has slowly worn off over the years. You eat what your stomach will allow before returning to your room and straight back into the toilet.
In the bus on the way to the ground you listen to your MP3 player. After numerous trips through duty free you've got quite a collection of gadgetry. The usual collection of classic hits soothes the nerves - and you hope you never quite arrive at the ground.
On arriving at the dressing room it's straight to the toilet again. God help the dressing room attendants if the toilet paper hasn't been refilled. After emerging you go to your usual spot in the changing room - that is if you went OK last time at this ground. If not, you fight it out with the newcomers for a suitable position. It is probably best if it is in close proximity to the toilet.
The whole idea of warm-ups is to get yourself physically and mentally ready to play cricket. For me, it involves a jog around, silently complaining about how stiff and sore I am, getting yelled at for cocking up the warm-up fielding exercise and then throwing a tantrum in response. Even though by this time you're ready for the toilet again, your routine dictates you go to the pitch for some shadow batting.
The pitch is barren and looks like a "belter" but, in your opinion and in contrast to the captain's, no pitch is ever flat enough to bat first on. You try hard to imagine yourself middling the ball and playing your flawless game, but your mind's eye just keeps on seeing "jaffas" dismissing you in every possible way. Eventually you give up and head back to the toilet.
As Stephen Fleming brushes past you on his way to the toss you say "Good luck bro" but really you are hoping for bad luck because the bastard plans on batting if he wins it. You watch as the coin goes up, hoping like hell the opposition captain gets interviewed first so you live another day - he doesn't - and you rush back to the toilet.
From this point on you have anywhere between one minute to six hours of worrying about getting out or getting hit. Whatever the outcome, runs or not, with your dismissal you simply start all over again - worrying about your next innings.
Now consider this: I have a reputation for being mentally strong! Well, I guess in a way that was true. The feelings I've just admitted to you actually occur, but where I've managed to succeed is that I learned to accept them for what they are: a by-product of the desire to succeed at a game that challenges you in every way.
I imagine anxiety and self doubt exist with the majority of sports and business people who challenge themselves and it is those who face it head on, rather than running from it, that succeed.
I faced my cricket demons on a daily basis and, through a detailed and structured training and mental routine, I ensured they did not impact on my ability to perform. It was an extensive and tiring process, but one in which I trusted and which was imperative for me to succeed at the highest level.
Then one morning not so long ago, I woke up and decided I couldn't stick to this routine any longer. I came to the realisation that I could no longer contribute as I had in the past. That is why I retired.
* Look forward to more Mark Richardson columns throughout the summer of cricket.
Picture this: It's one o'clock in the morning and you are halfway through watching your second DVD. You're tired and know you should be sleeping but you don't want to because tomorrow you know how you will be feeling - and it isn't comfortable.
At 7am you're woken by your
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