Michael Hogan: Pub cricket, tragedy, fairy-tale

NICK FRIEND: It makes for a truly unique tale – one that begins with the concrete wickets of The Cricketers Arms; worlds away from the regiment of academy pressures. It ends on the other side of the globe in the balmy calm of Sophia Gardens

A 21-year-old Michael Hogan would refuse to believe what has happened since.

Cricket was a hobby, no more than a Saturday pastime – certainly never a career option.

After his early teenage years though, the pair – Hogan and the sport itself – had lost each other. It wasn’t that he had fallen out of love with the game, but that other interests took over.

While his peers on the state circuit were hardening their skills and learning the athlete life, Hogan was the opposite. An upbringing in Wallsend, New South Wales, never lent itself to professional cricket. It would be eight years before he rekindled that bug, turning out each weekend for his local pub.

It makes for a truly unique tale – one that begins with the concrete wickets of The Cricketers Arms, in-game drinking, a morning surf; worlds away from the regiment of academy pressures. It ends on the other side of the globe in the balmy calm of Sophia Gardens.

Since the days of that glorious beacon of amateurism, fate has been both cruel and kind. Hogan has ridden a fortuitous wave; he has battled personal heartbreak; he has emigrated from the comfort of his homeland, signing away the tantalising chalice of the Baggy Green in the process; he has become one of English cricket’s foremost operators.

And almost two decades on from his previous existence – he worked as a groundsman for his local council at one stage and as an installer of television cables at another, the 38-year-old is not done yet.

“Everyone has that ambition – they want to be a professional cricketer,” he reflects with a thoughtfulness that never leaves. Hogan's story, you see, comes with a rare perspective.

“It has got to be one of the best jobs – I know there’s the cliché of doing something you love for a living, but it’s true. Never did I think – particularly at 28 – that it was going to be my life for the next 10 years.”

28. Because that was when his break came along.

He remains the spearhead of Glamorgan’s bowling attack as he edges towards his 600th first-class wicket. It is some achievement for a man whose professional debut only came in 2008.

***

The Cricketers Arms.

A finishing school like none other. A hotel, a drinking establishment, a pub team, an institution that reawakened Hogan’s flame and revived his interest in playing the game that, nearly 20 years later, is his livelihood.

An elite athlete to emerge from a pub. A reminder that there is hope for those missed by talent-spotters in their youth – he was never selected for representative cricket as a teenager. An advert for relaxed enjoyment over premature immersion in a cauldron of expectation. A lesson: it is never too late.

“It was brilliant,” Hogan smiles. “Just a laugh and a few beers on a Saturday afternoon. It was a bit of a routine. You’d get up and go for a surf in the morning. I used to play in shorts.

"We used to have a couple of cans during the game. This was our Saturday; it was what we’d do. And then we’d go back to the pub afterwards.

“There were some good cricketers in there as well, who didn’t have the time to play all day, so they’d just play in the afternoon and enjoy themselves. It was good fun. Playing with all different types of characters, all different ages. There were guys who were 60 years old but still loved the game.

“It was never really 100 percent full on, but I was quite raw in terms of my control and that sort of stuff. There was nobody watching you, it was just having a bit of fun.”

^{Michael Hogan made his professional cricketing debut as a 28-year-old}

His pace stood out, but only as much as it truly could do in this environment – the antithesis of any breeding ground for a future pro. It was only for a year and to suggest that Hogan leapt from pub to professionalism is to ignore a key period in between, but it remains a unique beginning.

To a certain extent, Hogan was simply operating in the wrong area. Newcastle was hardly off the beaten path – it was known for producing Test seamers, including Gary Gilmour, but it wasn’t Sydney.

A spell in the big city eventually followed, though it proved a struggle. Back into the relative wilderness he went, honing his craft in first grade cricket at Merewether CC, before setting on a final crack in Sydney.

Aged 27, he had finally snuck onto the radar; he ended the season as one of the league’s top three wicket-takers.

But still, an amateur three years from 30: raw, no experience of the rigours of the professional game, a childhood sheltered from sport science and its nuances, a body never moulded by physiotherapy for life as a fast bowler, a bolt from the blue.

The dream remained distant, even if it was slowly pulling into view.

“Your lifespan is dictated by how well you start, I suppose,” Hogan surmises of his own route. “You see all these guys who come through the junior system as fast bowlers and don’t seem to last as long.

“I still don’t smash myself in the gym. I prefer to get out there and run and just bowl overs. Don’t get me wrong, I still do a lot of it, but my biggest asset is my bowling, so that’s what I prefer to do before I concentrate on anything else.

“I’m sure if I had been more dedicated to the game or not as lazy as I was in my late teens, I may have played sooner.”

***

It was shortly after the new year had kicked in, still months from that long-awaited professional deal.

A brutal bombshell. Hogan’s younger brother passed away in a car accident.

It was a tragedy that brought with it a realisation, a Eureka moment amid the sadness.

“That was probably the trigger, I guess,” Hogan reflects.

It was a clap of thunder; a painful eye-opener to life’s ruthlessness, to the need to make the most of each day.

There is an audible anguish locked in the Australian’s voice as he recalls an episode that would change his outlook on his own existence.

“I’d had half of that summer in Sydney and was doing quite well but still, rather than work my backside off, I would play the game and then go out and have a few beers. That was the norm.

“I think, probably after that, that awareness – not that you’re wasting your life, but that you’re wasting your talent, that there’s an opportunity. That particular moment was a proper kick up the arse. You’re wasting something that potentially could take you anywhere.”

^{Only seven men have taken more Sheffield Shield wickets than Michael Hogan's 221 (in 60 just matches)}

When Hogan looks back at an emotional nadir, he does so with a remarkable consideration. He is a slow talker; each word is measured; each phrase is deliberate. He never speaks for words’ sake. There is meaning to his thoughts, especially as he looks back on this trauma.

“I think it changed the way I prepared more than anything,” he says of his brother’s death.

“That club cricket mentality – you have your Tuesday and Thursday training and then you have a few beers after that. You play the game on Saturday and go out and have a few more beers. That was the cycle.

“It’s a habit – it’s a great social, but if you want to move further then you have to buck that trend. I was happy, I enjoyed a good time, I was happy to go through that cycle.

“But then, that realisation that you’re wasting something – those next three months were really to knuckle-down and cut out that sort of stuff and work on my game. That’s probably got me to where I am now.”

The passing of time has allowed an extraordinary clarity to rise as a phoenix from the depths of the tragedy. Without one, he acknowledges, the other may never have occurred.

It is a lesson that nobody would ever wish to learn in such circumstances, but the chapter flicked a switch in Hogan’s attitude towards the sport.

“I probably should have taken some time away from the game,” he reminisces. He had been selected to play a second-team game for New South Wales on the back of his efforts in grade cricket.

“I went and I played pretty much straight away and then we had the funeral straight after. I flew to Adelaide, played the game – didn’t do very well, funnily enough, and I didn’t let anyone know either.

“All my life was back in Newcastle. The news then filtered back as to what had happened and I got another opportunity a few weeks later and New South Wales were very good about it.”

It is a tough tale, but a necessary one in understanding all that Hogan has achieved since. In the aftermath to the crash, cricket took on a new importance – not just on a personal level, but to a grieving family. To Hogan, the game became more than that; it was a symbol of what was achievable.

“It has always been a massive thing for us,” he explains. “My brother was a bit of a nomad really. He did enjoy playing cricket, but he was everywhere.

“He was the younger brother; he enjoyed the game, he played as a junior, he was very similar to me really. Other things took over in his life and he put cricket on the backburner.

“The family was quite cricket-orientated, so the focus on cricket was probably pretty important for everyone.”

***

That was life: a budding fast bowler on the amateur scene in a country with seamers brimming from oval to oval. Hogan was collateral.

Just another one of those urban myths – one of those desperately talented athletes who never, for whatever reason, get their break. The speedster running amok in the bush. The talk of the pubs.

“I enjoyed playing the game like everyone does,” he says. “But I wouldn’t have watched any first-class cricket.

"Any cricket I would have watched would have been on the TV and would have been international cricket. They were the heroes – but these guys playing first-class cricket, I wouldn’t know anything about it, really.”

But then, at the end of a successful season, just months on from his brother's death, the phone rang.

A different kind of phone call – the type that alters careers. On the other end of the line was Tom Moody, then Western Australia coach. The state was holding a centre-wicket trial the next day, and Hogan was invited.

Three days later, he signed his first professional contract.

To this day, there is a question that irks Hogan – how did Moody know of this gangly late bloomer? How did he get his number? Who tipped him off?

He has asked, but Moody won’t tell.

“He basically said: ‘Look, we’ve got a trial and we’d like you to come over.’ It was quite rushed as well – it was pretty much the next day, so I was on the next flight over to Perth,” he recalls with a chuckle.

“We had a practice there and within three or four days of that, I’d signed my first contract with Western Australia. It was quite a whirlwind.”

^{Hogan has been a talismanic figure at Glamorgan since joining the county under Matthew Mott's leadership in 2013}

There is an element of fairy-tale to it all – not in the nightmare that preceded it, but in the sheer fortune of a conversation he believed was little more than a wind-up.

“When he called and said who he was, I thought he was taking the piss,” Hogan laughs.

“It probably helped that I didn’t have much time to think about it. It was a case of finding my spikes and getting over there. It was all a bit rushed and probably helped me in the end as I wasn’t too nervous when I got there.

“That phone call was a bit like: ‘Hang on, something could actually happen here.’ But it was never something where I thought: ‘This is what I want to do.’”

The rest, as they say, is history. In Sheffield Shield cricket, only seven men, including Terry Alderman and Dennis Lillee, have taken more wickets for Western Australia; none played fewer games than Hogan. It is a phenomenal record; one that stands him out as a relative freak.

“In my first game at the WACA, I got excited by the bounce and I bowled a few bouncers,” he chuckles.

“Tom Moody pulled me aside after a couple of sessions and just said: ‘You’re not a fast bowler. You are a length bowler and this is what we’re going to concentrate on.’ From that conversation, that’s all I’ve worked on. It has worked beautifully for me.”

He credits his background with his longevity. He has never allowed himself to fly too high nor to fall too low. Perspective – that key word, again.

“It definitely helped in terms of respecting the position that you’re in and how good it actually was. A lot of hard work goes into it, but how good it actually was to play sport and get paid for it.

“I feel like some of the young players who come through the junior systems almost get a fast-track ride – particularly in Australia – into the professional setup and they don’t respect the position they’re in. It’s frustrating sometimes to watch that happen.”

It is why, to an extent, leaving for Wales – and the draw of Glamorgan – was a straightforward move when he arrived for the 2013 season through his British passport. In Matthew Mott and Marcus North, he was joining an Australian axis of coach and captain.

Yet, it meant signing away his baggy green; in a sense, the expulsion of a pipedream – a sentimentally difficult decision made easier by circumstances and an acknowledgement of the bigger picture that comes with a unique road.

“I knew where I stood, which is fair enough,” he says.

While he ended the 2012-13 domestic season in Australia with more wickets than James Pattinson, Doug Bollinger, Jackson Bird and an up-and-coming Josh Hazlewood, Mickey Arthur had stated his preference for an international attack full of youthful exuberance and pace. Had Justin Langer been in charge, who knows?

***

And thus, a final chapter. And the least likely: Welsh children. Hogan’s two kids were born in Australia, but all they know is Wales. Glamorgan has become his life and their home.

He has led the county; he has been its stalwart through a turbulent time. In 2013, no man on earth took more first-class wickets in the calendar year: 108 scalps fell his way.

“The two kids are Welsh-speaking and they have Welsh accents,” he laughs. “I have no idea what they’re saying. All I know is how to count and I don’t even know what the numbers are – I just know when the kids are counting.”

He signed a new contract earlier this season – one that will keep him playing through 2020, and into his 40th year.

He admits he may well not have had the opportunity had he not relinquished the red-ball captaincy at the end of last season. Glamorgan endured a miserable year, winning just twice and losing 10 times as Hogan’s charges finished bottom of Division Two.

He presents a cautionary warning of the difficulties that come with the emotional grind of the County Championship circuit.

“I think if I had kept going, I may have been done after this year,” he confesses. “Since I’ve given up the captaincy, I have really enjoyed this year. It has been a lot easier and it is such a weight lifted off your shoulders.

“Last year was quite tough. We had a very young side and we had a really poor season – way below everyone’s expectations as well.

“Trying to monitor players’ emotions and players’ thoughts when you’re going through a tough period – young players who have lost five, six, seven games on the bounce and trying to get them up for a game against Sussex with Jofra Archer and Chris Jordan and stuff like that. It’s impossible.

“I read something that Alex Wakely said about taking the game home with you. That was exactly it for me. My whole character changed – I was up late, trying to work out a way that we could get through the rough patch we were in. Mentally, it would have finished me.”

Hogan, however, has been through more than most.

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