Interview: Mark Waugh

Mark Waugh has scored 81 first-class hundreds in his triumphant career, but the century he is closing in on as he sits in the foyer of a hotel in Oxford is not numbered among his favourites.

"I've totted it up and you must be the hundredth interview I've done in the last few weeks," he says. "I'll be glad when this lot is over."

Waugh is promoting a book about his life, a tome which suggests he doesn't care for revealing much about himself.

Open it at any page and you will uncover such snippets as "The visitors dictated play from the moment Kepler Wessels won the toss and batted, declaring at 9-436 in their first innings" or "An unbeaten 157 by left-hander Keith Arthurton dominated the West Indian reply of 371, a lead of 78". A Roy Keane-style disrepute charge is unlikely to follow the publication of this book. Unless, that is, it is for inflicting widespread narcolepsy on the reading public.

Still, he is here now, and it would be churlish not to try to engage his generation's most elegant batsman in conversation. So, as he has spent the best part of a month travelling Australia and now England talking up his book, in that time, which question has he been most frequently asked?

"That one," he says. "That bloody one: 'Which question have you been most asked?' Oh, and since I've come to England it's 'How can England improve ahead of the Ashes?' I get sick of that question. How can they improve? Bat, bowl and field better, that would be a start."

Bang goes my second question, then.

From his venture into prose and his interview technique, we can safely draw the conclusion that Mark Waugh's view of cricket, and indeed of life, is this: don't analyse, don't think, don't scrutinise, mate, just bloody get on with it. And as he sits nursing a pint, dressed head to toe in black, his knees constantly moving as if he is involuntarily practising Elvis impersonations, just bloody getting on with it is his first priority here.

"I don't like talking about myself at the best of times," he says. "It's awkward."

And, as he implies, these aren't the best of times for Mark Waugh. The player who, with his twin brother Steve, dominated world cricket for more than 10 years is now 37. Time is spinning past at a relentless pace. Both brothers have been dropped from Australia's one-day team and the talk in their home press is that when England travel down under for the Ashes series this winter it will be the first in 15 years in which they won't face a Waugh.

It might be thought that would hurt. Mark is Australia to his core. Tattooed on his fetlock are two green numbers: 349 and 105, signifying that he was the 349th Australian Test cap and the 105th one-day internationalist.

But if this is the end, if his place in history is to be now marked as indelibly in the record books as it is on his ankle, then Waugh seems determined to face up to it with the same shoulder-shrugging display of indifference that has characterised his every move in cricket.

"This last year or so, I've felt I'm playing for my place, yeah," he says, his knees now moving so fast he is in danger of wearing through the uphosltery. "You've got to be realistic. I'm not stupid; as you get older you know you've got to make more runs than you did last summer. To me, age is irrelevant, there's just performance to be judged on, but if the selectors are faced with two guys who are playing to the same level, they'll maybe lean towards the younger guy. But there's no point worrying about it, I've played 125 Tests."

Does he not, though, want to be in control of his end, perhaps by announcing his retirement ahead of the selectors' decision? Is there not a dignity in jumping before you are pushed?

"Nah, I don't care," he says. "It doesn't worry me, if I knew I'm not good enough I'd retire, but I think I'm good enough, so I'll keep going as long as I get picked. I'll leave it up to the selectors to tell me: 'That's it, mate.' I'd like to play in the World Cup, but it's a slim chance. They dropped myself and Stephen, I'd say, to build for the World Cup. But never say never. Someone might get injured."

And what will he do once he has packed it in?

"Haven't a clue, mate," he says. "Something in the sporting field."

Could he see himself coaching the next generation of Australians in the ways of Waugh?

"Nah, I don't wanna be a coach," he says. "I'm getting semi-bored with cricket. I couldn't watch a full day's play at a Test. Eight hours at the game? Couldn't do it. I might play golf. Rugby league, I love my rugby league, I'll watch a lot of that, I guess."

Semi-bored with cricket, an interesting observation from a man who has played it non-stop for the past 20 years. Maybe he is the final proof that there is too much of it played these days.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he says. "I've had a rest this winter, done nothing really for three months. Anyway, I'm not bored with playing, it's more the watching, the media, the interviews."

Which is a relief for the followers of Essex. Waugh has signed a two-week contract with the county for whom he played with such distinction in the early 90s. As soon as he has finished signing books he is off to Chelmsford to meet his new, very short-term colleagues.

"I'm not one for nets," he says. "I like to do my practising out in the middle. So this will be very useful for me."

Useful indeed. In his first innings back with the county, against Durham, Waugh scores a century, an innings he describes afterwards, with typical under-statement, as "nice". And some have suggested there could be more to it than just knocking himself into form against some friendly county bowling. David Lloyd, the former England coach, recently said that the decision of Essex and Kent - where Steve Waugh is temporarily ensconced - to invite the enemy into the camp ahead of the Ashes is crazy. They could learn all sorts of tricks to take home in advance of the series.

"That was a joke, wasn't it?" Waugh says. "Someone's gotta be joking there, mate. I don't think we need to spy on England. We've played against the same players for 10 years, I think we kind of know what to expect." And then he smiles a knowing smile.

Still, it seems a bizarre thing to come all the way to England for just two weeks at the meaningless tail-end of the summer. You can understand why Lloyd might weave a conspiracy theory around it.

"No," he says. "It's quite simple. They needed an overseas player for two weeks. It was either me or someone else. Simple. What's bizarre about it? There's about six other guys coming along as well, covering for other overseas guys going to the ICC Trophy."

Now that he is here, though, it will be good to catch up with Steve. Will the two of them get together and compare notes? At this question, Waugh looks to the rather elegantly ornate ceiling of the hotel. The inevitable link with his brother is clearly one that sets his teeth on edge.

"Being twins, everyone lumps you together," he says. "Your mum and dad dress you the same till you're about 14. Even now talking about myself, I find myself referring to we. I've noticed Stephen does the same. I even come over here for a fortnight and he's here, we didn't talk about it, wasn't planned, we just end up in the same place. But it doesn't worry us whether people compare us, or lump us together."

Maybe not, but one comparison is intriguing: what was it about them that meant it was Steve - the older by 10 minutes - who became Australian captain, whereas Mark was merely a player, albeit a senior one? Did Steve always take the lead when they were growing up?

"Not really," he says. "I've captained junior teams, that sort of thing. My trouble was I've always played with Mark Taylor and Stephen so I never got the chance to captain. I reckon I could've done as good a job."

So did his brother look to him for advice?

"No more than any other player."

However he might play down the importance of the relationship, the twins brought so much to the Australian team that in many ways they defined it for 10 years. Their inner resolve, their narrow-eyed commitment, their overwhelming competitiveness forged in games against each other in the yard of their Sydney home, communicated itself to their colleagues. When the Waughs were there, Australia were complete. What did he think was the single most important quality the two of them gave to Australia? A hatred of losing?

"Actually, I think Australians are good losers," he says. "I think we're good at it; when we lose we say 'Well done.' You know, Mark Butcher's innings last summer [when England won the Headingley Test], we admired that."

Yeah, well it is easy to be magnanimous when you're 2-0 up in a series.

"I know plenty who aren't," he says. "We always give the opposition credit. But that's one thing about us, you have to play bloody well to beat us, we don't let anyone win easy."

The Australian way in a nutshell. But before he heads off to Chelmsford, one question has to be asked: why did a man so uncomfortable with talking about himself consent to publishing a book about, well, himself?

"Simple, Harper Collins asked me," he says. "Seemed a good time. Why not? I might do another book when I retire, put in all the things I can't say now because I'm still contracted to the Australian Cricket Board."

Aha, so there is a lot more to come out?

"Yes. No. Maybe. Anyhow, I'm not telling you."

Which is the entertaining irony of Mark Waugh. Back in the early 90s, he got into all sorts of trouble after he accepted money from an Indian bookmaker known as John in exchange for information. If it was information he wanted, after 45 minutes in Waugh's company you can't help feeling poor old John was wasting his money.