Justin Langer: The Man Who Loved Cricket

Unlike the various footballs, the coach has never been a central figure in cricket. The most important job in Australia after the prime minister, in the words of the former prime minister, is not the coach, but the captain of the (men’s) Australian cricket team. The rationale has usually been that a fast moving all-in game like football benefits from a cool head on the sidelines who can see things that the captain can’t while playing. Cricket on the other hand has an in-built observer occupying that role in the form of the captain.

These days, the extra analysing pair of eyes which sees something the captain cannot is not another person but a computer. Data analysis is an essential off-field tool in the modern professional game. Other essential off-field tools are a large contingent of technical specialists and professionals – specific coaches for batting, bowling and fielding, physiotherapists, dietitians, psychologists…

What does the coach add to this mix? There was no coach of the men’s Australian cricket team before 1986, when Bob Simpson was appointed to smooth over the cracks in the post-World Series Cricket era, and he saw himself as a temporary measure. The coach of the most recent Golden Age of Australian cricket was John Buchanan, who on the one hand was a data nerd and on the other a daggy camp activity coordinator (“There was everything from fly-fishing to wrestling to poetry. I took the players on a trip to an albatross rookery in Dunedin”).

I had to look up who the coach was between John Buchanan and Mickey Arthur (it was Tim Nielsen and that’s all I’ve got). Mickey Arthur will go down in history as the instigator of Homeworkgate and a symbol of insane unAustralian schoolmarmishness. Then, from the unAustralian ridiculous to the Australian sublime: enter the laconic, mesmerising Darren Lehmann. Lehmann seemed to be specifically chosen as a personification of calm, no-bullshit Australian blokiness. A good sport, but one that could stop you in your tracks with a look. The human pub test.

It seems to me that this represented a first in cricket. The coach-as-charismatic-personality has a long history in the various footballs, but star power has (or had) never been a defining characteristic of the cricket coach. The coach is not supposed to draw focus, but after Lehmann was appointed there seemed to shift in the direction of televised play: any significant moment on the field prompted a “cross” to Lehmann in the box for a reaction shot. I called it Boofcam. I don’t remember this happening before his tenure.

One gate closes, another one opens. With Sandpaper gate, the Lehmann cult of blokiness was hoist on its own petard. It’s worth mentioning at this point that the actual catalyst for Mickey Arthur’s departure was not Homeworkgate, but David Warner punching Joe Root in a pub. According to Arthur, he expressed his frustration at this behaviour to James Sutherland and was replaced by Lehmann not long after. That went well.

So, Justin Langer. Justin Langer may or may not have represented the culture change he was supposed to in comparison to Darren Lehman, but he was certainly no departure from the cult of coaching personality. On the contrary. If The Test documentary is and will be the story of Justin Langer in many ways, one of them is the way it places the coach at the centre of the narrative of the Australian cricket team - literally. That cover image with the players huddled in the dressing room around an intensely gesticulating Langer - can you imagine this kind of shot being staged with any other Australian cricket coach? I sat through the first episode of The Test with a stopwatch, and 46% of the screen time – 19 mins 25 seconds out of 42 – is about Justin Langer: he is either the subject of the shot, talking or being talked about. This is the man with a philosophy of “we over me”.

Around Justin Langer are the data analysts, the batting, bowling and fielding coaches, the technical specialists and professionals. What does Justin Langer add to this mix? His self-appointed role seems to be the Man Who Loves Cricket. He philosophises, speechifies, and harangues. He stares, sulks and storms out of rooms. He throws a lot of “fuckens” into his speeches, so you know he really means it. He is completely suffocating and this becomes part of the “character-driven” narrative of the documentary. Drama behind the scenes, ho, ho ho.

Cricket and good labour relations have never been an easy fit – just ask World Series Cricket. The fact that elite athletes are professionals is more or less fully accepted these days, but the fact that this implies a mundane set of workplace entitlements seems to encounter resistance. I think this because part of the definition of athleticism is the ability to not complain in the face of adversity – heat, pain, injury, exhaustion, failure. This definition is now testing its limits in the case of things like concussions, but only now, and what next?

It seems strange in this day and age to defend men who create uncomfortable work environments on the grounds that they are legendary figures who get results, but there we go - the tradition of doing so clearly outweighs the recent revolt. On top of that tradition is the sporting code mentioned above, as though beneath the protests of those defending the legendary Langer is an implicit question to the players – “Isn’t it your job to put up with shit?”

The thing is, Langer has failed on his own terms. You can go on about all the wins that happened on his watch as much as you like, but as far as he is concerned, “at the end of my coaching career, I’ll judge myself not on how many titles I win, but how many wedding and christening invitations I get because it means that I’ve had an effect on a player’s life; they know I care for them. Obviously, our business is winning games of cricket, but if I get wedding and christening invitations, I know it’s more than just winning and losing games of cricket.” Justin set the KRAs, and apparently did not meet them. Hoist on his own petard.