The Wood Life E-Book

Mark Wood

• Herausgeber: Allen & Unwin
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 351

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

*WINNER OF THE 2023 SPORTS BOOK AWARDS SPORTS ENTERTAINMENT BOOK OF THE YEAR* *FOREWORD BY BEN STOKES* Hallo - I'm Mark Wood. As an England and Durham cricketer who was born, raised and refined in Ashington, Northumberland, my life has been quite unique. Over the course of my career so far, I've won an Ashes and a World Cup in an international career that at the time of writing is going on seven years and counting. Being a fast bowler like myself is up there with the toughest of all sporting pursuits, like being Tyson Fury's punchbag or working behind the bar during the darts at Ally Pally. Being a cricketer? There's nothing like it. And doing it for England? Well, I'm lucky to call it a profession. There's been a lot of hard work along the way. Plenty of sacrifices and pain to accompany the good times that make them all worthwhile. I've been everywhere, from Barbados to Brisbane, Chester-le-Street to Chennai, waiting rooms to operating tables. I've played in some of the most exotic locations in the world and eaten margherita pizzas in every single one of them. To be honest, it's amazing I've waited this long to bring out my own self-help book.

Leseprobe

THE WOOD LIFE

THE WOOD LIFE

By MARK WOOD

with Vithushan Ehantharajah

Published in hardback in Great Britain in 2022 by Allen & Unwin, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

Copyright © Mark Wood, 2022

The moral right of Mark Wood to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright,Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Plate section photography credits: Page 2 – middle photograph by Justin Tallis/Getty Images, bottom photograph by Gareth Copley/Getty Images; Page 3 – top and middle photographs by Randy Brooks/Getty Images; Page 4 – bottom photograph by Gareth Copley-ICC/Getty Images; Page 5 – top photograph by Clive Mason/Getty Images; all other featured images courtesy of the author.

Every effort has been made to trace or contact all copyright holders.The publishers will be pleased to make good any omissions or rectifyany mistakes brought to their attention at the earliest opportunity.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Hardback ISBN: 978 1 83895 580 9E-book ISBN: 978 1 83895 581 6

Printed in Great Britain

Allen & UnwinAn imprint of Atlantic Books LtdOrmond House26–27 Boswell StreetLondonWC1N 3JZ

www.allenandunwin.com/uk

To Mam, Dad, Sarah, Harry andAshington Cricket Club

CONTENTS

Foreword by Ben Stokes

Introduction

1 How to Celebrate

2 How to Kill Time

3 How to Be Fast

4 How to Love

5 How to Travel

6 How to Stay Healthy

7 How to Keep Level

8 How to Be True to Yourself

9 Q & A

Epilogue: Mark Wood, A Second Opinion by Miles Jupp

Plate Section

Foreword

by Ben Stokes

People always ask me what Mark Wood is like. Not so much the player, because you can tell what fast bowlers are like pretty easily. They’re not the most sophisticated. But people are always fascinated by Mark Wood, the person. I’m probably quite well placed to give them an answer because of how long we have known each other.

The first time I remember us coming across each other was when he was playing for Northumberland and I was playing for Cumbria. Apparently, we also played club cricket against each other at a competition in York, him and his Ashington boys against my side, Cockermouth. We won, of course. The first time we spent time together properly, though, was in the Durham Academy. Woody was the year above me, so he was sixteen and I was a year younger. Then, fifteen years later, we’ve played together for Durham first team, and are teammates with England in all three formats. All while becoming best mates.

When I think about all that time we’ve spent together, my answer about what Woody is like is simple: he’s been the same throughout. What you see as a thirty-two-yearold is what he was like as a sixteen-year-old. Though I’m not sure which way around is worse – the fact he was the same at sixteen as he is at thirty-two or the same at thirty-two as he was at sixteen? Either way, it’s why we get on.

What you see is what you get with Woody. He was always the joker of the class. The clown who was always making people laugh and not taking things outside of cricket too seriously. But when it came to cricket, he turned it on but still always had the enjoyment, trying to make it fun for himself and everyone around him.

The first time I played Minor Counties cricket against him, he was a middle-order batter and bowled little mediums, which shows how times have changed. Because he’s definitely not a middle-order batter now. To be fair, he’s not a medium pacer either. I think there was a stage at the academy when I might have bowled a bit quicker than him. Then he started bowling rockets and didn’t look back.

When you progress through the ranks and end up with the greatest honour, that is to represent your country, you’re going to play with a lot of people because the nature of that level is that people for any number of reasons come in and out of the team. So it’s always special that me and Woody have been able to do it at the highest level with people that we grew up playing with – both each other and from an age-group point of view as well.

I remember when I gave Woody his fiftieth ODI cap, which was the semi-final of the 2019 World Cup against Australia. For milestones like that, very often an ex-player hands over the cap. But as someone who has been close to Woody for so long, when Eoin Morgan asked me to do the honours, I said absolutely.

Not too many people would know the ins and outs of Woody’s career when it came to the challenges he has overcome. I probably know more than most about how the injury side has affected him. Two years before the World Cup there was a time when – he won’t mind me saying – he was at a real low point. It’s not as simple as ‘Oh, he’s injured again.’ There are a lot of deeper things like that with what Woody went through: it’s your confidence in your body, it’s the afterthought of ‘How many games can I put together?’ Or, ‘If I have one more injury, is that going to be it?’ It’s not as simple as an ‘injury’, if that makes sense. There’s so much more to it. Knowing how that affected him, and then to see him where he was when I was giving him his fiftieth cap, was something I had to mention because it was more than playing fifty games for England, it’s everything else he had been through on the ride to get here.

When you’ve been on the journey Woody and I had to get here for England, you can’t not think about all the other things we’ve been through on the way. Because it’s not normal, is it? Or rather, it’s not given. From being fifteen and playing together to being in our thirties representing England in a World Cup, there’s so much that goes on between us.

I want to say I knew to say all that off the top of my head when I gave him the cap, but I actually had notes written down on the palm of my hand so I didn’t forget anything. I had little bullet points in ballpoint pen written down.

MARK WOOD:Sorry to interrupt, Stokesy, especially where you’re being so nice about us. But did you have to write them at a funny angle because of your broken fingers?

Aye, I did. But that’s the thing, I had to make sure I got it right, said everything I needed to say. It meant a lot to you, and it also meant a lot to me. It was great I could be a part of that special moment. I’ve been part of other moments with Woody as well for England.

You know when they say you’re a product of your environment and how you’ve been raised? Well, Woody is the epitome of that.

Whenever Woody and I were travelling, Woody’s mam would always buy Percy Pigs because she knows I like Percy Pigs. Woody does that for other people – he’s always looking out for other people. He’ll always know if someone is ill and his first reaction is ‘Ah, right, I’ll go to the shop and get them this.’

He’s a very generous person, very thoughtful and one of the guys who will always look after his peers. Which in a way is weird because he is one of the tightest people with money I’ve ever met. For example, whenever we’d do something together, like going for a bit of an adventure, a walk or something social when we’re on tour, he’d come out and you could tell he was just in sponsor’s gear, head to toe in New Balance or England kit. I’d have to ask: ‘Woody, is anything you’re wearing paid for?’ And the answer was always ‘Nah.’

As for a self-help book, I was a bit surprised when Woody told us that he was doing one. But, thinking about it, I don’t know that there’s a better cricketer to write one than Woody.

There are always those people you’ve got to feel comfortable going to for advice, especially when it’s serious. For Woody, as someone I spend so much time with, it’s natural. One thing he’s always been very good at, especially when I’ve grown as a more senior player, is reassuring me. Whenever I speak, and it’s not something I do particularly often, he’ll always come over and say, ‘Ah, mate, that was mint.’ I would say he gives everybody that kind of reassurance.

Come to think of it, the best bit of advice I’ve ever been given was from Woody.

One night I fell asleep with chewing gum in my mouth and woke up with the chewing gum stuck in my hair. He was the first person I had to get to: ‘Woody, I’ve got chewing gum in my hair!’ I was thinking, ‘Oh no, I’m going to have to freeze it, I’m going to need to do all sorts.’ Then Woody rang Sarah and she calmly said, ‘Oh aye, just put conditioner in it and it will just fall out.’ I was like, ‘Give over, that is not going to work. No chance. Absolute rubbish.’ And it worked! Chewing gum out of the hair. Amazing. To this day, I think that’s still the best piece of advice I’ve been given.

MARK WOOD:I mean, technically that didn’t come from me, so I don’t know if I can claim credit for that. But I’ll take it. More nuggets this way…

INTRODUCTION

Self-help books have always fascinated us. I mean, it’s kind of weird as a concept, right? ‘Here’s what you need to do to be a better person.’ It’s quite a big claim to say you’ve got all the answers to life’s questions. Everyone’s different, everyone has their own lives and what they want to achieve from them. Not everyone likes the same old thing. We’re all unique, and all have different tastes. It’s like what they say about Bovril or Marmite – you either like it or you’re wrong.

Hallo – I’m Mark Wood, by the way. Probably should have started with that. There’s your first lesson: always introduce yourself first.

As an England and Durham cricketer who was born, raised and refined in Ashington, Northumberland, my life has been quite unique. Over the course of my career so far, I’ve won an Ashes and a World Cup in an international career that at the time of writing is going on seven years and counting.

Being a fast bowler like myself is up there with the toughest of all sporting pursuits, like being Tyson Fury’s punchbag or working behind the bar during the darts at Ally Pally.

Being a cricketer? There’s nothing like it. And doing it for England? Well, I’m lucky to call it a profession. There’s been a lot of hard work along the way. Plenty of sacrifices and pain to accompany the good times that make them all worthwhile.

I’ve been everywhere, from Barbados to Brisbane, Chester-le-Street to Chennai, waiting rooms to operating tables. I’ve played in some of the most exotic locations in the world and eaten margherita pizzas in every single one of them. To be honest, it’s amazing I’ve waited this long to bring out my own self-help book.

I don’t claim to have all the answers. I’m still trying to work some of them out myself, to be honest. And writing this book has definitely got me closer to a few of them.

The answers I do have are probably to questions you never really thought of asking. What does it feel like to bowl over 90 miles an hour? How do you have a great time without alcohol? How do you overcome nerves to give some of the best wedding speeches ever heard in the north-east of England? Why does Joe Root need so many bats? And how do you successfully raise, flog (and later put down) an imaginary horse? Well, you’ve picked up the right book.

Cards on the table, you are likely to get to the end of this book and not learn much useful at all. Certainly not much you’ll be able to put into practice. There’s only so much I’m going to be able to teach you. Some of it you’ll already know, like how Ferrero Rochers are mankind’s greatest achievement and that you should never sit next to Ben Stokes on a bumpy flight. At the very least you might get a few laughs at my expense.

Perhaps this is more of a ‘not-so-helpful self-help book’. There really should be more of those. ‘Here’s how I cocked up.’ I’d read that all day. Because we make mistakes all the time, don’t we? Mistakes are what make us human. Hopefully this book isn’t one of them, mind.

Throughout these pages, important people from my life will drop in to tell you their side of my story. The reason I am in the position I’m in is down to many who have helped me over the years and those who supported and believed in my ability and in me as a person, throughout. I’ll be honest with you, though: take what some of them say with a pinch of salt. Especially my lifelong mates Jonny Storey, Scott Dunn, Glen Taylor and Daniel Grant, my England colleagues Jos Buttler and Chris Woakes. Oh, and my parents, Derek and Angela Wood. Apart from when they say nice stuff about us. In fact, all the nice stuff is true. Hope that helps.

I should also say, in lieu of a glossary, there will be some moments that might jar if you’re not from these parts. At times I’ll use ‘us’ instead of ‘me’. ‘Gan’ means ‘go’, ‘mint’ can mean either ‘good’ or ‘great’. The word ‘canny’ is just as versatile – ‘good’, ‘lovely’ and even chucked in front of the word ‘mint’ to say something’s really good. And, of course, ‘ha-way’ or ‘h’way’, which can mean ‘come on’ in a positive way – ‘ha-way the lads’ – or negatively, like ‘ha-way man, what are you playing at?!’

Anything I’ve missed should be self-explanatory. By the end of this book, you should learn a bit more about me, pick up a few life lessons and feel comfortable walking into Toon (town) and ordering a ham and pease pudding sandwich with a pint of Newcy Brown (or lemonade).

With that, enjoy, and welcome to The Wood Life.

1

HOW TO CELEBRATE

Contrary to popular belief, you don’t need alcohol to celebrate. I would know. I don’t touch the stuff.

No one seems to believe me. Maybe it’s because of how I am naturally, people just assume I’m always high on something. But I’ve never needed or wanted it.

Not everyone knows what to do with that information. Whenever I’m in a bar, folk will come up being nice and ask to get me something. ‘What are you drinking?’ Water, please. ‘Woody’s so funny! What is he like?!’ No, seriously, I’m drinking water. ‘Ha, what a lad. What is it?’ Seriously, just water’s fine. ‘Ah, he’s on the vodka, isn’t he?’

When I was playing club cricket in Australia, I went into this pub that was serving all your Aussie staples: Queensland’s XXXX, Victoria Bitter – all the beers you see on playing shirts. Then I saw a woman at the bar nursing this red drink. I asked her what it was: raspberry lemonade, which sounded quite nice.

‘Barman, can I get one of these raspberry lemonades?’ He stopped dead and looked me up and down: ‘You OK, mate?’ ‘Ermmm, yeah, fine pal. I just want a raspberry lemonade.’

It’s not a religious thing either. I just can’t stand the stuff.

It all started as a fourteen-year-old at a house party in Ashington with my mates and this lass who I quite fancied. It was my first proper house party as well, so I’m trying to act cool – like I do this all the time.

Anyway, this lass, I don’t know if she fancied me, but she was like, ‘If you neck this beer, I’ll take my top off.’ Obviously, I go to neck it – my first ever beer. Obviously, I don’t neck it. Obviously, I’m then sick everywhere and have to leave out of embarrassment.

Ever since, I’ve hated the taste. Honestly, hate it. I don’t think there’s anything that tastes worse on the planet. I suppose though the hate goes a bit deeper than the taste with it having those bad memories for me as a kid.

My next and definitely final beer came when we won the 2019 World Cup. Not by choice, mind. For the whole build-up to the final, Stokesy was on at me. Even on the morning of the game, he wouldn’t let it go.

‘If we win, you have to have a beer!’ I kept telling him ‘ner, man’, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s not an easy man to say no to and this was not something I was going to budge on, so we went around and around. In the end, I was sick of him going on about it, so I agreed.

Didn’t let me forget, did he? That Sunday night, we’re all in the changing room and Stokesy collars me, hands me a beer and says, ‘Right – see that off.’ I start getting flashbacks. Even the smell. God – how can you? Any of you? It’s vile. But given we wouldn’t be there celebrating a historic win without him, I suppose I can do this for him.

I nursed it for three hours, so it was basically 30 degrees when I eventually finished it. Proud – and a bit sick – I went over to Stokesy and said, ‘There you go,’ handing him the empty bottle. Of course, he had no clue what I was on about – he was a few sheets to the wind at this point. Understandably so.

BEN STOKES:Right, I’ve got to jump in here because that’s not exactly how I put it. I said if we win this World Cup, I want to share a beer with you. I didn’t force it down you!

MARK WOOD:Aye, that’s fair.

STOKES:But it was surreal anyway, because I had Woody drinking a beer at the World Cup final, and then Woody’s mother was nursing my daughter, Livy, who was only four or five at the time. She was feeding her Powerade. The kids were just running wild and I walked in and see Woody’s mam dripping blue Powerade into Livy’s mouth because she wanted a drink. I just remember thinking, ‘This is mint!’

WOOD:Good old Angela. Always good with the kids.

I had to wash the taste out with something. Luckily, we had this fridge full of still and sparking water. I cracked through those and, when that was done, had a couple of Powerades. I know, I know, mixing my drinks until 3 a.m. What an animal!

The next day there was a function at The Oval to meet the fans. Stokesy hadn’t slept by the time we set off for the event. There’s a great picture of all the lads with their tired eyes and shades while me, Adil Rashid and Moeen Ali were fresh as daisies while thousands of kids were running around screaming.

The great thing about celebrating wins in cricket is that it doesn’t change the further up you go. Even after an incredible win like that, the changing room is always the place to be.

After beating New Zealand in that nail-biter, we all celebrated in the pavilion with friends and family. We then made our way back up to the changing room, where Jos Buttler had written the lyrics to the victory song he and I had come up with on his match bat.

It’s the Liverpool ‘Allez’ song. Our version goes like this:

We’ve conquered all the world

We’re never gonna stop

From Lord’s down to Sydney

We’ve won the bloomin’ lot

Our heartbeat is Mark Saxby

Our captain is Morgan

Taking the cap forward

As the World Champions

Allez allez allez!

Mark Saxby is the team’s support coach. His official title is ‘team masseur’ but he does every little job. He goes out of his way to do all the little things, whether that’s filling water bottles or tidying up – things we should do ourselves, really. He keeps morale up and keeps people grounded. He’s funny, genuine and very trusted – there’s nothing he doesn’t know about us. It’s a bit like a hairdresser: you get chatting idly while getting a rub-down and before you know it you’ve unloaded everything about your life onto him, and feel better for it. He really is our heartbeat.

We must have sung that song a hundred times. We sang another one about Jos as well, to the tune of ‘Feeling Hot Hot Hot’:

Jose, Jose…

Jose, Jose…

Jossy But-But-ler!

Not quite as lyrically challenging, but fun to sing all the same. There’s a Stokesy chant as well, to the tune of ‘Three Lions’. I came up with it, but I can’t print it. Maybe in my next book, when we’re all old, fat and retired. We’ll see.

Cricket’s one of those sports where there are a lot of opportunities to celebrate. In football or rugby, you score a goal or a try and go big. In cricket, you’ve got wickets, fifties, hundreds, catches and run-outs – plenty of moments when you can go big. Lots of bowlers have pre-planned celebrations to wickets, like Sheldon Cottrell’s salute, Shahid Afridi’s Starman pose or Hasan Ali’s punch the ground and explode up, but I’ve never thought about having a pre-planned one. I’m not the type. More often than not I’m just thrilled I’ve managed to take a wicket and so I run around screaming like a loony. For a while Joe Root and I did this American Football-style jump into each other whenever one of us did something in an ODI. I think we did it first off-the-cuff in a football warm-up and thought, right, that’s cool, let’s do that again when one of us does something good on the pitch. But we’ve not done it recently because I think we both forgot.

*

One of the greatest things about cricket culture is it doesn’t change, whether you’re in a club third XI or playing for England. Provided you’re around the teammates you grafted with – in victory and defeat – the vibes and traditions remain the same. One of those traditions that carries on all the way to the top is the fines meeting.

To those of you who play the game, this will require no further explanation. To those who don’t, it’s essentially a score-settling exercise. Over the course of a season or series, the team keeps notes of anyone who’s stepped out of line. At the end, you all get together and hand out ‘fines’. The punishments are passed down by the designated ‘fines masters’. All teams have them, and grassing on your teammates is encouraged. And for better or worse in my case, the fines are usually alcohol-based.

Back home at Ashington, when I played for Ashington Cricket Club in the Northumberland and Tyneside League, this ceremony was known as the Kangaroo Court. There were two categories in particular you wanted to avoid: the ‘Bobby Boot’ and ‘Bobby Box’ award. Look away from the next paragraph if you have a weak stomach.

So, this is named after this club legend, Bob the Dog – Paul ‘Bob’ Rutherford. He is the slowest slow-left arm bowler anybody would ever face. He also doesn’t shower properly, wears the same clothes every day of his life. Great character but a total mess when it comes to hygiene. Anyway, as you may have guessed, the worst punishment handed down there is having to drink out of Bobby’s shoe or box. Thankfully, for England you just have to neck what’s in your hand.

You can be fined for just about anything. The more ridiculous the reason, the better.

I used to get fined for being the richest man in Ashington. For being best friends with my uncle Neil because I used to follow him around like a shadow. For being half as good as Toby Roland-Jones. For being half as good as Jofra Archer. For being half as good as Olly Stone. Basically, every time a new fast bowler comes on the scene, I get fined.

The fines are just as daft at international level and sometimes we meet up with the other side to do our meetings together, which is a brilliant way to mend relationships after a hard-fought scrap. This was the case after the South Africa tour in 2020, with the designated fines masters Jos Buttler and Rassie van der Dussen.

Rassie gave the first one to Stokesy because he had been sledging him all tour, but had been getting it slightly wrong each time. So Rassie got some payback: ‘I’d like to give this first one to Ben. He’s called me a German all series even though my family is Dutch!’ Yes, that’s right, Stoksey thought someone with the last name ‘van der Dussen’ was German not Dutch.

The support staff are fair game, too. Our batting coaches Jacques Kallis and Graham Thorpe were both fined for being Advanced Hair Studio’s number-one clients. They had to do a ‘rug-off’, which was basically a ‘boat race’: who could neck their drink quickest. Thorpey’s pretty good but Kallis’s hands, head, shoulders, neck and pecs are just bigger and he almost swallowed the bottle whole to win impressively.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘Woody, you don’t drink!’ But that doesn’t mean I’m safe. Far from it. The number of times I’ve had to knock back a concoction of sports drink, Coke, Red Bull and, often, deodorant. I just close me eyes and hoy it down me throat!

If you’re like me and this doesn’t sound like the thing for you, I’ve got some tips to help you get by and navigate the peer pressure.

Over the years I’ve managed to create my own role in fines meetings. At Durham, I created the role of ‘pourer’ where I’d make sure everyone’s drinks are topped up.

Every now and again I might say something to the fines master like, ‘Oh, this guy did this during the season.’ I’m like the hand of the king in Game of Thrones: I’m manipulative, sly and conniving. Basically, grassing on everybody. Remember, this isn’t The Sopranos, so ratting on your teammates is fair game. I also used it as an opportunity to get things off my chest that I’d been carrying all season.

One year, Gareth Harte, a batter at Durham, had been winding us up constantly, particularly about my shoes. This one occasion he took the laces out, thinking he was clever. The kind of nonsense that you grow out of at school but still carries on in sporting dressing rooms. Sick of him, I decided to put some ‘foreign’ liquid in the spray-on sun cream. I told my teammate Graham Clark about it and we kept it quiet right the way through the summer, trying to keep a straight face as he layered up to cope with the harsh sunshine of the north-east of England.

It wasn’t until the fines meeting at the end of that season that I told him what I’d done. Luckily, he just embraced it. I’m not sure if he would have done had I told him at any other time. He’s a great lad – a South African too, and luckily South Africans always make sure they’re sorted before anyone else, so no one was in any danger of borrowing my awful concoction. I wasn’t proud of it, so it was great to get it out in the open and off my chest.

You get to the point of no return with this kind of do. It’s not too different when you’re on a night out and people start going over the edge from fun-drunk tipsy to being annoying and bothering you. It’s probably like what I am to them when I’m sober. I reckon I am one of the best drunk actors in the world: the number of times I’ve managed to act like I’m losing my bearings or slur my speech to avoid a round of shots and what-not are too many to count. I should win Oscars for it. But when it gets to that where it’s too much to handle, that’s when I make my excuses and leave. Say farewell to a couple of people but not too many and slink out. The Irish Goodbye – or The Woody Goodbye, as it should now be known.

*

Thankfully, the changing room isn’t all lads and mickey-taking. Just as important as celebrating the wins is letting them sink in. The changing room is a private place that has an array of emotions over the course of a game, whether a five-day Test or the few hours of a Twenty20. It can be both angry and quiet after defeat, and loud and contemplative in victory. It’s a place where you can also feel at ease, and often the more subdued moments are the ones that stick with you.

After that series win in South Africa, we got the ex-players to come in to celebrate with us, which included the guys from talkSPORT who were covering it on radio. I’ve known Stephen Harmison for years: he was a great help to me when I was coming through at Durham, and always supportive of me. He was always giving me praise in the media as well, which helps any player.

I took nine wickets in the final Test at Johannesburg, which helped us take the series 3–1: five in the first innings, then four in the second to get us over the line. It was pretty satisfying all round, especially getting van der Dussen caught at cover for 98. We set a short-ball field around the wicket. I bowled a couple of bouncers and figured I’d press the gamble button and pitch one up. I was thinking more he’d nick it than pan it straight to Stuart Broad. But that was particularly pleasing because he was getting under our skin a bit at the time. Just loads of sledging when we were batting. Constantly going on and on. It’s probably why he made a good fines master.

At the end of the game, Harmy was the first to give me a big hug and tell me it was what I deserved. Darren Gough came up to me and said, ‘Well done, I’m really proud of you.’ I was over the moon. He was someone whose action I tried to copy in the back garden more than anyone. I couldn’t believe he’d said that to me. I really loved that. Just having them all there, it was awesome.

St Lucia in 2019, though, was something special: I cried my eyes out when the Test was over. It’s the only time I’ve been emotional over cricket, really.

It was here I took my first five-wicket haul. The Barmy Army were all there, singing about me. I’d taken the last wicket of the West Indies’ first innings and had all kinds of emotion going through me as I walked off, holding the ball up to salute the crowds. Broady actually got the ball for us after I had bowled Shannon Gabriel. I was getting hugs from everyone and, as we walked off, Broady put his arm around my shoulder and handed it to me. He knew it was something I should keep hold of. He would know, given he’s taken nineteen of them. I kissed the ball and then held it straight up in the air and waved it around.

When I got into the dressing room, everyone was clapping as I came in. I hugged the physio and I remember feeling overwhelmed with relief, due to the fact that I’d finally taken a five-wicket haul in a Test, having shown all this potential but never being able to quite live up to it due to my body breaking down time and again. I was welling up and was struggling to hold it together. Then Jimmy saw me and went, ‘Ah, come on, mate,’ and hugged me and I let it all out.

I’d like to say most of the winning is celebrated gracefully. But there are times when you’ve beaten a rival and want to rub it in. And that’s OK in my book.

Before the 2015 Ashes there was this video doing the rounds of Shane Watson and Steve Smith speaking in Australia. ‘We’ve got all departments covered,’ they said. ‘I don’t even think they’ll come close to us, to be honest.’

Well, we did stand a chance, as it turned out, winning the urn back in the Fourth Test at Trent Bridge. I ended up castling Nathan Lyon for the final wicket – quite a moment to cap my first summer as an England player. There’s a photo of Jos and me celebrating that wicket which I have up in my house.

JOS BUTTLER:Yeah, I’ve got that 2015 photo, too. That was pretty cool.

MARK WOOD:Because you were keeping for a lot of my career, especially in ODIs, you’re always first on the scene with a hug.

BUTTLER:It’s that moment when someone is celebrating and you run at them. I remember you being like five steps away and we made eye contact and you just know the biggest bear hug ever is coming. Then everyone else piles in and it’s just a mass of bodies and yelling in your ears. Nothing beats it.

The best thing about that was the game was over by about midday on Saturday, giving us an entire weekend to lap it up.

There was a speaker system in the dressing room, which we could all plug our phones into. Throughout the afternoon (and night), someone would cue up that video of Watson and Smith saying what they said, then someone else would follow it up with the clip of Zach Galifianakis (best known as Alan from The Hangover) doing a wheezing laugh from his film Dinner for Shmucks. We must have played that 150 times that night. I can still hear it now: ‘I don’t even think they’ll come close to us.’ Beautiful.

*

It’s important to celebrate the small wins in day-to-day life, too. Got a new job? Treat yourself. Splash out on something nice. Just maybe don’t do as I did and get talked into throwing money at something you don’t actually want.

I was seventeen when I got my first contract with Durham. It was a deal worth £150 a month. Not much at all, but when you’re seventeen and getting money, I felt like I’d made it. Getting paid to play cricket? Ha-way, off to Toon we go.

Me and my best mates from school, Scott Dunn, Jonny Storey and Glen Taylor, went into Newcastle to go shopping and splash the cash. We went into a few fancy shops and I came across this Armani shirt. They all persuaded us that it was worth the £90 on the price tag, so I bought it with little hesitation and strolled out feeling like a Premier League footballer.

I think I wore it once. It was blue with white trim, and short sleeves. You know in the hotel where you’ve got them blokes who just work the service lifts? Aye, one of them, minus the little hats.

JONNY STOREY:I think to this day it is still the worst shirt I’ve ever seen. He wasn’t even making that much money. When he was getting changed into it, me, Glen and Dunny decided we’d big it up no matter what. He walked out and we were like ‘Oh mate, you look amazing’, ‘You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t buy that shirt’, ‘Treat yourself!’

You learn your lessons, don’t you? The main one here being to never trust your friends, especially if you think you can hear them scheming while you’re buttoning up in a changing room. I was a lot more measured when I got my England call-up. It was exciting, as you can imagine. But there were nerves as well.

I was in Dubai with Durham during the 2015 pre-season, watching the airport conveyor go around and waiting for my suitcase. James Whitaker, the national selector, rang me up. It was an unknown number so I didn’t answer it at first. He’d left me a voicemail and I rang him back and he said, ‘Congratulations, you’ve been selected for the West Indies.’

It was off the back of a Lions tour. I hadn’t taken any wickets but had bowled really well. I’d shown a bit of heart on some tough pitches. The coaches knew because they were smiling when I got off the phone and turned around and said congratulations. My dad was the first person I called: I remember him saying the hard work starts now, mind.

Turning up to an England squad for the first time is a bit like your first day at a new school. Liam Plunkett was going to be there, so I had one friend, and I had been on a pace-bowling camp with James Anderson and Stuart Broad, so I kind of knew them. But I was also thinking, ‘Wow, I get to meet Alastair Cook!’

I didn’t end up playing a game but it was an incredible experience. The perks alone were pretty special. Ah wow, you fly business class now! You get a suit! It’s class! The next step is a national contract where you get a car and a phone contract, too. Back then, when data and roaming charges were a killer, it was mint.

Generally, how it works when you get selected by England, the team manager gets in touch, sending you an itinerary of where you need to be, asking what size you are for kit. When I got my England suit and tried it on, I took loads of photos. The badge, the tie. It was almost like I was putting on my country’s battle armour. My mam was proud as punch, saying I looked so smart. And I’d just met my now-wife, Sarah, so I milked that – she was loving it as well. Great timing, it was.

Thanks to Sarah, there have been more big life moments to celebrate. Our engagement, our marriage, the birth of our son, Harry. I quite literally couldn’t have done any of that stuff without her. I’d like to think she couldn’t have done all that without me, too, particularly Harry. We work well as a team, as evidenced by the day after our engagement party.

We’d organized a do in our back garden and hired a big marquee, which was really lovely, and it meant we didn’t have people messing up the house with their shoes or not using coasters. The kind of thing us cool cats worry about. The weather was perfect and it was a great occasion with close friends and family.

The following morning, Sarah decided she was going to take it all down herself like a superstar. I was in bed alone for about thirty minutes and I get this call on my phone. It’s her.

‘There’s a gale force wind! This tent [it was a marquee] is going to blow over, take out the fence and damage our house and all the other houses!’ I charged down the stairs in me dressing gown, get outside and see Sarah clinging onto one of the poles for dear life.

To this day I don’t know why, but we decided the best thing to do was to get it on its side. I lifted out one of the pegs and, as I do that, an extra gust of wind picked both me and Sarah up and shunted us towards the house.

We had to call the fire brigade, who turned up lights blazing, getting everyone on the street out of their houses, with me and Sarah both in dressing gowns, clinging to the side of this tent for dear life. They came in, pulled one cord and the whole thing collapsed.

Luckily, they found it funny. Hilarious, even. I don’t know much about fire safety protocol, but I’m sure they didn’t have to take so many photos of us as they did. We’re probably still plastered over the Northumberland County Council noticeboards as calls to avoid.

We fared better at our wedding, mind. You’re not going to find a better go-to guy than me at weddings, especially when it comes to speeches. I’ve given four in total: three as best man and one as the groom. Given it’s something a lot of people struggle with, here are some tips I’ve picked up along the way.

MARK WOOD’S GUIDE TO WEDDING SPEECHES

Best Man

1) Speak slower than you think

2) Sections are your friend. Break it down: an introduction, a bit about the bridesmaids and the bride looking lovely, but always make sure to big up your side. If you’re a best man, have a bit taking the mickey out the groom, but round it out with a nice little story. Doubly important if he’s likely to be your best man and you’re going first. You don’t need to give them another reason to dig a little deeper for skeletons in your closet.

3) Sip a drink after your first laugh. Savour it. It may be the only one you get.

4) Make everyone feel welcome. A lot of people won’t really know each other. It can be quite awkward. At my wedding, I went for the following:

‘It’s great to have so many people here from Australia, South Africa, the Caribbean. People mixing from north and south. It’s amazing how weddings bring everyone together. We’ve even got Labour mixing with Tories. Looking at you, Chef, on table seven [Alastair Cook is obviously a staunch Tory]. So that’s table seven, comrades. Table seven.’

Nothing brings people together like a common enemy.

5) Weddings can also be uncertain times. Embrace it, especially if it’s a big mix of different people from different parts of your life. Everyone is there for you and they’ll do their best to mix for you. Like when Glen and Stokesy went to the bar for drinks and Stokesy bought a round for everyone, which cost £200. I can still see Glen’s face when Stokesy turned around and said, ‘Go on then – your round next’.

6)