Tests: 119 matches, 4356 runs at 27.39, 100s 4, 50s 22, HS 161*, catches 366, stumpings 29.
ODIs: 168 matches, 1764 runs at 21.00, 100s 0, 50s 4, HS 56, catches 194, stumpings 39.
Australia Day is an appropriate day to pay tribute to my favourite sportsperson of all time - long-time Australian wicketkeeper Ian Healy, who was as proud an Aussie I have seen.
Heals, simply put, was the greatest wicketkeeper I saw pull on a baggy green cap. Others say Adam Gilchrist was the best wicketkeeper-batsman of all time (with the emphasis on batsman), and more than one of Healy's contemporaries said Pommie Jack Russell or Victorian Darren Berry were better behind the sticks.
While I respect their judgment, there is no one I would rather watch do his thing - in any sport, anywhere, anytime - than Ian Healy.
Allow me a slight tangent - cricket means a lot to me. It was the only sport I played to anything resembling a decent level and surprise, surprise, it was as a wicketkeeper.
Needless to say, Healy's exploits in 119 Tests and 168 ODIs were a source of awe, pride, joy and shame for me.
Shame, you say? Was it the infamous run-in with portly Sri Lankan skipper Arjuna Ranatunga at the SCG in 1996 (the words "unfit c---" may have been involved)? No way. Perhaps it was a blow-up with Windies opener Desmond Haynes back in 1991? Not a chance. What about a botched stumping that still cost Brian Lara his wicket in the first Test of the 1992-93 series? I couldn't care less. Surely it was another missed stumping, one that lost Australia the first Test of an away series in Pakistan in 1994. Nope.
It was that I was never going to be as good as him, no matter how hard I tried.
When I was playing, I didn't want to be like Ian Healy. I wanted to be him. It was like an itch I couldn't scratch. A thirst I couldn't quench. The sinking, awful feeling of failure and futility that couldn't be exorcised.
Countless were the times over 19 years playing cricket that coaches, team-mates, onlookers and even opponents tried to console me after making a mistake with the gloves.
As comforting as their words were, they couldn't shake the thought that monopolised my mind.
"Ian Healy wouldn't have missed/dropped/fumbled that."
It hurt. Watching a bloke do unheard of things behind the stumps (anyone remember his legside stumping of Mark Butcher off Michael Bevan in the 1997 Ashes?) then go out and dishonour him by committing routine errors was torture.
... that I was 14 at the time wasn't the point. It never would be.
Unrealistic? Of course. Unhealthy? Psychologists would say so.
But I digress.
Healy was described by a far greater writer than me - Greg Baum from the Age - as a palpable force behind the stumps. Therein lies my admiration for him. Usually the nicest thing said about keepers is that they are only noticed when they don't make mistakes. Healy was one of the pillars of Australia's climb from easybeats to the very summit of world cricket. He would 'take' wickets by himself.
The Butcher stumping mentioned above was one of many that Healy completed to the likes of Bevan, Stuart MacGill, Tim May and Shane Warne. There were some real good ones - down the legside, on the half-volley, on the full and only after seeing the ball at the very last moment. All to balls scuttling at uncertain heights and angles out of heavy footmarks. If you have never kept wickets in your life, the previous sentence would have meant little. If you have, it would mean the world.
Healy's catches to the slowies were pretty special too - in the 1997 Ashes he dived behind himself to snare one after the ball was cut into his knee.
Funnily enough, his brilliance up to the pegs was so routine that it one standing back that really sticks in my mind.
In Adelaide in 1997 he caught a South African after the Saffer left his bat sticking up like a periscope while ducking a bouncer. The ball took an unexpected and wicked deflection and Heals dived down the legside to bag it. Brilliant. Genius. Impossible.
Diving in front of first slip to catch one that wouldn't have quite carried was his specialty. All reports indicate that he claimed one like that in his very first Test, against Pakistan in 1988. Same thing in a rematch at the MCG a year later. Plenty after that as McDermott, Hughes, Reid, McGrath and Gillespie starting running through the world's batting line-ups.
I haven't written a word about his batting - Monet could probably write sonnets too, but what's the point? Okay, I'll indulge you. There was a six to win a Test match against the Saffers and Test tons against England (twice), New Zealand and the West Indies. The latter came as calls for him to be dropped started. Performing under pressure.
His most just reward came in Pakistan in 1998 - the country where he performed his most galling error when he broke the world record for dismissals in Test cricket. Although it wasn't a measure of greatness per se, it was a well deserved honour for the most-overlooked players in cricket.
It wasn't just his skill that I loved - it was that he was a fighter with a tremendous work ethic. He was plucked from Queensland obscurity to play Test cricket because of his never-say-die character. He amazed team-mates by going to dilapidated squash courts, hotel car parks and even lane ways to practice his golf ball drill.
Ah, the golf ball. Sitting on the desk where I am writing are two scarred, shredded golf balls. Guess how they got so pockmarked and worn? Trying to be like Ian Healy, using Ian Healy's methods. Stand on a flat surface, with a brick wall near by. Bounce said ball off said wall, practicing your footwork and hand movements. Become the best in the world. The best in history.
I tried. I loved every minute of it. But I just couldn't do it.
Healy was durable. Although he retired with hands that looked like someone had smashed in with a sledgehammer, he missed one Test match through injury. Amazing. His autobiographies (both of which I own) are littered with stories of shaking off the pain of a broken finger to play in a Test match the next day.
You try it. Break one of your fingers, then go see if you can catch a cricket ball travelling at somewhere near 140km/h for the best part of five days on end. It's torture.
As mentioned, Healy was a fighter. I outlined some of his most notorious incidents earlier. In short, he helped Australia add a hard edge to their game after years in the doldrums. And Arjuna was a fat c---.
Proud Aussie? Absolutely. Heals held for a long time an honour that is almost as big as the captaincy - leading the team in its famous victory song, 'Beneath the Southern Cross I stand'. Word has it Healy lived for these celebrations after famous wins - think the 1989 Ashes, the 1995 Frank Worrell Trophy and a heap of other series.
In the modest success I enjoyed during my beyond mediocre cricket career, I subscribed to the same 'play hard, party hard' mentality. Big wins were to be savoured, big drinks were to be consumed.
There was one fleeting, incredible moment where I had a chance to feel the same thing Healy felt through most of his career.
It was in my last full season. We were playing a team that was not in contention for the finals, while we needed an outright. A batsman who was on track to win the competition batting average was putting up some dogged resistance. The deck was flat and lifeless and precious minutes were slipping away.
Our captain - a slightly cranky, medium-fast bowler - insisted I come up to the stumps to his offerings to build pressure and keep the left-hander in his crease.
I hated standing up to even the most gentle of medium pacers - my inability to replicate Healy had my confidence shot. Nevertheless, I trudged up and did some neat work.
After a few overs, skipper sent one down the legside to the leftie. Slightly panicked, I moved to the legside, legs low and strong, just like Heals.
SNICK
A leg glance only got as far as my gloves (with Brad Haddin signature - SWERVE!) and stuck.
A miracle.
While my team-mates mobbed me, hugged me, showered me with kisses (we were close) only one thought went through my mind.
"Ian Healy wouldn't have got to that one."
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