The Second Spinner – A Story of Cricket and Mental Health

Andre Maddocks | May 21, 2023

On the surface, I had a fortunate grade career. A couple of games in 1st grade, a handful in 2s, but generally speaking a middle to lower grader who was just happy to be out on the field, desperately trying to contribute. I wasn’t a great player, but I absolutely busted my gut. I attended every training session for seasons on end, and bowled for hours, put cricket before everything. I wanted to be a guy that others wanted to play with.

All the while though, when you live with anxiety – and many do, more than we realise – there is that little voice inside you that tells you that you aren’t good enough, you will get found out, your teammates don’t rate you, or even like you, and it is all going to fall away as quickly as it became important to you because that is what you deserve. You become pretty convincing, even though hindsight shows that the anxiety is only you talking to yourself.

I’ve toyed with the idea of writing this piece for a number of years now, about life on the fringes of Grade cricket. I use a capital G, because it is important, and more important than we realise to a lot of people and a lot of lives. I have no idea how it will go, so hang in there with me if you’ve made it this far.

I’d played all my juniors (well, up till under 12’s) at Mosman before heading off to High school. When I was young, my idea of a great afternoon was hanging out at Mosman 1st grade in the mid 1990’s. Lee. Haywood. Hughes. Muldoon. Guthrie et al. The days I was allowed to run the drinks out to the players I honestly felt a million dollars, and as a kid who probably wasn’t the most popular, I really felt part of something. They were so good to me.

So after a long personal and family history with the club (my father captained Mosman, my mother helped out with the administration with the club on the cusp of exclusion from the SCA so her son could still have a club to play at, cousins and uncles floated through), it seemed natural to come to Grade cricket with the Whales.

Season 2003-04 I came up to join the ranks. I was a fairly directionless kid at the time. I’d had some mental health issues as a teenager that involved being medicated, and a fair few counsellors, and cricket gave me a lot of purpose as a 17 year old. The idea I was really part of something bigger.

I don’t know how many people know this stuff about me. I am guessing a few put their finger on it along the way, but like most people who struggled, I thought I did a decent job of hiding it. There was no lack of irony that I had chosen the art within the game that seems to attract the ‘characters’, leg-spin.

But that first summer in particular was one of the most enjoyable times of my life. Essentially, I played most of the summer in 5th grade as a second or third spinner, and batting much closer to the end that the start of the scorecard. And I loved every second. Honestly, it was the biggest thrill to be invited to stay on as 12th man for 4th grade for the finals series. That side won the premiership on a wet and windy day at Rawson Oval.

I was so enthusiastic to be part of it that I even ran out a can of Lynx when one of our batsmen asked for the ‘magic spray’. I guess I had a lot to learn. Still do.

An improvement in my mental health coincided with a more active role at the club. I honestly wanted to be part of everything, because it felt good, and it made me feel good. Valued. I would write up match reports for the grades, even if it made me the butt of a couple of jokes. I would go to every match I could. I would legitimately be at every training session. I would put covers out. I joined the committee, but that may or may not be another story! Honestly loved it. I won the young clubman of the year award in 2004/05 (I think). I’d even captained 4th grade for a season at the age of 19. Hindsight, way too young, but eternally grateful.

A few seasons in though, the mask slipped. Just like being second spinner and stubborn lower order bat in most sides – a bit of a luxury, but probably not sustainable – I started to feel a bit like that again about myself. Anxiety, depression and I were again in a close friendship, even though I thought I had cut off that relationship in my teens.

The move from being an excitable youngster in the first few seasons had turned me into a darker, insecure young man. It (cricket, the club) meant so much to me that I just wanted to prove my worth, but I think that was more to myself. The little man on your shoulder can be pretty persistent, even taking away joy from something you really love. I lost balance and perspective. That can happen when you love something.

From memory, it would have been about 2008/09 where realistically, looking through the lens of my life now as a Mental Health professional (that is in capitals too, because it is important), I pretty much had a breakdown.

I became a bad teammate. I wasn’t sleeping. I became a bad coach (I was coaching AW Green Shield at the time, I even didn’t show for 1 game). I became focused on proving myself to everyone and everything, this false bravado that kept me safe. Because in my own mind, I wasn’t. I was so scared of being disliked, undervalued, misunderstood.

I didn’t enjoy training. I was petrified of playing. I got the yips. The anxiety of bowling bad balls took over to the point I was never the same bowler again. But nothing beat the anxiety of being around what used to be my safe space, the field. I was so scared, so to beat it I figured if I knew everything I couldn’t be wrong – that false bravado again.

I made a few teammate’s lives miserable at the time, and for that I am truly sorry. It is a reflection on me, not them. I even took most of the that season off the game.

People wondered aloud what happened to the young bloke from a few years ago. So did I. I just wondered in relative silence.

Eventually, I was placed back on medication. I still take it to this day. But I could never quite find that joy again in Grade cricket, in my mind too much had happened. I went another couple of seasons, but I was never the same player or person. The insecurity in my own mind was matched by the insecurity of a cricketing currency as a luxury item, a leg-spinner. The fringe player who was never sure of their role or their place. There is a few of them in every team, and if you have an anxious mind, it can be a really difficult place to be.

Burning a few bridges on the way, I left after 2010/11. I have never had the – what’s the word - courage, confidence, belief to go back and be seen at the club. I still check their scores religiously, but don’t follow them on social media out of a fear that more than likely has just been created by my own mind.

I loved Mosman and could never play Grade against them, so I never played Grade again. I owe it a lot more than it owes me. It took me a long time to love cricket again, but I now love it more than I ever have – but that love is healthy now, not toxic. It’s different. I don’t feel the urge to prove my worth, and I have comfort in knowing it loves me back in its own unique way.

In a lot of ways, this story is not unique. There are probably 5 or 10 guys at every club, every year, just trying to stay afloat. Just keep an eye out for the guy who seems too sure of himself. There is every chance he just wants to be loved, and part of the magic of cricket. And he probably bowls leg-spin, to keep his complex mind occupied. 

If you'd like to make contact with Andre, you can via Twitter - Andre Maddocks