Previously I had trundled in but, as I grew taller, the shock to the system hit me: I could bowl seriously fast, I just didn’t know what to do with the ball or how to control it.

For a shy schoolboy, playing against men – and international cricketers in some cases – was a big test. So was dealing with playing in front of a crowd. Before my debut against East Lancashire in May 1998, I had not previously played in a cricket match where people actually came to watch. Sure, the odd mum or dad would have been milling around at junior games but not actual supporters – or, more aptly, barrackers.

There would be a few people on every week for our home games, anything between 20 and 120 for a regular league game, the same group congregating behind the bowler’s arm. Matches during early or late season would draw larger crowds still because Burnley football supporters used to park their cars in the cricket club car park for matches at Turf Moor, then stick around for a beer in the clubhouse before heading home if it was a nice afternoon. On those days, you could have quite a few hundred watching.

As a 15-year-old I was liable to spray it about – any kid at that age is, really – and that precipitated cries of ‘bowl it straight’ or ‘get him off’ from the regular hecklers. Those with a few bevvies on board were never shy of offering their own assessments, and although public condemnation took a little bit of getting used to, despite being erratic my confidence remained intact thanks to regular wickets.

Confidence is a precious commodity for any cricketer but particularly for a young fast bowler. You’re meant to be all macho, of course, but it’s just as easy to become little boy lost when things start going against you. As I have said, not all pace bowlers are packaged the same way. Some are delivered on to the scene in a box marked FRAGILE.

2

Roots

Most people dismiss Burnley as an absolute shithole, but as a freeman of the borough I am obliged to defend its honour. A town traditionally founded on its mill industry, these days people are less inclined to recognize its influence. From a modern perspective, it’s a place that’s very passionate about, and arguably defined by, sport.

As with many northern towns, its major sports team gives it something of an identity. When people think of Burnley, they tend to think of the football club’s rich history as a founder member of the Football League and the famous claret and blue colours.

The population is about 90,000 and yet for big matches the football club can attract gates of 20,000. You won’t find a better ratio of fans per population in the country, and that tells you something of the feeling from the local people towards the team, and to sport in general.

I have a lot of affection for the two grounds down at Turf Moor – the football and cricket clubs are adjacent – as that was where I spent the majority of my youth. In the summer, the cricket club became like a second home, netting with the juniors in midweek and during school holidays, and scoring for the second XI, for whom my dad was captain, at weekends.

During the winter months, a lot of my family would make the pilgrimage down to the football. Later, as a teenager I worked on the gate as a weekend job. Throughout my youth, in addition to my natural affection for Burnley I had a soft spot for Arsenal, and Ian Wright was one of my sporting heroes, so it was a great thrill when he came up to play for a season. Chris Waddle had a run as player-manager in the late 1990s, and Paul Gascoigne featured half a dozen times in a brief spell at the end of his career, as Burnley threatened bigger and better things.

Over recent years, the success of the football club and its promotion to the Premier League, albeit for the briefest of stays, provided a real boost for the town at a time when most of its publicity was negative. The rise of the British National Party and the race riots of the early noughties dragged it into the national consciousness for all the wrong reasons, so it was a positive thing that sport was able to restore some pride in the region.

One of the main reasons I enjoyed growing up in Burnley was family, and ours is a rather large one. Both my dad, Michael, and mum, Catherine, had two brothers, so I had plenty of cousins to knock about with, and did so weekly at our Friday get-togethers. As we all lived in relatively close proximity, we would congregate at Nana Doreen’s house. She would cook a huge potato pie or something like that, and everyone would catch up. I used to love Fridays.

Me and my cousin, Lee, would charge round playing football in the winter, cricket in the summer. It was something I looked forward to all week. Every December we would congregate at their house for Christmas dinner. We would eat until it wasn’t physically possible to eat any more. Nana kept bringing out food from the kitchen like a magician pulling a never-ending handkerchief out of his pocket. After opening presents the kids would watch in amazement as Grandad Bob fell asleep at four o’clock in the afternoon and snored his way through to about seven. This was an ongoing joke with me and my sister Sarah.

On Mum’s side, we would all go to church on a Sunday and then walk to my Grandma Mary and Grandad Danny’s house. Grandma would cook a chicken, and I’ll never forget that smell of food as you walked through the door.