JP uses time off to be better person
JP DUMINY won’t play a stroke in anger during the next 60 days, but this period could determine his future as an international player.
“These two months are going to be crucial if I want to be fit enough for selection for the Champions Trophy,” Duminy said this week. “Coming back too early can put a dampener on your dreams, so I’ve got to make sure I’m fully fit.”
He was exactly that when he stepped over the boundary as evening smudged the sky over the Gabba on November 8, the day before the start of last season’s test series against Australia. An eye blink later he was face down and motionless on the turf.
The Achilles is the strongest, thickest tendon in the human body. Without it, walking, running and jumping are not possible.
Duminy could do none of the above. His Achilles had ruptured.
It was an unfair, infuriating and devastating blow to a player returning to the country where he had proved his class five summers previously.
Now, almost six months on, Duminy is anything but infuriated or devastated. His career has been put on hold, that’s all.
“It’s given me a lot of time to focus on different areas and it’s been a big eye-opener to discover that my life is not just based around cricket.
“I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve been able to spend with family and friends, even though I’ve also missed being on the field. But I’ve tried to keep myself busy and improve myself as an allround person.”
On the field is where players get away with being nothing more than cricketers. Off the field they are held to a far higher standard: they are expected to be people.
“As a professional, sport is your job and there is a lot of pressure on you to perform, so you have to put all of your energy into it. A lot of people are waiting for you to fail. You have to commit yourself fully.
“But I’ve learnt over the past few months that you have to find a balance and not put too much pressure on yourself to perform. After you’ve crossed the rope, whatever happens happens.”
In real life, Duminy is an ambassador for the Children’s Hospital Trust, works on his public speaking skills and tries to be the best husband he can be to his wife Sue.
“I’ve worked on her nerves enough now, so I have to get back into the game.”
He also makes music with Dale Steyn and Rusty Theron. Tweets between them are signed off “# startingabandbaby ”.
“At the Indian Premier League, the three of us play guitar together. We ’ re very amateur.”
There is no IPL for Duminy this year. Instead, he will put his trust in rehabilitation to keep him in the frame for the Champions Trophy in England in June.
“There ’ s no pain now; it’s more stiffness. When you wake up in the morning, the first couple of steps out of bed are the worst part of it. But once it warms up it’s fine.”
He has held a bat again, but only for throw-down sessions, “nothing serious”. His running has been slow and light “to build up the leg”.
There ’ s faith in those words. There has to be if Duminy is to vent his elegant anger on the game’s best bowlers in just a few weeks’ time.
Will the selectors close their eyes and pick him? They’ve done that before, and he did not disappoint. OU have two sons. The eldest is hard working, successful, secure, happy. If you could be a kid again, you would want to be him.
Your other son could be all of the above, but isn’t. He works just as hard as his boet, but he is not as successful. Too often his confidence melts and he falls short of his potential.
Why this should be, you can’t say. But you know that the differences between these boys, who are from the same parents and the same home, and who have been given the same opportunities, responsibilities and expectations, drive you nuts.
You love them both, but it’s hard not to like one more than the other.
In mad moments fuelled by too much Frank Zappa and who knows what else in the liquid smoke of the time, you called your first kid “SA test XI” and the second “SA limited overs XI”.
“Test ” can’t help doing the right thing all the time, or at
YStop sweating the small stuff and the big stuff and all the stuff in between
least trying to do the right thing. You can see his plan clear as a Free State speed cop on a Sunday afternoon: it is simple, strong and, more often than not, the damn thing works.
“Limited” goes through plans like a baby goes through nappies. Not many of them make sense to you. Those that do seem fraught with pitfalls.
Consequently, you second guess everything he does. You have no confidence in him. When he gets it right, he’s bloody lucky. When he gets it wrong, you saw it coming.
Why, you wonder long into nights gnawed raw with worry, can’t “Limited” be more like “Test ”?
And then, on one of those nights, it smacks you bang between the eyes and you feel as thick as two short planks for not having realised it before.
Your sons can’t be more similar because there just isn’t enough to go around — not enough gumption, know-how, skill, talent and temperament.
“Test ” stayed in the queue until those qualities were handed out. Good lad.
“Limited” said “stuff this” and buggered off to the beach. Plonker. Simple as that. “Test ” will always get your vote, even if things go badly for him. If they do, it won’t be for lack of effort or a plan.
As for “Limited”, you’ll be happy if the little bugger just stays out of jail.
There is no closing the gap between them and you know you should be satisfied with that. Where is it written that kids should be peas in a pod?
Besides, be grateful that “Test ” doesn’t take his cue from “Limited”.
Anyway, who the hell are you to demand anything of your children? If you thought nurturing and supporting them through the hard times earned you that right, you’re wrong.
You made them possible, but that ’ s all you did. Once they were out there as people, you had much less control than you thought you did over who and what they became.
So, stop sweating the small stuff and the big stuff and all the stuff in between. You don’t need to explain your boys to the wider world or to yourself.
They are themselves and noone else. Legacy is a lie.
One day, far from now, when you ’ ve actually learned something about life and how to live it, you may understand this.
“Test ” and “Limited” are your children. They are not you. So stop seeing yourself in them.
That means, of course, that you will have to stop living vicariously through the triumphs of “Test ”, even as you wash your hands of the nonsense “Limited” gets up to. Yes? Yes. Sorted. Hundreds. Except that, in England in June, “Limited” will have another go at that exam he has never managed to pass.
This will be the last instalment of The Leading Edge for a few months. But, like you, I will be silently sick with worry about how he will do.
That ’ s what parents are for. No matter what, he’s our kid.