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Being Freddie

by Andrew Flintoff with Myles Hodgson

Hodder & Stoughton, $275

Calling The Shots:  The Captain's Story

by Michael Vaughan with Martin Hardy

Hodder & Stoughton, $275

Cricket nuts the world over will snap up these autobiographies from Michael Vaughan and Andrew Flintoff, and, eager to get a look inside the England skipper's busy head and relive big Fred's Ashes heroics, they'll   happily overlook a few flaws.

Reading them, though, leaves you feeling slightly cheated - feeling that the memoirs of two such key figures in England's rise should be a little more enchanting. The line and length are there, but not much swing or bounce. Perhaps some of this is  due to the rush to print, but it's  a shame, because a bit more polishing might have made all the difference.  You're also left wondering - as is so often the case with such autobiographies  - how much flavour is from the ghost-writer and how much is from the subject.

Flintoff's book starts in routine fashion with his boyhood and rise through the ranks of county and national sides.  Although not always a gripping account, we're treated to a few choice insights about his ability (143 off 66 balls in a county one-dayer) and the now thankfully historical weight problem  (127kg). Flintoff was graced with rare talent, and county cricket came pretty easily.  He admits to having become unfocused.  At one point, Lancashire's Australian coach, Bob Simpson, beckoned Fred into his office, called him the rudest word you can think of and walked out, leaving the pie-and-beer king somewhat disconcerted.

We also learn about his struggle with injuries: the  bad back, endless injections and the unpleasant-sounding task of trying to bowl for England bow-legged from a hernia. Throughout the book, Flintoff gives the impression of being an uncomplicated man who has kept his feet on the ground, despite having to deal with   celebrity - an honest lad from Preston who made good.

The writing style, much like its subject,  is also happily free from unnecessary whim or extravagance. Unlike its subject though, it's often too plain, plodding along in a clunky manner and lacking in sparkle. It's enough to spoil what might otherwise have been a better and more enjoyable read. Still, the Flintoff/Myles Hodgson effort probably conveys more of the man than that of Vaughan/Martin Hardy, which on occasion indulges in language more florid than anything I've heard from the carefully spoken Yorkshireman.

The thrilling summer campaign against Australia, as one would expect, provides the climax of both books, accounting for about a third of each. We learn just how strong was the team spirit and togetherness that has marked this England side. The most gripping episodes of the summer are replayed across the pages and, style issues aside, the subject matter is just too juicy to go wrong with.

One aspect of the series that comes across strongly is the warm relations enjoyed by the teams off the field, with frequent reference  to post-match beers and good friendships secured.  Flintoff's particular penchant for an ale or two gets a mention in both books, often obliquely, as when Vaughan - who is full of praise and admiration for the big-hearted all-rounder - alludes to the England camp 'not minding him having a couple now and then' provided he stays fit.

The off-field camaraderie between England and Australia contrasts with occasional -  but fascinating - tale-telling about other international cricketers. Vaughan, in particular, talks freely. Graeme Smith, we learn, became so frustrated during one match that his sledging of the England captain deteriorated into the juvenile, calling Vaughan queer (perhaps more courageously, he also taunted Flintoff as a 'big baby'). Flintoff barely disguises his sentiments towards Sourav Ganguly,  whose self-indulgent and brattish behaviour was the lament of Lancashire.

Although the style might not be completely his, Vaughan's book still gives a flavour of his thinking and character. Refreshingly, it eschews the norm for sports autobiographies and begins with him firmly ensconced in the England side, rather than opting for the usual 'dad threw me balls in the garden' chapters.

A fair amount of space is devoted to his thoughts on captaincy.  As you might expect - and he freely admits - the nail-biting Ashes series was the most difficult, challenging and draining few months of his career.

I've a pet theory that Flintoff and Vaughan pretty much wrote their own photo captions - certainly in Vaughan's case there's the sparkle of his wry humour that's otherwise scarce - and it's here that we get a glimpse of what might have been: how much better the  books could be if there were less filtration  and colouration from the ghosts.

That said, everybody wants to read about England's heroes (except maybe the Aussies) and the books deliver what's  asked. It's just that they're good, not great, and could have been so much better.



Biography