In both his cricket and his life, Dean Jones’ departures left a sense of shock and loss at his arrival before many could say goodbye.
At the end of his international career as a wonderfully lively hitter and a pioneer of limited overs, this was because Jones found himself outside the Test calculations and on the brink of the one-day team in South Africa in 1994, forcing him to to call a retirement press conference summary on what had hitherto been Allan Border’s nominal farewell tour.
Twenty-six years later, Jones left this world almost half a step, suffering cardiac arrest while working as an analyst on the latest edition of the IPL for Star in Mumbai. In both cases, his departure left a deep and tangible sensation of conversations and lost moments, of thanks impossible to give. Similarly, his induction into the Australian Cricket Hall of Fame had been via video link when Jones was busy for a T20 coaching assignment, and now his death left many around the world feeling bereft. , or maybe even less articulate than that.
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What we are left with is a rich trove of moments and memories, far more than those usually provided by cricketers of later longer careers, and to reflect on the jumble of contradictions, frustrations and triumphs of the man universally known as Deano.
Two qualities in particular stand out. The first was his sheer energy, a trait that helped take him to some of the most extraordinary heights in cricket. If Jones was faltering towards the end of his unforgettable 210 against India in Chennai in 1986, his captain Border knew how to bring a second wind, suggesting it was time for a Queenslander, Greg Ritchie, to do what a Victorian could do. not. His civic pride conveniently threatened, Jones continued, passed 200 and became a legend.
Jones’ many other brilliant performances, and some not so brilliant, were imbued with a similar mix of bravery and courage. Either beating the West Indies around Adelaide Oval for its second double century in Tests in early 1989, handcuffing a young Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis for hundreds of twins in the same place a year later, or destroying Sir Richard Hadlee. in an Auckland ODI. later in the same season, Jones could be completely irresistible. On the 1989 Ashes tour, Mark Taylor led the aggregates and Steve Waugh the headlines, but neither hit better or more predatory than Jones.
In one-day games, Jones’ ability to find gaps and run with what seemed like Olympic speed across the fields made him the world’s most feared hitter in limited overs. A technicolor entry of 145 against England at the Gabba in 1990-91, wearing the gold cap and then the white floppy hat and animated by a packed room, alerted a generation of aspiring schoolchildren that hitting doesn’t have to be just to get to the stumps: age T20 was probably born as a consequence of an imaginative sequel to an entry by Jones.
His precise knowledge of things like how much faster two could run if he went blind than not, was also way ahead of his time. A pair of twists to the limit of Hansie Cronje’s thin leg at SCG in his final international summer, the second followed by a pointed punch as the crowd went wild, underscored how infuriating Jones could be to pitch or captain against.
Of course, the maniacal enthusiasm for the game and the national team that Jones wore so proudly also led to many occasions when brio exceeded common sense.
Who but Jones would be left without the ball after being thrown by Courtney Walsh in the West Indies in 1991? Who but Jones would find the ball caught between her glove and pads after advancing to Venkatapathy Raju at the MCG later that year, throwing it away and forever denying that it could have been out of control? Who but Jones would conceive, much less act, a plot to ask Curtly Ambrose to remove his wristband on the pretext of losing sight of the white ball in the 1993 World Series Finals? And who else but Jones would write, innocently and truthfully in a Mark Ray ghost column, that the absence of famous disputed coach Bob Simpson from the locker room during a one-day game for Gabba in early 1994 had helped the team to chill out? Simpson threatened to sue his own player.
None of these moments helped Jones or his career, but all contributed greatly to the tradition of cricket.
The second quality, for which Jones was equally famous, is the feeling of something incomplete or unfair about his career and its aftermath. There is no Victorian better ranked than the prime minister of the state, and in the tribute to Dan Andrews on social media the words “should have been chosen for many more than his 52 tests” appeared. It’s a vision that has been able to improve Melbourne’s pub commerce for most of the last 28 years by generating additional conversation and, by extension, additional rounds, and Jones never put him off.
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In his 1997 book, Choice Matters, former coach John Benaud gave a very good, reasoned and frank description of all the cross-currents running through the call for the selection panel to make Jones the twelfth man in the Gabba Test against the West Indies in 1992. These ranged from Jones’ increasing levels of inconsistency, the need for a fresh approach to tackling the Caribbean side, and his poor record against the West Indies outside of the aforementioned Adelaide 200, to the fact that the Sheffield Shield draw for that season had him given very few hits relative to those given by Damien Martyn, who would eventually debut in his place.
RIP, magnificent cricketer
He finally got the elusive 100 in his homeland, it turned out to be against Australia. pic.twitter.com/Sjv8CFp0cJ
– Rob Moody (@ robelinda2) September 24, 2020
Martyn’s own story is one of rejection and recrimination prior to his own summary decision to retire, and it was a burden that Jones bore for the next two years and possibly the remainder of his time in the game. Steve Waugh’s diary’s reflection on Jones’ international retirement, in South Africa in 1994, bears repeating: “I know how desperately he wanted to put the baggy green cap back on and when he thought that was impossible, he didn’t want to torture himself anymore. . ” Waugh wasn’t the only one to be much more calculating in recent years when it came to the rules of engagement with the selectors in particular, and Jones’s precedent certainly helped.
The selectors came close to calling Jones one last time, for the 1996 World Cup, but stopped at the last minute. Jones’ response was to make a hundred for a World XI against the Australians in a MCG match to mark the 100th anniversary of the Victoria Cricket Association upon their return from the cup. Although a Dean Jones vaudeville tribute match had been played on the field the previous season, this was the closest it came to a true send-off – for the provincial Victorians, Jones against Australia was almost better than Australia with Jones.
Nor should it be forgotten that both Jones and Border were the main losers in the graduation of Australian cricketers from solid contracts to jaw-dropping contracts. When they retired, neither of them had more than five-figure CBA deals, but within a couple of years people like Waugh, Shane Warne, and Mark Taylor were racking up earnings before endorsements much closer to half a million each. If there was ever a perception of selfishness or opportunism in Jones, his unfortunate place on the cricket money track is worth remembering.
As it stood, Jones spent the rest of his days hopping between training, commentary and other assignments, including a short and debated stint on Australia’s senior PGA golf tour in 2012-13. He was rightly punished for a couple of careless comments, one a reference to Robert Mugabe’s not caring about the state of Zimbabwe while he was there to cover a series, and the other a reference to Hashim Amla as “the terrorist” picking up a window. . He likely never fit into a Cricket Australia coaching position, though he briefly consulted in 2012.
Normally I wouldn’t share screenshots of any conversation, but I think people should know the type of man #DeanJones he was off the field. One of the most compassionate people. This was sent to me when Asif was going through a difficult time, I believed in Asif & Asif delivered that season. pic.twitter.com/xbhjsNVosc
– Rehan Ulhaq (@Rehan_ulhaq) September 24, 2020
A third attribute, underestimated by many, must be Jones’ generosity. It was not always defined in the way that cricketers or administrators would have wanted it to be, it was primarily in the exchange and development of ideas about the game of cricket and the sport in general. Apart from Magic of a day in 1991 and My call In 1994, which included strong elements of instruction or advice, Jones’ last book was a collection of cricket advice gleaned from his many and varied journeys as a commentator and coach.
His release at the MCG in 2016 saw Jones at his best, defending the court and discussing concepts he had learned to share from the likes of VVS Laxman, Waqar Younis and Ricky Ponting, offering photo opportunities and autographs as if he were still El. Australia’s number 4 hitter in place of Steven Smith.
More recently, and in a more personal story, Jones did not think to respond to a short request from his memory with a long, jovial phone call and a series of tips on the best way my partner and I could move from a Covid- 19 Melbourne. in Victoria country if we so choose. There was a warmth about this Jones that contrasted with the coldness others had experienced, just as his batting days could so quickly shift between the sublime and the ridiculous. Either way, they were always memorable. Goodbye Deano and thank you. You are gone too soon.
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