Ryan Harris - Battered, Bruised, but Never Broken

Ryan Harris of Australia looks on during day two of the Third Test match between Australia and India

“Never gonna give you up/ Never gonna let you down” – Rick Astley could well have written this for Ryan Harris.

And so it has come to pass. Nobody wanted it to end this way. Most expected it to anyway. Ryan Harris, the epitome of the hard-as-nails, never-give-up, can-do mentality that has characterized many a great Australian team has hung up his bowling boots. It is a poignant if fitting end for so selfless a performer. Effectively, his last act as a member of the Australian Cricket Team was to solve the selection quandary that plagued (perhaps blessed is more apt?) them before the start of the first Ashes Test.

His retirement has simultaneously allowed the young guns – Mitchell Starc and Josh Hazlewood – to retain their positions in the team and created a void that is as tough to fill as his knee was to fix. A microcosm of his career then; always the consummate team man and always Australia’s most valuable commodity. It has ended all too quickly but never should have gotten this far.

A mighty heart

The word “legendary” gets thrown around a lot these days. Hell, “legend” is as much a part of Australian slang as “mate”. He’s a legend. She’s a legend. I’m a legend. You’re a legend. Harris’ performance in the deciding Test against the South Africans in Cape Town was the stuff of legend.

Recuperating from a knee surgery myself at that point, I lived vicariously through him; and not in a good way. Each half-step, each hobble, each grimace made me feel like a dagger was being stabbed into my own knee. Improbably, impossibly, incredulously and incredibly he continued to run in. He should not have been able to stand, much less bowl. You wanted those last two wickets to fall just so it would end. And then it did. Through sheer willpower and bloody-mindedness, he managed to claim those wickets and with them the Test.

The adage that Test Cricket is a battle could not have been more apt. But this wasn’t a battle between Harris and the batsmen, this was a battle between him and his knees. He was the soldier who keeps moving forward despite being sprayed with bullets. He was the POW who escaped despite having an amputated foot. He was the SEAL who throws himself on a grenade because that’s what is best for the team. He was all that and so much more. He was Ryan Harris.

Harris transcended the physical world that day, he may as well have been looking at his body from up above as he ran in. It was a superhuman effort by a man with a less than human body at that stage. It was his finest moment, and just like the essence of Harris, the wickets taken did not tell the entire story.

Understated hero who never let his team down

Ryan Harris has always been so much more than the wickets he takes. No small feat considering his numbers; 113 at an average of 23.52 signifies greatness in any era. What those numbers don’t show is the number of wickets bowlers got because of the pressure Harris built up at the other end. What they don’t show is the effort he put into each and every delivery.

What they don’t show is that for most of his time as an Australian cricketer he ran in on knees that may as well have been made of ceramic. The sound of the ball hitting timber could easily have been his knees giving away. While Harris bowled, a breakdown was as likely as a breakthrough.

So if it wasn’t the wickets it must have been his bowling fast, skiddy and accurate, with just enough movement to torment the batsman. A Harris spell was often the examination paper from hell; no matter how much effort you put in, you know you’re not good enough, you know you’re going to fail.

And fail they did. But it wasn’t his bowling either. It was his heart. It didn’t matter if it was the first over of the day or the last, if a Test match had essentially been won, lost or drawn by that point, if it was a top order batsman or a tailender, if it was Galle or the Gabba; you always got the same sustained excellence from him. They christened him “Rhyno”, and he charged in like one.

Young cricketers want to grow up to be Kevin Pietersen, AB de Villiers, Dale Steyn or Mitchell Johnson. They probably don’t want to be Harris. Harris isn’t flashy. He isn’t the mad dog left off the leash that is Johnson. He isn’t the hitman that is Steyn.

He’s all about sustained excellence. He’s all about subtle variations. Harris is relentless. He keeps coming after you. He keeps coming at you. Young cricketers should want to grow up to be Ryan Harris. Because Ryan Harris doesn’t give up. Ryan Harris doesn’t back away. Ryan Harris doesn’t live to fight another day, he plays every game as if it is his last. At least he did.

Sometimes creaking, sometimes groaning, but always with a smile

If Ryan Harris owned a dictionary he would cross out the word “quit”. “Can’t” would probably disappear too. And he wouldn’t know what “selfish” meant. His career is proof of that. That it has ended a week before what he envisioned as his last series is cruel. With the finish line in sight, his knees finally gave out on him. If Harris were a runner, one would assume he would have been a sprinter; at least with his knees.

That he chose to participate in the marathon that is Test Cricket instead of choosing the easier, more lucrative option is testament to the man and his spirit. He scraped and he clawed, he struggled and he fought and he did it all with a smile on his face.

Ryan Harris was an overachiever. Not because he took as many wickets as he did; if anything he should have taken more. He overachieved because any other body would have broken down and any other mind would have quit ages ago. Harris could have possibly played longer had he not bowled every ball like his life depended upon it. He would have made more money had he decided to turn his back on his country and become a T20 gun for hire. But that was not his way. When life knocked him down, he got back up. Sometimes creaking, sometimes groaning, but always with a smile on his face.

They call him “Rhyno”. They call him “Legend”. I call him “Lionheart”. He was battered, bruised but never beaten. You should feel fortunate to have seen Ryan Harris bowl. But if you have incorporated his attitude into your life, you are truly blessed.

The next part of that song goes – “Never gonna make you cry/ Never gonna say goodbye”

He has done both.