Many think my post-playing life, with a grandfather Vic Richardson who captained Australia and later became a writer and broadcaster, was pre-determined.
That’s not what my mother Jeanne thought—she reckoned I was destined to be a bus driver. Apparently at a young age I used to sit astride our couch humming the appropriate noises and driving an invisible bus. 

Knowing Jeanne, I would have been a bus driver with opinions. Opinions were as prolific as orange juice around our kitchen table, a habit encouraged by my mother.
Growing up in Graymore I would play a lot of cricket, baseball and football on my own in the backyard. As I threw and hit a ball against the wall and kicked a football around the backyard I commentated on those imaginary games.