Paul Lewis: When the black dog bites

Jonathon Trott. Photo / AP

No wonder some sections of the Australian media and fan base mocked Jonathon Trott's disappearance from the Ashes.

To those of us unaffected by depression, the life of an elite cricketer looks pretty cushy - big money, flash hotels, playing sport for a living in an eternal summer; as Dire Straits had it: "Money for nothing and your chicks for free".

To many, Trott's poor form and uncertainty when faced with a rampant Mitchell Johnson and bad-mouthing Aussies will loom as the reason for his departure, even if they do not say it out loud. Couldn't stand the heat, so he got out of the kitchen.

What most of us know about depression could be written on the end of an ant's fingernail. But it is not surprising that cricketers suffer more than the statistical norm.

David Frith, the founder of Wisden's Cricket Monthly, wrote about it in his book Silence of the Heart, in which he uncovered about 150 examples (many of them test players) of cricketers who took their own lives. One of the candidates to replace Trott in England's Ashes party is Jonny Bairstow, whose wicketkeeper father David, a former England international, committed suicide 15 years ago.

So what is it about cricket that engenders such bleak feelings within men who seem to have a world of reasons to enjoy life?

The answer is that there is no single answer. People are different; circumstances are different. Depression and other forms of mental illness affect people in different ways and there can be few rules of thumb for the dark, cluttered and sometimes unfathomable recesses of the human mind, even to learned and practised medical experts who deal with such things.

But there is little question that cricket has more than a nodding acquaintance with what Winston Churchill used to call the "black dog" and maybe even encourages it among some individuals.

First, those who do not or have not played the game regard it as a team sport. Watch the Australians or the English celebrating together after the fall of an Ashes wicket and it seems clear - they are a unit.

No, they are a collection of individuals moulded into the shape of a team. Cricket is a sport for individuals. The only thing team members do together while playing it is fielding. Everything else - batting and bowling - is done individually. You might bat with another but the stark reality is that when the bowler runs in, you are alone; a solitary figure in the unforgiving desert of cricketing uncertainty, just as the bowler being tonked is also alone.

Team-mates are not just colleagues, they are competitors. Win or lose, there will be spotlights focused on individual performance by selectors, media, fans and team-mates. Openers, middle order batsmen, pace bowlers - all are not just playing the opposition; they are also playing for their place in the team against their colleagues. They need to perform to avoid the drop.

It's not like rugby or league where the physically-based camaraderie invokes a "going to war" spirit; friendships grow under the umbrella of the team that would never have taken root had players met in other circumstances. Cricket often does not have that same level of bonding.

The individualism is not just confined to playing. The time taken to play the game - up to five days for test players - means the different personalities, senses of humour and outlooks assert themselves. Differences between team-mates can be accentuated, not submerged under the mantle of the team.

Team-mates can be among the most back-biting in one of the most back-biting of sports, in many levels of the game. I can remember playing low level cricket in England and being ragged by a team-mate for not contributing to a good win; this during an otherwise successful season for me and the team.

In Auckland club cricket, I can remember a team-mate, during a beer afterwards, pointedly asking in front of others what runs of significance I had scored so far that summer. When I recalled a certain match, the response was: "Oh, everyone scored runs that day."

The fact I can remember these minor slights years later is testimony to the bitchiness within cricket which can affect the more sensitive.

Rugby players would never hold such public post-mortems nor make such critical asides to team-mates. I once had a beer with a Welsh lock who had kicked me so hard in the back I thought, for an instant, I was paralysed. I was sent off for stiff-arming him in response; we had a laugh about it later. I also had a beer with an Auckland club player who eye-gouged me. And they were in the opposition.

Herald on Sunday columnist and former Black Cap Mark Richardson agrees that it happens in all levels of cricket but says he particularly noticed in county cricket that team-mates often did not want people in their own team to succeed.

I dealt with the critical team-mates by avoiding their company - and, with long periods of inactivity when your side is at bat, there are many ways to do that, as well as subtle manouevrings at the bar afterwards.

There is time, plenty of it, for doubt to blossom. If your form slumps, the long walk around the boundary rope can be an exercise in loneliness and wondering what the rest of the team is saying about you and your form.

For elite players, the flip side of all the swanky hotels and touring is months spent away from home, family and friends and long periods of stultifying boredom that endless games of cards and other diversions can't shift. Some thrive in that environment; for others, the intensity can lead to sharp feelings of loneliness. England cricketers Steve Harmison and Marcus Trescothick have written about it.

Opposition sledging is a part of potential malaise too - but only a part of it. Trott has not gone home because of sledging and not too much disapproval should be aimed towards the likes of Michael Clarke. Sledging is a part of the game, sadly, even if the genuine humour that used to accompany it is long gone, replaced by cruel jibes with the objective of provoking dismissal.

But Trott's absence, while it will not have been helped by sledging, comes from deeper concerns than that - and requires a deeper level of concern and understanding.