Top 40 Jonny Bairstow Quotes

I think ‘chuffed to bits’ is a very Yorkshire way of describing my feelings for my friend and county team-mate Joe Root on his promotion to England captain.

When my dad died, I was eight. Becky was seven. My mum had cancer, the first of two bouts that she’s fought and beaten.

Even with Yorkshire I had 19 fifties before I got my first hundred.

Mum never made an excuse, even when she had cancer and had a lot on her plate. You have to have huge admiration for the way she brought us up.

When Dad passed away, grandpa took on that mantle of teaching me how to tackle at football or taking me and mum to cricket.

You’re able to learn different things from different coaches and different players.

My dad was an only child. His father raised him all but alone after his mother abandoned the two of them. He was only three years old.

I was a fortnight away from my 16th birthday when the fabled 2005 Ashes series ended. My hero-worship throughout it belonged to Ian Bell – though I don’t think I’ve ever made that abundantly clear to him.

Look how successful Eddie Jones was, then all of a sudden a training camp is wrong and it’s his fault. The same with Stuart Lancaster.

If someone who doesn’t know anything about wicketkeeping finds a reason to criticise, you have to sift it out. It’s about working out how to deal with the criticism while improving your game.

You think of what might have been different if dad had been around, or how I might have turned out as a person. You just don’t know. I might not even be playing cricket.

You only have to see the rate of divorce in cricket. You’re away so much and then 18 months later, you’re around all the time and not sure what to do with the rest of your life. You go from being at the peak of your powers to being at the bottom of the food chain.

Yorkshire knew how important Scarborough was for me. So I was awarded my county cap there in 2011. That first cap is one of the most precious things I own. The club didn’t tell me that I’d be receiving it, but instead tipped off my mum, making sure she saw the presentation.

I’ve learnt a lot about Dad from going around the world and listening to other people. Whether I’ve been in Australia, the Caribbean, Leeds, Scarborough or London there’s always someone who’s got a story about him.

You go out onto the playing field every time to win and you will do all you can to do that, but not at all costs and especially not to cheat.

All sportsmen have superstitions, or at least they have routines. You look at Rafa Nadal and the way he organises his water bottles. Me, I always put my left pad and left shoe on first.

Life without cricket was initially harder for my dad than playing the game for Yorkshire and England had ever been. He missed it, and also the adrenaline pump of a performance.

I think it’s something you learn over a period of time; you learn to be more comfortable within yourself, appreciative of what you’ve got and what you haven’t, you realise the talents you have and what you can do and you take on the chin the things that you have to. It’s part and parcel of growing up.

Well, I grew up in a certain way, through the experiences that I had, so I don’t know how I would have turned out had things been different.

I look so much like my dad – same chin, same cheekbones, same forehead – and I play a little like him too. But I am my mother’s son. I am who I am because of her.

The 20th anniversary of my dad David’s death coincided with my 50th Test cap and for it to be my mum Janet’s birthday, too, made it an emotional few days. It was not an easy week, being the Pink Test and my mum having had breast cancer twice.

It’s all well and good when it’s going good and people have an opinion on how well you’re playing, but it’s the hidden things they don’t see.

I’ve been involved in a couple of atrocious World Cups.

It’s important to have a smile with spectators but it’s not always possible.

I don’t think there have been many dull celebrations after any of my hundreds for England. It’s been an emotional time for me over the last few weeks. Interpret them as you wish.

When you’re going through difficult times, like I was after the 2013-14 Ashes, you start thinking about different bits. Rugby is a huge passion of mine, a lot of my friends play.

I played fly-half in rugby, so I could influence the game, and midfield in hockey too. So it is part of my sporting DNA to want to be in the game at all times, to affect what is going on. That’s down to genetics and being ginger, I reckon. We’re special specimens.

My dad is never far from my thoughts. A place, a game, an incident somewhere or an unexpected word from someone can trigger a memory, which then triggers another, and suddenly I’m thinking about him, if only for a minute or two.

I do enjoy fielding in the deep and I enjoy engaging with the crowd.

I was only ever briefly angry with my dad for leaving us. It happened shortly after his death, when things were at their darkest and the grief in me was raw and at its worst.

We’re a special family and it’s just that Dad’s life was taken away from us far too early. Everywhere you go around the world he had an effect on people – in the Caribbean, Australia, South Africa or England. I’ve never heard a bad word said about him.

If you can’t motivate yourself to get up and play in front of 30,000-40,000 people, then you’re not in the right job.

Everything goes out of the window when you start an Ashes series. It’s about grabbing the moment.

I’m a bit taller too because I’ve got Mum’s legs and Dad was a bit more squat and well-built than me. My brother Andrew is a bit more like Dad.

I’ve always said I don’t mind where I bat and I have exactly the same mindset when I’m batting seven as I would at five.

I’ve been through practices during which I’ve felt as though medieval torture would have been easier.

Most people believe their family is special. I know mine is.

Everyone who survives cancer knows the victory against it may only be temporary. You know eventually that you might have to fight all over again. Almost 15 years after my mum’s first bout of cancer, a second bout occurred. This time she needed an operation.

If you’re constantly striving for questions that are never going to be answered, then you’re only being detrimental to your own mental health.

In an Ashes series you have to adapt quickly to the conditions and your rivals. If you don’t, you get found out.