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Playing with Fire
Nasser Hussain was acclaimed as England's best cricket captain since Mike Brearley. Under his leadership, a side more famous for its batting collapses and ability to seize defeat from the jaws of victory discovered its backbone. With coach Duncan Fletcher he put some steel into the side; they became a difficult team to beat.
Hussain wore his heart on his sleeve: railing against complacency, defying critics of his place in the batting line-up and making a principled stand at the last World Cup when the ECB seemed incapable of it.
Expect passion, integrity, insight and candour in his eagerly awaited autobiography.
498 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 14, 2004
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Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews
September 6, 2024
Another Essex cricketer, following Derek Pringle, who had significantly more success at the international level, ascending to the very top as English captain. A couple of striking aspects - (a) the intensity of politics in the English cricket system, and (b) the prescient observations on James Anderson.
April 29, 2025
Really enjoyed this book as there seemed to be incident or a good story on every page. A great insight into a complex character who wasn't afraid to give an honest opinion on others or himself! Fascinating to learn about his upbringing and the impact his Dad had on his character, career and overall life choices. I enjoyed the conversational style of writing as it read like you were listening to Nasser on TV. Would highly recommend this book to any English cricket fan, especially anyone who followed during the 90s/00s as England veered away from shambolic to professionalism.
September 10, 2025
#Binge Reviewing my previous Reads # Cricket
Autobiographies in cricket often split themselves along predictable lines. They either lean toward the hagiographic—carefully manicured, full of numbers, politely curated tales of dressing rooms—or they lean toward the tell-all scandal, revelling in bitterness and controversy.
Hussain’s book belongs to neither camp.
It is a strange beast, an autobiography that is also a psychological self-portrait, a confession of inadequacy that morphs into a celebration of grit, a story less about genius and more about stubbornness.
Rereading it now, years later, one is struck by how atypical it is in the pantheon of cricket writing. It is less about runs and averages and more about inner demons and identity. It is, to borrow the title’s metaphor, a book that smoulders rather than soothes.
To read Hussain is to confront the figure of a man permanently at war with himself. He admits early on that he was not the most talented in the room. He was not a Gower with effortless elegance, not a Lara with genius wrists, not even a Tendulkar with prodigious balance.
What he had instead was hunger, bordering on obsession. He tells of his childhood in Madras, his immigrant family’s arrival in Essex, and the constant pressure of proving himself as both English enough and talented enough. The book is peppered with anecdotes of his father—an intense, demanding figure whose love was strict and whose expectations were high. Hussain does not shy away from painting himself as a product of this stern environment, a boy forced to channel insecurity into performance.
There is no romance here, no “I always loved cricket and dreamed of playing for England.” Instead, there is compulsion, almost resentment: he played because he had to, because to fall short was unthinkable.
This honesty is the book’s greatest strength. Where many autobiographies gloss over self-doubt, Hussain makes it the centrepiece. He writes about staring at the crease, consumed by fear of failure, even in county matches. He recalls his constant battles with form, with the press, and with selectors. He admits that much of his career was shaped not by joy but by anxiety.
And yet, paradoxically, this makes his achievements as England captain even more remarkable. To lead with authority when you are inwardly fragile is perhaps a greater triumph than to lead with easy confidence.
Hussain’s captaincy years, as the book shows, were about taking a fractured, often ridiculed England side of the late 1990s and instilling in them the beginnings of discipline and belief.
The portrait of English cricket at the time is revealing. Hussain describes a culture riddled with defeatism, a dressing room of talented individuals unable to cohere, and a management structure stuck in the past. Into this mess he brought, as he says, not charm but steel. He demanded standards, punctuality, and professionalism.
He clashed with players who preferred a lighter touch. He was not loved by all, but he earned respect. His partnership with coach Duncan Fletcher, chronicled in detail, is one of the book’s most satisfying threads: two outsiders, both slightly dour, both obsessed with improvement, slowly reshaping the culture of English cricket. One senses here the roots of the 2005 Ashes triumph, which would come after Hussain’s retirement but was undeniably built on the foundations he helped lay.
What is fascinating is the way Hussain describes these changes not as grand strategies but as personal battles. Every decision is filtered through his own insecurities. When he dropped players, he agonised. When he chose to bat first, he second-guessed. When he clashed with umpires, he replayed the argument in his head endlessly.
The book does not present him as a natural leader; it presents him as a reluctant one, forged in fire. This vulnerability is rare in sporting autobiographies. Most athletes, especially captains, prefer to present themselves as confident architects of destiny. Hussain instead admits that he often felt he was bluffing, that leadership was an act performed to hide self-doubt. And yet, precisely because he admits this, the leadership feels real.
The cricketing set-pieces in the book are vivid. He relives his 1997 hundred against Australia at Headingley, the innings that announced his arrival as a Test batsman of note. He describes, with characteristic frankness, his failures too: the ducks, the rash shots, and the technical flaws that haunted him.
The 2002 NatWest final is recalled in detail—not just the famous Ganguly shirt-waving on the balcony but the entire ebb and flow of the match, the agony of losing from a dominant position. Unlike some autobiographies that skip over defeats, Hussain dwells on them, because for him defeat was the crucible in which character was tested.
There are also insights into teammates, though he is careful not to indulge in gratuitous gossip. He praises Atherton’s stoicism, Stewart’s professionalism, and Flintoff’s emerging charisma. He is respectful toward Thorpe, admiring of Vaughan’s flair. He has less patience for the more lackadaisical types, though he names them sparingly. His honesty is sharper when it comes to opponents: he writes of the awe he felt facing Warne and McGrath, the relentlessness of Australian cricket at its peak. He admits to being intimidated, but also describes the small victories—the cover drive struck sweetly, the session survived, and the innings rebuilt. In doing so, he paints cricket not as a place of constant triumph but as a field of survival.
Compared to other cricket autobiographies, Playing with Fire feels almost novelistic in its attention to psychology. Read alongside Steve Waugh’s Out of My Comfort Zone, one notices the contrast: Waugh’s book is full of toughness, pragmatism, and a quiet confidence. Hussain’s book, by contrast, is drenched in inner turmoil. Where Waugh sees cricket as a war to be won, Hussain sees it as an existential test of character. In this sense, the book is closer to Marcus Trescothick’s Coming Back to Me, another autobiography that delves deeply into mental strain. Hussain’s difference is that his career arc ends with a sense of fulfilment, not breakdown. He survived his own fire and emerged with respect intact.
Stylistically, the book is brisk, conversational, and often biting. Hussain has a sharp tongue and a dry humour, which surfaces in anecdotes of county life and dressing room banter. He does not dress up his prose with lyricism; he writes as he captained—directly, sometimes abrasively, always purposefully.
The title Playing with Fire captures both his temperament—quick to anger, prone to flare-ups—and his career, lived on the edge of implosion but sustained by will.
Reading it now, with hindsight, one realises how important Hussain was to English cricket’s trajectory. Before him, England were serial underachievers. After him, under Vaughan and then Strauss, they climbed toward world-beating status. Hussain’s book documents that transition from hopelessness to possibility. He does not claim credit in a boastful way, but the subtext is clear: without his years of demanding standards, England’s later glory may not have come. In that sense, the autobiography doubles as a historical document of English cricket’s rebirth.
Nevertheless, beyond cricket, the book is also a meditation on identity. Hussain, born in India and raised in England, always felt slightly out of place. He recalls cruel nicknames, questions about his Englishness, and the burden of being an immigrant captain. He does not romanticise his background; he admits it was difficult. But he also claims it gave him resilience. In this way, Playing with Fire is not just a cricket book but an immigrant’s tale of belonging through sport. That layer makes it richer than many other autobiographies, which remain within the boundary ropes.
As a reader, one feels that Hussain is not asking to be liked. He is asking to be understood. He does not sugarcoat his temper, his mistakes, or his insecurities. He admits to sulking, to tantrums, and to stubbornness. And yet, by the end, one respects him more precisely because of this candour. In cricket culture, especially in England, where understatement and stoicism are prized, Hussain’s openness is radical. He shows that leadership can coexist with vulnerability and that greatness can coexist with doubt.
In the long run, Playing with Fire stands as one of the finest modern cricket autobiographies, precisely because it avoids the trap of self-mythologising. It is not propaganda, not even apology; it is testimony. A testimony that cricket is not only about cover drives and five-wicket hauls, but about the human struggle behind them. Hussain’s voice, urgent and unvarnished, makes you believe that the fire he played with was real, and that he burnt but did not burn out.
When I closed the book, I felt something rare: not admiration alone, but identification. Because most of us are not prodigies, not geniuses, not artists of perfection. Most of us live with self-doubt, with pressure, with the feeling of not being good enough.
Hussain’s story tells us that even with those burdens, one can still achieve, still lead, still matter. His autobiography, then, is not just about cricket—it is about the universal human condition, played out on green fields under unforgiving skies.
Autobiographies in cricket often split themselves along predictable lines. They either lean toward the hagiographic—carefully manicured, full of numbers, politely curated tales of dressing rooms—or they lean toward the tell-all scandal, revelling in bitterness and controversy.
Hussain’s book belongs to neither camp.
It is a strange beast, an autobiography that is also a psychological self-portrait, a confession of inadequacy that morphs into a celebration of grit, a story less about genius and more about stubbornness.
Rereading it now, years later, one is struck by how atypical it is in the pantheon of cricket writing. It is less about runs and averages and more about inner demons and identity. It is, to borrow the title’s metaphor, a book that smoulders rather than soothes.
To read Hussain is to confront the figure of a man permanently at war with himself. He admits early on that he was not the most talented in the room. He was not a Gower with effortless elegance, not a Lara with genius wrists, not even a Tendulkar with prodigious balance.
What he had instead was hunger, bordering on obsession. He tells of his childhood in Madras, his immigrant family’s arrival in Essex, and the constant pressure of proving himself as both English enough and talented enough. The book is peppered with anecdotes of his father—an intense, demanding figure whose love was strict and whose expectations were high. Hussain does not shy away from painting himself as a product of this stern environment, a boy forced to channel insecurity into performance.
There is no romance here, no “I always loved cricket and dreamed of playing for England.” Instead, there is compulsion, almost resentment: he played because he had to, because to fall short was unthinkable.
This honesty is the book’s greatest strength. Where many autobiographies gloss over self-doubt, Hussain makes it the centrepiece. He writes about staring at the crease, consumed by fear of failure, even in county matches. He recalls his constant battles with form, with the press, and with selectors. He admits that much of his career was shaped not by joy but by anxiety.
And yet, paradoxically, this makes his achievements as England captain even more remarkable. To lead with authority when you are inwardly fragile is perhaps a greater triumph than to lead with easy confidence.
Hussain’s captaincy years, as the book shows, were about taking a fractured, often ridiculed England side of the late 1990s and instilling in them the beginnings of discipline and belief.
The portrait of English cricket at the time is revealing. Hussain describes a culture riddled with defeatism, a dressing room of talented individuals unable to cohere, and a management structure stuck in the past. Into this mess he brought, as he says, not charm but steel. He demanded standards, punctuality, and professionalism.
He clashed with players who preferred a lighter touch. He was not loved by all, but he earned respect. His partnership with coach Duncan Fletcher, chronicled in detail, is one of the book’s most satisfying threads: two outsiders, both slightly dour, both obsessed with improvement, slowly reshaping the culture of English cricket. One senses here the roots of the 2005 Ashes triumph, which would come after Hussain’s retirement but was undeniably built on the foundations he helped lay.
What is fascinating is the way Hussain describes these changes not as grand strategies but as personal battles. Every decision is filtered through his own insecurities. When he dropped players, he agonised. When he chose to bat first, he second-guessed. When he clashed with umpires, he replayed the argument in his head endlessly.
The book does not present him as a natural leader; it presents him as a reluctant one, forged in fire. This vulnerability is rare in sporting autobiographies. Most athletes, especially captains, prefer to present themselves as confident architects of destiny. Hussain instead admits that he often felt he was bluffing, that leadership was an act performed to hide self-doubt. And yet, precisely because he admits this, the leadership feels real.
The cricketing set-pieces in the book are vivid. He relives his 1997 hundred against Australia at Headingley, the innings that announced his arrival as a Test batsman of note. He describes, with characteristic frankness, his failures too: the ducks, the rash shots, and the technical flaws that haunted him.
The 2002 NatWest final is recalled in detail—not just the famous Ganguly shirt-waving on the balcony but the entire ebb and flow of the match, the agony of losing from a dominant position. Unlike some autobiographies that skip over defeats, Hussain dwells on them, because for him defeat was the crucible in which character was tested.
There are also insights into teammates, though he is careful not to indulge in gratuitous gossip. He praises Atherton’s stoicism, Stewart’s professionalism, and Flintoff’s emerging charisma. He is respectful toward Thorpe, admiring of Vaughan’s flair. He has less patience for the more lackadaisical types, though he names them sparingly. His honesty is sharper when it comes to opponents: he writes of the awe he felt facing Warne and McGrath, the relentlessness of Australian cricket at its peak. He admits to being intimidated, but also describes the small victories—the cover drive struck sweetly, the session survived, and the innings rebuilt. In doing so, he paints cricket not as a place of constant triumph but as a field of survival.
Compared to other cricket autobiographies, Playing with Fire feels almost novelistic in its attention to psychology. Read alongside Steve Waugh’s Out of My Comfort Zone, one notices the contrast: Waugh’s book is full of toughness, pragmatism, and a quiet confidence. Hussain’s book, by contrast, is drenched in inner turmoil. Where Waugh sees cricket as a war to be won, Hussain sees it as an existential test of character. In this sense, the book is closer to Marcus Trescothick’s Coming Back to Me, another autobiography that delves deeply into mental strain. Hussain’s difference is that his career arc ends with a sense of fulfilment, not breakdown. He survived his own fire and emerged with respect intact.
Stylistically, the book is brisk, conversational, and often biting. Hussain has a sharp tongue and a dry humour, which surfaces in anecdotes of county life and dressing room banter. He does not dress up his prose with lyricism; he writes as he captained—directly, sometimes abrasively, always purposefully.
The title Playing with Fire captures both his temperament—quick to anger, prone to flare-ups—and his career, lived on the edge of implosion but sustained by will.
Reading it now, with hindsight, one realises how important Hussain was to English cricket’s trajectory. Before him, England were serial underachievers. After him, under Vaughan and then Strauss, they climbed toward world-beating status. Hussain’s book documents that transition from hopelessness to possibility. He does not claim credit in a boastful way, but the subtext is clear: without his years of demanding standards, England’s later glory may not have come. In that sense, the autobiography doubles as a historical document of English cricket’s rebirth.
Nevertheless, beyond cricket, the book is also a meditation on identity. Hussain, born in India and raised in England, always felt slightly out of place. He recalls cruel nicknames, questions about his Englishness, and the burden of being an immigrant captain. He does not romanticise his background; he admits it was difficult. But he also claims it gave him resilience. In this way, Playing with Fire is not just a cricket book but an immigrant’s tale of belonging through sport. That layer makes it richer than many other autobiographies, which remain within the boundary ropes.
As a reader, one feels that Hussain is not asking to be liked. He is asking to be understood. He does not sugarcoat his temper, his mistakes, or his insecurities. He admits to sulking, to tantrums, and to stubbornness. And yet, by the end, one respects him more precisely because of this candour. In cricket culture, especially in England, where understatement and stoicism are prized, Hussain’s openness is radical. He shows that leadership can coexist with vulnerability and that greatness can coexist with doubt.
In the long run, Playing with Fire stands as one of the finest modern cricket autobiographies, precisely because it avoids the trap of self-mythologising. It is not propaganda, not even apology; it is testimony. A testimony that cricket is not only about cover drives and five-wicket hauls, but about the human struggle behind them. Hussain’s voice, urgent and unvarnished, makes you believe that the fire he played with was real, and that he burnt but did not burn out.
When I closed the book, I felt something rare: not admiration alone, but identification. Because most of us are not prodigies, not geniuses, not artists of perfection. Most of us live with self-doubt, with pressure, with the feeling of not being good enough.
Hussain’s story tells us that even with those burdens, one can still achieve, still lead, still matter. His autobiography, then, is not just about cricket—it is about the universal human condition, played out on green fields under unforgiving skies.
July 5, 2020
Very readable and very honest. To be honest the England Test Cricket Captaincy seems a rather poisoned chalice with the amount of pressure it puts on individuals. The politics were also interesting, seems incredible how much was left to the players around the situation with Zimbabwe in the World Cup.
September 2, 2022
I always associate Nasser Hussain instantly with the India-England series in 2001 where he set the perceived negative field for Sachin Tendulkar (in a Jardinesque manner) and was actually able to get him out stumped, the only one of his career. This elevated my respect for Nasser Hussain as a captain, someone you would hate as an opponent but respect him nonetheless. For sure you wanted him in your side as a fighter and able to pull punches when required. This autobiography aptly reflects the person and the personality and he doesn’t hold back his thoughts on himself and nor on others.
The book follows a linear format except for the 1st chapter focussed on the 2003 World Cup situation on the decision to not play Zimbabwe in Zimbabwe. The inner turmoil is well reflected along with the clashes with the bigwigs from ECB and ICC. Nasser then takes through his childhood- again an eye opener on the relationship with his father, Indian who married an English lady and migrated to England from Chennai. There were many facets which were unknown especially as he started as a leg spin bowler, lost his action and transformed into a batsman fairly late into his childhood. The influence of his father both in a good way and not so great way is very evident in the narrative.
Post his transition to England team, he takes us through a lot of key events, interaction with key characters- Graham Gooch, Keith and Duncan Fletcher. The content is just right enough to give sufficient details about the matches but also giving us the behind the scenes of the dressing room and Nasser himself as a batsman and captain. You are able to associate with lot of things he mentions for e.g. Playing well on tough pitches as he would have nothing to lose. You also get to see some of his leadership characteristics- being a straight shooter, caring for his team, every person being a different character who needs to be understood and nurtured and so on. He also brings about the human face of the cricketers which we many times as spectators think of them as machines without understanding the inner turmoil and workings.
He doesn’t hold back on his relationship with key players, selectors etc and he could have made the context more diplomatic in nature given that he had just retired when he wrote the book, but true to his personality he says what it is, either we take it or leave it. It will be interesting to know if his opinion has changes on some of the key characters like Muralitharan which he has interacted quite a bit in his media role. He also has the ability to recognize his own abilities, limitations, strengths and weakness and that’s not something everyone would be able to maintain in such a competitive and high-pressure environment.
It is nice to see the book being supplemented by photographs capturing key moments from Nasser’s life both personal and professional. I also enjoyed the narrative and photographs from the India tour of 2001 interacting with his Indian side of the family and coming back to his roots as a England captain, which seem to be fulfilling for him and his father.
Highly recommended for everyone who has seen Nasser as a batsman, captain and also in a media role post his retirement, to understand the player and personality even better.
The book follows a linear format except for the 1st chapter focussed on the 2003 World Cup situation on the decision to not play Zimbabwe in Zimbabwe. The inner turmoil is well reflected along with the clashes with the bigwigs from ECB and ICC. Nasser then takes through his childhood- again an eye opener on the relationship with his father, Indian who married an English lady and migrated to England from Chennai. There were many facets which were unknown especially as he started as a leg spin bowler, lost his action and transformed into a batsman fairly late into his childhood. The influence of his father both in a good way and not so great way is very evident in the narrative.
Post his transition to England team, he takes us through a lot of key events, interaction with key characters- Graham Gooch, Keith and Duncan Fletcher. The content is just right enough to give sufficient details about the matches but also giving us the behind the scenes of the dressing room and Nasser himself as a batsman and captain. You are able to associate with lot of things he mentions for e.g. Playing well on tough pitches as he would have nothing to lose. You also get to see some of his leadership characteristics- being a straight shooter, caring for his team, every person being a different character who needs to be understood and nurtured and so on. He also brings about the human face of the cricketers which we many times as spectators think of them as machines without understanding the inner turmoil and workings.
He doesn’t hold back on his relationship with key players, selectors etc and he could have made the context more diplomatic in nature given that he had just retired when he wrote the book, but true to his personality he says what it is, either we take it or leave it. It will be interesting to know if his opinion has changes on some of the key characters like Muralitharan which he has interacted quite a bit in his media role. He also has the ability to recognize his own abilities, limitations, strengths and weakness and that’s not something everyone would be able to maintain in such a competitive and high-pressure environment.
It is nice to see the book being supplemented by photographs capturing key moments from Nasser’s life both personal and professional. I also enjoyed the narrative and photographs from the India tour of 2001 interacting with his Indian side of the family and coming back to his roots as a England captain, which seem to be fulfilling for him and his father.
Highly recommended for everyone who has seen Nasser as a batsman, captain and also in a media role post his retirement, to understand the player and personality even better.
January 17, 2023
Great autobiography of a British Indian cricketer who is very skilful and talented. His captaincy of the English National side is commendable as well. This is great for cricket enthusiasts. Nasser Hussain is a great cricketer of yesteryear.
October 25, 2017
Splendid.....An absorbing life story.
December 21, 2019
The ending got to long
October 29, 2020
Excellent book
August 21, 2012
Love this. As a cricket tragic and a big fan of Nasser's ability to lead and manage individuals, I learnt a lot from him. I still maintain he changed, alongside Duncan Fletcher, the fabric of English test cricket and paved the way for the success achieved under Michael Vaughan, Andrew Strauss etc. While his record as a batsmen isn't amazing, he played in a testing time for England where they were, at times, the whipping boys in international cricket. Great read into a man who changed the face of the ECB and consequently, the first man of Asian background to captain England. If that isn't progress, tell me what is.
May 8, 2008
As a passionate cricket fan it felt fascinating to read into a professional cricketers life. I chose Nas because of his roots in India and him being an insprirational captain.
International 'team' sport is just not the skill and talent you contribute but to also cope with political and soicial pressure. One has to extremely lucky to find him/herself at the right time in the right place on top of possessing the skill.
International 'team' sport is just not the skill and talent you contribute but to also cope with political and soicial pressure. One has to extremely lucky to find him/herself at the right time in the right place on top of possessing the skill.
November 6, 2016
Don't usually read sporting bios but always thought a lot of Nasser and he took England through some interesting times. 4 stars for content, but 2 for writing, which is not his fault but down to the ghost-writer/editor, though I suspect deliberately 'conversational' - just a shame it made it so repetitive and badly phrased.
June 28, 2017
Perfectly readable and you really do hear Nasser's voice in your head as you read. Not exceptionally revelatory or interesting however. For someone who continually refers to themselves as being seen as a troublemaker, the odd gripe at administrators aside, you feel Nasser is being far too diplomatic. Too much 'so and so was a great bloke, but.....'
January 21, 2025
Well it is my favourite autobiography but I've only read two as of right now. Its great to see the same personality and character I see on sky sports being shown here even if it is a few years before. So good to see the stories of English cricketers past and Nasser does just bring a great insight into his temperament and attitude towards cricket.
May 14, 2010
The brutally honest cricket memoir of former England cricket captain Nasser Hussain. This was one of the better cricket biographies that I've read and I recommend it.
February 24, 2011
very good covering Englands transition into a decent side
Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews