(Brett will be writing a column for The Times Online throughout the Ashes.)
Critics say we're too friendly with England, but just wait until the fireworks start on Thursday For 14 months now, since that second Monday of September last year, our lives have been on countdown. That was the day we became the first Australian team to lose the Ashes for 18 years. And that was the day the slow-ticking clock towards the next series began.
"436 days to go . . . 435 days to go . . . 434 days to go."
We have not been beaten in a Test match since and have ticked every box whenever we've been questioned — the ICC Super Series, the Chappell-Hadlee Trophy, the VB Series, the Champions Trophy — but we've never lost sight of the bottom line. It's always there, ticking away at the back of your mind.
"100 days to go . . . 99 days to go . . . 98 days to go."
We will not be truly judged until the next Ashes. This is our Redemption Song.
Sunday, November 12: Happy days
Jumped into the car at 8.20 this morning and drove to the Sydney Cricket Ground (SCG) with my music blaring and my head buzzing with an overwhelming sense that this is the time of my life: I am 30 years and four days old, I am married to a woman I truly love and I will soon become a father for the first time. It felt a great place to be, especially on a morning when you're getting pumped to play and striving to reach what I call that "happy place". The secret of my success? I play my best with a smile on my face.
The ground is a 40-minute drive from my home. It's a journey I've made a thousand times before when playing for New South Wales and it felt at first like a typical day at the office until I stepped from the car and spotted a group of supporters wearing England shirts. We exchanged some friendly banter as I walked to the changing room and my pulse started to climb. I thought: "Wow! We're playing England today. This will set the tone for the summer."
We won the toss and elected to bat and I watched the first few overs from the balcony and then ducked home after lunch. Both sides are playing 14 players in the three-day match and as I'm one of the non-batsmen and the only expectant father, our coach suggested I take the afternoon off. "Just keep your phone on," he said, "and we'll give you a call when we're five down." The call never came. Happy day.
Monday, November 13: Rocket Man Today
I bowled against England for the second time since the Ashes. The first was three weeks ago during the Champions Trophy in Jaipur where we built a nice platform for the Ashes with a six-wicket win. It was an important blow psychologically and we enjoyed twisting the knife but my fondest memory from the day is the flip side of our rivalry.
It started that morning at breakfast when Kevin Pietersen walked straight over to my table as I was having my Weet-Bix. "Good day, Binga," he smiled. "How've you been, mate?" "Not bad, KP," I replied.
Okay, so it's the morning of a game and you don't want to get too comfortable with your rivals. Okay, so the critics have been complaining that we're far too matey, but what was I supposed to do? Pretend I hadn't seen him? Play tough and turn away? No, that's not me. I do agree that you need a certain edge to play but I think both teams have found that balance.
We were staying at the same hotel that night and got together after the game for a few not-so-quiet beers. I hadn't spoken to Freddie Flintoff all day but he came over and gave me a hug and invited me to join his table. And 20 minutes later I took out my guitar and a quiet corner of India rocked to the sound of Rocket Man.
Our competitive rivalry resumed today at the SCG. I'd warmed up really well in the nets and was elated to capture Marcus Trescothick's wicket for eight.
It was a good way to start the mental momentum. Tressy is a quality player and their opening batsman and it felt great to get his wicket. I bowled to Andrew Strauss who I thought played well and I thought that Alastair Cook, technique-wise, looked really sound, but the person who impressed me most in the game was Pietersen who was unbeaten on 80 at stumps.
There was more fun tonight at a benefit dinner for Freddie in Sydney. I was the only Australian team member to attend and was seated at the England table between the captain and Paul Collingwood. Dinner was followed by a charity auction and then Freddie stood up to make a speech. He is such a warm and genuine person and always makes me smile when he speaks. He thanked the sponsors and the organisers and then turned his attention to me.
"I'd also like to thank Brett Lee for making the effort to come tonight," he said. "It's funny how 30 minutes ago we were sitting down and having this nice big steak and a glass of wine, talking about families and kids, and in 12 hours' time he'll be trying to knock my bloody head off."
The audience loved it. I enjoyed it myself. "You'd better believe it, Freddie," I thought. What's a little chin music between friends?
Tuesday, November 14: No offence, Richie Benaud
It is exactly a week since we returned to Australia after a month in India and my schedule has been absolutely hectic. No complaints. That's exactly how I like it. I can't sit still for five minutes and have been borderline hyperactive since the day I was born. I used to hate homework. My father would sit me down with my textbooks and stand outside the door but as soon as he'd turn his back I'd be off.
On one occasion when I was caught watching TV, he confronted me about it and said: "What do you want to do with your life?" I quoted him the punchline from an Australian rugby union advertisement that was running at the time. "I want to be a Wallaby," I cheekily replied. He was furious. But I think he has forgiven me now.
I had a good workout in the nets and bowled three spells when play resumed this morning but the game fizzled out when we returned to bat and I ducked home before tea. As a kid, I used to hate watching cricket on TV. I still do. I am seized with an urge to jump through the screen to get out there and bowl. No offence, Richie Benaud. I'm sure you agree.
Wednesday, November 15: Brett Lee, paceman
I was at home when the news dropped: "Marcus Trescothick has left the Ashes due to a stress-related illness." My first reaction was surprise: there hadn't been a whisper of it at the game yesterday. I was also disappointed: he's a key member of the England batting line-up and a star of the game. But my overriding emotion was compassion. How must he be feeling on the flight back to England? I can't even pretend to think what he is going through.
In the afternoon I shot a TV commercial for one of my sponsors. Here's how it goes: I'm standing on the balcony of a 15th-floor apartment, looking at the messages on my new 3 mobile phone when it slips from my hand and drops over the edge. Distraught, I race outside and push the button on the elevator but it's taking an age to arrive so I take the stairwell and descend with incredibly rapid strides, catching the phone before it reaches the ground.
A caption appears on the screen: "Brett Lee, paceman." Get it? Not bad eh? But I've a slight confession to make. The Brett Lee you see sprinting down the stairs is actually a body double. It's not that such daring deeds are beyond me, you understand, but with a week to go to the Ashes, I'm not taking any chances.
Thursday, November 16: Words fail me
I'm a father. Liz went into labour yesterday evening and our son, Preston Charles Lee, was born at 3.30 this morning. I've been trying to describe the moment he was born but I can't find the words. I've considered amazing, astonishing, astounding, remarkable, wonderful, incredible, startling, marvellous, surprising, mind-blowing, mind-boggling and staggering, but they don't even come close. Suffice to say that I'm in a happy place at the moment. Someone is looking after me.
Friday, November 17: My friend the enemy
I sat down this afternoon with a curious journalist from London to talk about the Ashes. I've never known an interview like it; I think he wanted to fight; he was throwing me beamers and pulling stuff from his bag like rabbits from a hat. He produced a copy of The Times and asked me to read a highlighted paragraph. It was a report from Monday's play at the SCG.
Brett Lee made short work of Marcus Trescothick and Stuart Clark of Ian Bell, but the first individual contest between Lee and Kevin Pietersen was indisputably won on points by the batsman.
"Do you agree with that assessment?" he asked.
I pointed to a line with the scoreboard from Monday and got him to read it.
"K P Pietersen not out 80."
"It's there in black and white," I said. "He definitely won on points. Having said that, I was pleased with the way that I bowled to him and potentially should have had him out earlier in the innings when he attempted a hook that went straight up and fell between two fieldsmen. It was the only false shot I saw him play and it should have been caught but there is no point in crying over spilt milk.
"You will always have chances and you will always get nicks but the bottom line is what it says on the scoreboard: it's not 'Kevin Pietersen might have been out' or 'had a chance to be out'; it says 'Kevin Pietersen not out 80'. So he batted extremely well and I was impressed.
"People ask me all the time about that last day at The Oval and that catch that Warney dropped off Pietersen when I was bowling. 'Could that have changed the match?' they say. 'Of course it could,' I reply. I thought I had him before lunch. I thought I would definitely get him out, but in sport you need a bit of luck sometimes and he took his chance and went on and batted beautifully."
"And that was the winning of the Ashes," he says.
"Well, that's certainly my opinion, but cricket is a team sport so you look at the way that Andrew Flintoff played; the way that Ashley Giles batted the last day; the way that Strauss played in the third Test; there are a lot of things that can win the Ashes."
The journalist is not happy. He is firing statistics at me again. "So what about the last 18 months?" he says. "In your personal battle with Pietersen who has had the edge?" "I don't keep tabs on who's in front or who's winning," I say. "I just go out and assess the moment and take it from there. Pietersen is a quality player and when you go into battle against a batsman like that you treat him with respect. But you're only as good as your last game and what happened 18 months ago might be irrelevant now."
Saturday, November 18: Switching on, switching off
"Seven days to go . . . Six days to go . . . Five days to go." Five days to go before the first ball is bowled in what's going to be the biggest Ashes series ever. I think about it every day; it brings the goose bumps out and raises my heartbeat with excitement but it's important not to get sucked in. A few years ago, when I was struggling with my form, this was my mistake. I'd be ready to bowl four days before a game and have all my plans made and by the time it started I'd be physically fresh but mentally exhausted. You've got to know when to get there; you've got to know how to switch it on. I've switched off for the moment. I'm feeling very, very relaxed. The battle doesn't start until 10am on Thursday. Then I'll come out firing.
- BRETT LEE