RHINO came charging in. He does this often. Against the Australians in 1995 (six for 49) it brought him fame. Against the West Indians that following summer (nought for 68) it brought him grief. Against South Africa in August (six for 42) it brought him a new record. And he was doing it again now, charging through the doors of the Forte Excelsior at Heathrow Airport, late and luggage-grappling, having become hopelessly lost at domestic arrivals.
His mobile phone rang. ``Well, which floor did you come out of . . .?'' he said to the irate caller on the other end. It developed into one of those Bob Newhart classics where one side of the conversation tells you everything you need to know.
``I must've gone down two floors. . .
``Now I've got someone else's bag and he's got mine. . .
``I went down. I were looking for Wayne. I didn't know where Wayne had gone. . .
``Where are you now?
``Oh.''
He hung up. ``They're still at the airport, waiting for me,'' he said, before bursting into roguish laughter.
If Darren Gough were organising England's latest cricket tour to the terror zone, aka Australia, embarked upon this week with the usual frisky optimism (dashed for the last five Ashes tours running), there would be serious cause for concern. Luckily, he's just bowling.
Well, batting too, if we are being strictly accurate but not necessarily keeping McGrath and Gillespie, Australia's gruesome fast twosome, up at night with nerves. With a batting average of 12.87 from 26 Tests it is apparent that Gough, 28, never did quite develop into the New Botham as the headlines irresponsibly contended back in 1995 when Rhino, Dazzler, Lege (short for Legend) whichever of his fond nicknames you want to use, whacked the cream of Australian bowling all over the Sydney Cricket Ground and then took his famous six wickets.
He became a star. Paula Yates invited him on to her Big Breakfast bed. Celebrity Gladiators wanted him. The Yorkshire constabulary had to post a policeman outside his front door so great was the gaggle of reporters and photographers. It was a grand time and he still watches the video of his Australian awakening.
``I wouldn't say I cry, exactly,'' he said, ``but, you know, sometimes when you watch something you feel this kind of proud feeling. It's not like watching Titanic when people sit in tears; it's more a proud thing. It can be quite emotional. It brings back memories.''
And the memory of what came afterwards, almost inevitably: the backlash. Gough, having suffered a stress fracture of his foot during the Australian tour, tried to come back too soon for the series against the West Indies at home. He was far from fit, rushed and under pressure. It was his ``dodgy spell'', as he calls it. Ex-England bowlers queued up to give him their particular advice. He listened, bemused.
His bowling action, over-analysed, became more deconstructed than Nick Faldo's swing. Until Mike Atherton caught sight of it on the first day in the nets on the 1995-96 tour of South Africa. ``What are you doing?'' the captain said, in anguished disbelief. ``Just go back to how you used to bowl.'' Gough, gratefully, did. The flat-out fast ball, the in-swinging yorker, the canny slower ball eventually returned and so did Gough, the following winter, on the fateful tour to Zimbabwe and New Zealand. ``But it weren't for me,'' he said. ``I took 26 wickets in five Tests.''
Gough is about as merrily uncomplicated as you could wish for in a cricketer, that breed of festering socks, averages and neuroses. Never mind breath of fresh air, he is a great Yorkshire Dale gust. He thinks being labelled the New Botham might have wrecked his batting, but what the hell.
``Might be, might be,'' he said. ``My batting's sometimes bad. I've gone through a spell; whether I'm getting too pumped up, I don't know. I'm trying whatever way I can to solve it. But you never know what caused it, do you? Until I cure it - and even then, I won't know what's cured it.
``Obviously I think about things and have a plan. But mainly I go out there and try my 'ardest. I'm a big believer in giving 100 per cent, no matter who I play for, despite what certain people say about me playing for Yorkshire. Fact is, I give 100 per cent. Even if I play in a charity game, I don't play to get slapped around.''
Interestingly, either exposing faults in his maths or his honesty, he admits he only gets injured playing for England. ``Obviously, trying to get that extra two per cent out of your game, I've broken my foot, side strain, hamstring trouble, two operations.'' He carries a great gully of a scar down the back of his left leg where a tendon has been repaired.
So he is the man who gives 102 per cent for England, ``the son of a Barnsley rat-catcher'' as someone foolishly wrote on his debut at 18 for Yorkshire, in the knowledge that his father once worked for Rentokil. ``The person who wrote it has been apologising ever since, and I still don't talk to him.''
People, on the other hand, talk to Gough. Someone did on the plane down from Yorkshire. They said, rather disconcertingly: ``It's not you. You're bigger than that!'' He gets this all the time. ``The classic, the most common thing people say to me is: 'God, I didn't think it was you because you're a lot skinnier in real life'.'' Clearly, he is speaking as someone fed up with being targeted as over-weight. He is only 5ft 11ins, relatively short for a fast bowler, and all that muscle is therefore more squarely and squashily accommodated than in, say, Curtly Ambrose.
``Obviously, I'm not a stick. But I've done a lot of training on my upper body and my arms and for some reason the TV makes me look big. I'm not fat. I'm well-built,'' he concluded. ``Stocky,'' he added for emphasis.
No wonder he and the bean-eating Shane Warne have become friends. ``It's more mutual respect than friendship,'' he said. They met and discovered something in common when they were both taken out by the News of the World on the last England tour to Australia. ``We went to this fabulous fish restaurant in Brisbane but we're both not big fish fans. So he ordered a cheese sandwich, toasted, and, seeing that, so did I. I think from then on we saw we were similar characters.
``That trip, I was one of three or four players who would stay behind and have a drink in the dressing room. To learn. I mean the England players there were Michael Atherton, Graham Gooch and Mike Gatting and the Australians were Mark Taylor, Steve Waugh, Ian Healy and Shane Warne, so you're going to learn, aren't you?''
That is typically Gough. Unintimidated, involved, thrilled with his proximity to greatness. Glenn Hoddle is one of his heroes and he met him once. ``I didn't go up to him, he came up to me at a golf club in La Manga. Portugal. He just came up to me, shook my hand and said: 'Nice to meet you'. I think he'd read somewhere that he was my sporting . . . I think he knew.''
``Were you tongue-tied?'' I asked, joking.
``Yeah, I was a little bit,'' he said, seriously. ``It was a bit difficult because I was really pleased to see him. Also I'd really like to meet Paul Gascoigne. Never met him yet.''
``Darren,'' I said, headmistressly, ``you can't be star-struck when you're a star yourself in the England cricket team.''
``Course you can,'' he replied, entirely unabashed. ``I always remember when Bill Wyman came up to me at a dinner all of a sudden and said: 'I'd just like to say it's an absolute pleasure to meet you. I've been wanting to meet you for so long . . .' and I was like, 'What!' I mean, I was shaking his hand. A Rolling Stone! I couldn't believe he was saying it.''
As for Gough's admiration of Ian Botham, it turns out that his first son, Liam James, aged four, shares a birthday with the former England all-rounder, Nov 24. In which case, one must also commend Mrs Gough on her spirit of co-operation. Coincidentally, she had just phoned the hotel. ``Oooh, I was supposed to speak to the little lad,'' said Gough, charging off.
It is fantastically evident on even the briefest of acquaintances that Gough is almost heroically unspoiled by his fame. Yorkshire grit and grin. He looks at the notoriety achieved by David Beckham and his Spice accompaniment and thinks, in effect, 'Oh my gawd'.
``I'd like to be in their position for about a day to see what it's like. To see why these people always complain and yet they make their living out of being in the public eye. I can't weigh up whether it's good or bad. Do they enjoy it or 'ate it? They say they want to be private and then they sell their wedding to Hello! That's what I don't understand.''
If ever someone was destined not to need the services of Steve Bull, the travelling psychologist to Australia, you could put a sizable chunk of Aussie dollars on that person being Gough. Prior to the England's team departure, he had to fill in a questionnaire which, among other things, asked him whether the psychologist was a positive thing. You can bet his pencil didn't hover long over that one. ``To be honest, I've said I don't believe I'll need him.'' But as a means to team spirit and togetherness, he is all for it. ``That's why we've come through things together as a stronger unit. That's why I believe we're a better side.
``It's been cliquey in the past. We've been on tours when it's been absolutely ridiculous. Three or four guys going off every night, going out together, having a beer together, sitting in their room together. We're trying to cut that out. Obviously you have good friends. I'm good friends with Crofty, so Crofty and me tend to hang around with each other, but we do mix with other people.
``We're a close unit. It's like a family. People don't understand a cricketers' bond. I mean, even I don't understand it. But you do love them. You do because you're always hugging them and close to them. People like. . .''
Alec Stewart, the England captain, walked towards him.
`` . . . Alec Stewart. He's the first one to hug you.''
``And I give him a kiss,'' said the captain, gamely entering the spirit of the thing. ``You like that, don'tcha?''
``It's team togetherness,'' concluded Gough.
We resumed important matters. How did he get the nickname Dazzler, for a start? It turns out that Yorkshire's former director of cricket had a set of daughters who caught sight of this 16-year-old YTS boy and christened him on the spot. But why? ``I don't know,'' he mumbled. ``Something to do with my eyes.''
Almost nobody else in the world, certainly not on the brink of the greatest test their machismo has ever undergone, would admit that. But the blue-eyed boy is open and open-hearted almost to the point of unworldliness. Thank heavens. In a world where 15-year-old footballers say 'Speak to my agent!', Gough is a freak of normality.