When Matthew Hayden finishes playing cricket for Australia - which may not be long now, given his ordinary performances against England this summer - a career over a hot stove beckons. Last year his imaginatively titled Matthew Hayden Cookbook was a best-seller in Australia for three weeks last year. This is not the selfparodic national statement it seems; the recipes were inspired - and undoubtedly more interesting than whatever political memoirs were on offer then.
A spoof story on the internet reckons Haydos, as his team mates call him (no male in Australia goes by his given name), will call his next book: How to Make a Duck, with recipes for Golden Duck and duck à la Harbajan Singh, a tribute of sorts to the Indian spin bowler who made his life a misery on Australia's last tour there.
And how do you make a duck? In the kitchen, you whack it in the oven; for those few readers not swept up in the new mania for cricket, a duck is also a score of nought. Hayden, once a formidable batsman, has flirted with the Big Zero all season. There have been few mourners among his opponents, who once afforded the Queensland behemoth all the affection they would bestow on a redback spider.
Perhaps in preparation for a forced career change, Hayden brought with him a camping stove, frying pan, wok, bamboo steamer and food processor. He sets up his mobile kitchen in his hotel room and, if you're lucky, you get invited round for dinner. OFM's invitation probably got lost in the post. Then again, he only invites fellow batsmen, the Platinum Club as he calls them. Nonetheless, I am reliably informed the menu includes such delights as 'red emperor roasted in coconut milk and Thai herbs and chillies, accompanied by a seafood paella' - a particular favourite of his opening partner, Justin Langer .
While Hayden's cooking arrangements no doubt break a raft of local health laws and safety regulations, his enthusiasm for the kitchen is not the rarity it might appear. Sportsmen of the modern era are obsessed with their diets. I spent a day with Michael Schumacher at his practice headquarters in Barcelona a few years ago and remember the clockwork delivery, every 45 minutes, of a plastic box containing pulses, nuts, dried fruit and other boring bits and pieces that are good for you. He ate like a machine. It was fuel - and not much more appetising than the stu_ he put in his car.
Mike Gatting, the former England cricketer, was at the other end of the food chain, so to speak. He devoured - and still does - cheese and pickle sandwiches by the plateload, which provided him with such a splendid girth. His one-time teammate Ian Botham was another notorious quaffer and muncher. It was said of him once that, whatever his tailor thought, there was only one Ian Botham. Not for nothing is he known as Beefy.
Jack Russell, England's wicketkeeper for most of the Nineties, was fastidious about his food. He would not tour India without at least a month's supply of baked beans. For county players, there is one epicurian treat that endures: a visit to Worcester where the cream teas are incomparable.
And in very bygone days - more than a century ago - the doyen of Victorian sport, WG Grace, used to start each day's play with a couple of ports and a cigar. In the fine tradition of not heeding the dictates of your calling, WG was a doctor.
Meanwhile, if Hayden is working on a second cookery book. It has been suggested he might like to use the term Humble Pie somewhere in the title, but that is being cruel. Every hot-dog has his day and Hayden might yet come back to bite us all.
His favourite meal? Nothing exotic, actually. Smoked ham and pumpkin soup. He cooked and ate it in Perth one night two years ago. The following day he went out to bat against Zimbabwe. After 10-and-a-half hours at the crease, Hayden had amassed a world record 380 runs. He should dig out the recipe. He has struggled to score that many all summer against England.
· Kevin Mitchell is The Observer's chief sports writer
