Freddie Flintoff- Andrew Flintoff bares his soul.

 Freddie Flintoff bares his soul.

In last night's BBC documentary about the life and times of cricketing legend Andrew 'Freddie' Flintoff  we were given a very revealing and visceral glimpse of one of England's greatest and most charismatic bowlers. It was a very dramatic, heart-rending account of one sportsman's battle against the demons of mental health, an almost warts and all admission of what it's like to be when the public are filling your ego with overwhelming adulation. It was a raw expose of what happens when the camera never veers away from the public gaze without ever straying far from the man under the spotlight. 

Flintoff bravely and almost courageously admitted to the horrifically debilitating eating disorder known as bulimia which in itself is the ultimate confession. In a powerfully honest programme Flintoff described in graphic detail and with perfect eloquence a condition that most men would rather keep concealed if only to admit as such would have somehow represented some terrible weakness. But Flintoff, to quote a thousand cliches, laid all his cards on the table, ran his fingers nervously over a bristly face, admitting to fallibility and vulnerability in a way that may not have been possible 20 or 30 years ago. 

Speaking candidly about bulimia and the devastating effect that had been wrought on his personal life, Flintoff touchingly explained how every morsel of food that passed his lips would be thrown up and there would follow a dramatic deterioration in not only his mental health but there was a realisation that underneath the surface of that cocksure, confident exterior, Flintoff was privately suffering and then blaming himself inexplicably when everybody knew that there was never any need for self-reproach. 

Sometimes the public persona can often hide a thousand emotions and  Flintoff was quite clearly heading rapidly into a downward spiral of sorrow, apology and utter despair at times. It almost felt like a very personal session of soul-baring from the most unlikely of directions. Flintoff was tormented with guilt about the excessive sessions of binge eating and then declared quite openly that he had nobody to turn to when the pressure became almost unbearable.  

So Flintoff just carried on and on beating himself up remorselessly convinced that the public perception of his weight was both serious and genuine. How to convince a cricketer at the peak of his profession that even a stocky, rugged build can be mistaken for something other than being regarded as fat and completely overweight? 

In 2005 Flintoff almost single-handedly brought back the Ashes to England for the first time in decades, throwing his arms triumphantly in the air, dancing around the Oval rather like a kid who had just won his third egg and spoon race in consecutive years and then just milking the rapturous applause from the Barmy Army. It was at this point that the image Flintoff could see in the mirror was not the one he would have preferred when quite obviously it didn't seem to matter since England had beaten Australia and the Ashes had been captured by England. Who cared about the midriff of a fiercely committed cricketer when everything was right in Flintoff's mind? It could hardly have gone any better. 

And so things turned from bad to the lowest point in Flintoff's hugely celebrated career. Flintoff took us on a guided tour of a cricket ground's toilet quarters where the contents of whatever he'd consumed would inevitably result. He then pointed to the place where Flintoff felt the irresistible compulsion to throw up because, deep within the tortured recesses of his mind, the conviction remained that he was still the size of a house and nobody could persuade him otherwise. 

Then the documentary switched to Flintoff's visit to a Brick Lane therapist and dietician who talked Flintoff through his obsessions with certain foods, the psychological processes that led up to that crucial moment when food had now come to dominate his every waking moment. The image of Flintoff cycling on his personal gym bike frenziedly and almost urgently was further evidence of a man who had now become determined to rid himself of any superfluous flesh around his waist. 

There was the decision to take up boxing which for Flintoff must have felt like a release from the constant scrutiny he'd undergone when he was a cricketer. Flintoff boxed, he said, because he felt this was the only proper way to look whippet-thin and well-muscled. The programme showed Flintoff hopping around a boxing ring almost disinterestedly, jabs languidly thrust out as if hoping that the more circuits he completed the more the pounds and stones would fall away.

But then we saw the kind of images that Flintoff wouldn't have been wanted to be reminded of. There was the drawn, haggard face with sunken eyes, the eyes which Flintoff reluctantly felt as if there was nothing behind them, a face devoid of any emotion, haunted, sad, pleading and weary. And there was the joyful recognition that there was a very real problem and one only Flintoff could solve. So there were the disturbing sequences of junk food binges followed immediately by the awful consequences of his actions. 

The programme did though show a happy ever after story in its wake. Flintoff was seen pursuing his love of fast cars and driving as the co-presenter of BBC's Top Gear. With the naturally supportive and attentive network of his wife and family, Flintoff now seems to have his life under control. Flintoff seems to have his life back in a fully functioning order and in a world where mental health problems and eating disorders seem to be the backing track of a society now faced with even more critical issues, Freddie Flintoff may be the outstanding success story of the year so far. Well done Freddy, we're all proud of you. Particularly that day when you and your colleagues won the Ashes for England. We can never thank you enough.