Warne, in the early ’90s, emerged, looking for quality duels, most of the good batters were in his own team, the Waughs, the Pontings and the Haydens
Illustration/Uday Mohite
Two legendary Aussies passed last week, on the same day: Messrs Rod Marsh, and Shane Warne—two of the greatest captains Australia never had.
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Back in the ’70s, playing cricket for school, I had an unrealistic dream to open the bowling for India.
While I shone that ball against my trouser flannels, at the Cross Maidan, attempting to bowl like Dennis Lillee, I’d tell the wicketkeeper whoever he was—“Stand back, way back, like Rod Marsh does against Lillee and Thommo, this ball’s gonna be fast!”, and I’d begin my run —up almost at the neighbouring Azad Maidan, to gather speed, hoping for a ‘caught Marsh bowled Lillee’ type dismissal (that the ball was hit for a six to Metro Cinema, is another matter).
Pace bowling was my thing, but as the Lillee-Thommo-Imran era morphed into the Wasim Akram-Curtley-Ambrose time, there appeared on the horizon, a blonde spinner called Shane Warne. Spin was always a bore, for fast bowlers… but Warne, seemed different, fiery and flamboyant, in Bambaiya-speak, he was that ‘Eh Biddu, maidan mein aao!’ dude, ‘looking for a scrap’, kind of guy.
Great sports people have that aura, gladiators on the prowl, looking for men of equal mettle to joust with.
Warne, in the early ’90s, emerged, looking for quality duels, most of the good batters were in his own team, the Waughs, the Pontings and the Haydens. He was a supreme bowler, wanting to conquer supreme batsmen—in Sachin Tendulkar and Brian Lara he found them. And those two men, knew their careers would partly be judged by how they fared against the greatest spinner of all time—history revealed that the victories and defeats between them were even.
Warne always gave you a sense of foreboding, like in a David Fincher movie, that something could happen at any moment! Most Aussies sledged to distract, Warne set up the batsman with chat—the fans knew that Warne vs Sachin, Warne vs anyone was ‘box office, edge of the seat’ stuff.
He had the X-factor, even when he was an ex-cricketer, which is why perhaps the grief is so global.
Post his playing days, he moved to cricket commentary. (I’m unable to take commentators seriously who either haven’t played the game or have had average careers. The game is theoretical to them, they are not technically equipped to read a situation as well as those who truly been in the heat of battle).
Warnie excelled in the box, because he thought out-of- the-box, in his comments and insights. There was no situation he hadn’t been in, no batsman type he hadn’t bowled to. After all to be judged one of Wisden Five Greatest Players, up there with Bradman, Hobbs, Sobers, and Viv Richards isn’t a small feat.
He exuded kindness, you sensed the passion transcended patriotism, he advised anyone needing help!
Private deaths for public figures have a solitudinal finality to them, the first instinct was, “oh no, not another public figure dying in a private hotel room”, the relief I felt that he was with friends in Khoh Samui.
Shane Keith Warne was spinner, swashbuckler, spin doctor, show pony, survivor, street fighter, and scrapper—Shane had swag.
The ups and down of his life were many, the leg spinners. Liz Hurley, the perennial loss and gaining of weight, the loving of India, the limelight grabbing, and the living life to the fullest whatever the cost.
In his own words, “The problem is there’s still a big kid inside me, who likes to have fun. Maybe I need to grow up and maybe I don’t, life isn’t a rehearsal, it’s about having fun.” Goodbye Warnie, always a bad boy, eternally a good man.
Let that ball rip wherever you are. And yes, RIP.
Rahul da Cunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com
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