Shane Warne: The revolutionary with an eye for the theatre and a craft way beyond envy

They say it’s not how long we grace this planet but what we do during our time here that defines us. Shane Warne did plenty, and more. And yet, he departed way too early , only 52 with several of the best years of his life ahead of him.

For the sake of convenience, Warne is labelled a cricketer, a leg-spinner specifically. He was that, of course. But he was a lot more than that . He was an entertainer. A showman. A compelling force of nature, irresistible and impossible to ignore. A wizard, a magician, a genius with the cricket ball in his right hand and even more so when it left the hand, cutting wicked arcs through the air and homing in on hapless, crease-tied, mind-frozen batsmen.

[caption id=“attachment_10430661” align=“alignnone” width=“640”]  Shane Warne died of a suspected heart attack in Koh Samui, Thailand. AP[/caption]

Warne was more than a leg-spinner. He was a one-man revolution – pardon the horrible pun – who transformed the way the world looked at leg-spin. He drew more people to the sport than a chosen other few, he inspired and exhilarated like fewer still. He was the poster boy of spin in general and wrist spin in particular, a spectacular amalgam of style and class and ability and chutzpah, all magnified by a commanding presence that netted him nearly as much success as his craft itself.

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It’d be an exaggeration to say that spin was on its last legs when Warne threw it a lifeline at the start of the 1990s. But there is no denying that quality spin was on the wane, the turning ball less of a threat to batsmen and even less of an attraction to young kids engaged in make-believe games of high-stakes cricket in their backyard. Yes, there was Anil Kumble in the nascence of his international career, but he was the kind that evoked respect more than admiration. Cricket might not have acknowledged so then, but it needed a spinner that combined the mystical with the magical, that thrilled and excited, that put bums on the seat and in front of television sets. Simply put, cricket needed a Shane Warne.

His fondness for the good life could have been a roadblock in his quest for superstardom were Warne not so terribly gifted and were he not so adept at making the most of his gift. There’s a reason why wrist spin is regarded as the most difficult, demanding and hard-to-master of all forms spin. Competent finger spinners are paragons of control with effortless ease but even the most special practitioners of wrist spin have been stymied by the ball having its own mind when it is released through a mixture of the use of fingers and wrist. Ask Stuart MacGill, for instance. Every bit as gifted as Warne, perhaps, he suffered in comparison because he couldn’t impose the same kind of pressure that Warne did match after match, day after day. MacGill was certainly the more prodigious turner of the cricket ball, but Warne was the perfect exemplar of more not necessarily being better.

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Cricket, and millions of its passionate followers, must count their lucky stars that the beginning of the 1990s was to herald the start of the best phase of spin bowling since the dismantling of the crack Indian quartet towards the end of the 1970s. Spin was at a crossroads, particularly with limited-overs cricket spreading its tentacles and leadership groups considering slow bowling a bit of a liability. An infusion of oxygen was much required if one of the more aesthetically pleasing facets of the game was not to slip into temporary oblivion. Arrive Kumble, Warne and Muttiah Muralitharan to address the issue to the connoisseur’s heart’s content.

[caption id=“attachment_10430701” align=“alignnone” width=“640”]  Shane Warne is considered the best leg-spinner of all time. AP[/caption]

Each was unique, each brought a different skillset to the table and they worked so exceptionally well in tandem that suddenly, in the dusty gullies of Bangalore or Colombo and in the more serene environs of Melbourne and Sydney, young kids weren’t chary any longer of bounding in and taking off like a jumbo jet, letting the ball go with eye popping wide open like saucers or walk-running up to the stumps and releasing it with a flick of the fingers and a snap of the wrist. Kumble and Muralitharan weren’t necessarily pictures of orthodoxy; Warne, by contrast, was the epitome of correctness, doing everything the coaching manuals asked of an aspiring leg-spinner even if how he did so defied imagination and beggared belief.

The Ball of the Century that left poor Mike Gatting with nightmares for years on end would come to become Warne’s calling card, much like the 281 at the Eden Gardens was to be VVS Laxman’s. Ironically, it was during the latter effort that Warne looked the most commonplace and ordinary since his forgettable debut against India (1 for 150) in Sydney in January 1992. Warne was bemused, perplexed, embarrassed, annoyed, angry, admiring, respectful and exasperated as Laxman danced down the track, hitting two successive balls pitched at the exact same spot either through the covers or against the turn through mid-wicket, depending on which mood seized him.

During that masterclass, Warne must have developed a certain empathy for batsmen whom he had mastered and left helpless, though like a true champion, he didn’t allow that empathy to extend to generosity on the cricket field.

For all his amazing gifts, Warne didn’t perch himself on a lofty pedestal. His failings and frailties were all too human, which made his surreal bowling even more alluring. With him around, dullness didn’t have a chance. Entertainment and enjoyment were guaranteed, Warne’s unending versatility bringing a smile to the lips and a song to the heart. In the upper reaches of that power-packed-to-occasionally-chubby frame nestled a wonderful cricket brain – canny, craft, astute, shrewd, unbelievably so. He was a leader not just of Australia’s bowling pack but of men diverse, and it will remain one of the great shames that he never got to lead his country in a Test match.

It’s little short of tragic that the man who will forever be immortalised in the annals of the sport he chose to grace chose to depart the land of the mortals ridiculously prematurely. Shane Warne was always his own man though for once, his sense of timing deserted him. And left his legion of admirers mourning his passing with teary-eyed resignation.

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