Let me just wash my hands. Rinse off the tobacco, the smell of the cigarette from my left hand that I had been smoking before I write this. For anything tributary to Shane Warne, following his gone-too-soon demise, has to be unsullied. Pure. In any which way I could think of.
It almost felt a bit fitting, afterwards, that I had been having a nice little clove cigarette as I was sent in shock of the shocking passing away of Australia’s greatest cricketing icon since Sir Don. For Warne’s epic smoking, drinking, dancing, chaotic lifestyle off the field is as much well-documented as his legacy on it. Anything that a man dreamt of only doing, ‘Warney’ had already done. His 52 years of King-size life transcend beyond imagination.
As the nicotine continues to give me the high, Shane Warne is about to enter heaven’s gate, with Bradman having taken his guard and Rodney Marsh inviting Warney for a bowl. He would have even laughingly joked with Rodney, who also sadly passed away not much before Warne, that hours ago he was paying homage to him on Twitter and in his heart. Australia have lost two of their greats, beloved characters within 24 hours. My heart goes out to Steve Smith, Ravindra Jadeja for the stories I have heard about their closeness.
Sad to hear the news that Rod Marsh has passed. He was a legend of our great game & an inspiration to so many young boys & girls. Rod cared deeply about cricket & gave so much-especially to Australia & England players. Sending lots & lots of love to Ros & the family. RIP mate
— Shane Warne (@ShaneWarne) March 4, 2022
It is trying to muster some words now, almost reluctantly for part of me just wants to sit back and watch all the videos uploaded on Twitter wherein Warne bamboozles the best of the batters – the extra slow-motion video of him castling Herschelle Gibbs in the 1999 World Cup with a similar delivery to the ‘Gatting ball’ on YouTube doesn’t seem slow at all but compelling in each of its original seconds.
My hands aren’t working on the keyboard as smoothly as they usually do. I couldn’t find the keys that are stored in my muscle memory. The cursor on the screen remains blinks out somewhere as I swish the mouse crazily to find it back.
For someone who rarely saw Warne unfurl his magic in the Test arena, my thoughts are, surprisingly, for me, too much invested in him. It feels a loss, like rarely I have felt, for Warne was a constant appearance in news feeds with his opinions, predictions, the brief words I have written on him and the larger ones I have read about his controversies, since I took upon the game in my memory.
The memories of Shane Warne for me were very little cricket and more just pure awe: the first ones being the euphoric roar at the MCG – that Warne said he’d never header anything louder than that in his recent, and sadly last documentary, Shane, – when he took his 700th Test wicket in his last series, that of Andrew Strauss, who had faced Warne so many times yet was unable to do more than take a flick and see the ball rattle his stumps.
Then it was the early morning show on ESPN, I learned from there that he was the ‘King of Spin’. Making me wonder how in the hell could someone turn the ball that big.
Then there was the unbelievable IPL 2008 season where he marched a group of kids who found it difficult to understand his accent to the title for Rajasthan Royals. A team that participated, having been built after the owners had tried their best to save some money, to an unbelievable triumph.
Then there was everything about Warne not just his bowling in the past decade that kept me intrigued. Leaving me in amazement, and a young lad admiration too, the lavish life he lived. The photos of him in undies with, well, women other than his partner. The picture of him smoking anywhere he felt right. The jaw-dropping predictions he made while chatting in the commentary box. Dismissing Brendon McCullum after predicting his sweep in the BBL got me ‘no way’ and then stand in disbelief.
The jibes he would take at the England team not just ahead of the Ashes but anytime else either. To always getting me to think: the 708 Test wickets for a spinner in Australia! Woah. How. ‘yeah, that’s Shane fu***** Warne.’
He was the first bowler whose action I’d find the easiest. About 8 steps, with each one relevant. If you’re imitating Warne’s bowling action, your tongue has to come out, lick the upper lip on the right side, then if you still wanna seem cool broom it till the other side. Your right hand, for no reason, would unintentionally meet the semi-closed fist of the left. The right-hand gets in the bowling arc, an extra effort in your shoulder, maybe a high-pitched squeak coming out of your mouth telling others in the ground of the extra energy you have put in the revs of the ball.
On top of your mark, you’d feel as if you own everything around you. The batter, the fielders, because they are waiting only for your move. The wind blows your hair, but still, you get a passing urge to style it with your hand.
Shane Warne was an absolute theatre. (cliche, I know).
Forget about Test cricket, with Shane Warne a wicket was always the next delivery far even in the shortest format of the game. So was any other new controversy or a statement that would get him reactions from everyone.
The more I learn about Shane Warne, the more I accept the fact that he was just surreally great on most days, someone you couldn’t take your eyes or mind off; he was an absolute genius on the rest. A flawed genius though. As all men are.
Rest In Peace, King of Spin.
Shane Warne, 1969-2022.
