A magician bows out
LEVEL PLAYING FIELD
The Hindu, 31 December
IN the final scene of the film, the wounded gunfighter (played by Alan Ladd) rides off into the distance as the hero-worshipping eight-year-old boy (played by Brandon de Wilde) cries after him: “Shane, Shane, come back!”
Before it became a popular boys name down under, “Shane” was most commonly associated with the title and hero of a 1953 Western. Recent events set me thinking about that valedictory scene and Brandon de Wilde’s heart-felt cry (said to be the 47th most quoted line from a Hollywood film). In this case, the ageing gunfighter may not be riding off into anything remotely like obscurity, but I still feel a bit like that eight-year-old boy, broken hearted by the departure of a legend in the flesh.
Since 1993, watching Shane Warne bowl has been one of the best reasons for turning on the telly, one of the best reasons for being a sports fan and for loving cricket. Worth even every penny of the extravagant price of a Test ticket at Lord’s. As a compelling performer in the arena, Warne is among the stand-out figures in my four and a half decades of watching sport (on several continents), up there with the likes of McEnroe, Zidane, Michael Jordan.
It’s a small miracle that an individual can become so remarkable simply by shuffling a few steps, turning his arm over and rotating his wrist. A miracle that belongs uniquely to cricket, the only stage (apart from the dressing room and the pub) where one can imagine Warne’s peculiar genius flowering.
From the outset, the heavyweight leg-spinner was an unexpected and improbable revitaliser of the world’s oldest team sport, a confounder of pundits as well as batsmen. He talked a great game, but he turned talk into extraordinary deeds with such regularity that the unexpected came to be expected. Far from wilting under the pressure, he thrived on it; he turned it to his advantage. Who would have thought the most intimidating cricketer of the dawn of the 21st century would be a slow bowler?
His command of the ball, the degree and variety of his spin, his accuracy, patience, stamina, have all been extraordinary. But it was the way these were harnessed to a larger personality that made him unique. As it arched and bounced, the ball seemed an extension of that personality: by turns jocular, sarcastic, petulant, disingenuous. Inevitably, the persona shone through even in his batting and fielding. When he stood at slip, he wanted every ball to come to him and no matter how many catches he took his triumph was always unalloyed.
He was as canny a reader of batsmen as the game has known, with a second sense for the inner rhythms of Test cricket, the tightening of pressure over periods of time, the moment for the killer punch. For all his deliberate plotting, his intricate traps, he remained improvisational, a seizer of serendipity. The mix of the artful and the spontaneous, will and whim, was mesmerising. Never mind the record-setting number of amazing deliveries with which he took wickets, there were the far greater number of amazing deliveries that flummoxed batsmen and had spectators gasping, but somehow managed not to a take a wicket.
Warne now stands with Bradman as the dominant figure in Australian cricket and Australian sport as a whole. But there couldn’t be a more glaring contrast. Bradman embodied family values, public rectitude, private reserve. It was said that though he was admired by teammates he was not liked. Warne epitomises the matey, informal Australian. He enjoys a drink, a smoke and a wager. He also seems to have gone through a phase of sending salacious text messages to young women. That’s really none of our business – he’s not a politician on a moral crusade – but in a celebrity culture it’s become part of the Warne legend, for better or worse.
There are aspects of the Warne personality off-field that I’ve never found endearing. I suppose it depends on how one responds to a bumptious, sometimes oafish demeanour. He got off lightly after admitting that he’d received money for giving information to a bookie. When he was found to have taken a banned substance (a diuretic usually used as a masking agent), he blamed his mum. Macho man or little boy? There’s some of both in Warne.
Whatever darkness lies in Warne’s soul – and no one could so relish humiliating his opponents without some darkness within – the joy he took in playing cricket, especially the best, most competitive, most challenging cricket, communicated itself to everyone who watched.
Warne’s retirement means that Muttiah Muralitharan will in due course exceed Warne’s Test wicket record. The comparison is intriguing. Murali is of course modest and self-deprecating, adjectives that no one would apply to Warne. His average and strike rate is even better than Warne’s – though both have taken their wickets far quicker than any of their slow bowling predecessors.
The big difference is that Warne has played in one of the most successful cricket teams of all time. He has known the pleasure of winning a Test match a record 91 times, and the misery of losing only 26. What’s more, he has played a significant part in nearly all his team’s victories, taking more than 500 of the 1820 wickets Australia needed to win those matches. Warne’s central role in this awesomely dominant squad makes him one of the most influential cricketers ever. Luckily for us, he’s also been one of the most entertaining.
