Shane Warne dies.

 Shane Warne dies

When we were told that Shane Warne, one of Australia's most charismatic cricketers, had died when he had so much more to offer the game in retirement, we bowed our heads in deep mourning. We began to think that cricket had also lost one of its most genuine characters, a lovable rascal but nonetheless a man of intelligence and integrity, a man capable of leading the game he so loved into a brighter and more progressive world, a sport heading in the right direction.

Shane Warne was one of Australian's greatest spinners, leg spinners and the man who had once so completely bamboozled the England cricket team that by the end of the day's play most of England had come to dread the arrival of Warne through the old and venerable gates of Lords, Headingley, Trent Bridge, Old Trafford and the Oval. Warne was a cunning, deceitful, unpredictable spinner who could turn the ball every which way and remain unapologetic after the event.

He would trot very deliberately towards the crease, licking the red ball almost incessantly before delivering the lethal ball and then twisting his thumbs and fingers so that by the end of an over, the batsmen he was facing would just grin, smile, tug at their helmet and pretend that they hadn't seen a thing. Warne's engagement with his opposing batsmen was one of the greatest confrontations international cricket had ever seen. There were the eyeball to eyeball contests, that roguish twinkle in his eyes and then bafflement, confusion, subtlety and the most intriguing psychological battle royale ever witnessed on a cricket field. 

During the 1970s English leg spinners such as Ray Illingworth and Derek Underwood would roll up their sleeves, work their way industriously through the opposition and then retire to the pavilion with ravenous appetites and a wonderful sense of personal satisfaction. Underwood, a Kent master spinner, would go through all of the familiar motions. The billowing white shirt would blow in the gentle winds of an English summer before the ball would be tucked surreptitiously under the thumbs and index fingers before flicking the red ball out of the palms of his hands like some experienced magician.

Illingworth, who sadly died recently, was a Yorkshireman who had the kind of leadership qualities that came naturally to him. But once Illingworth had been handed the ball as England captain the nation felt blessed. Illingworth, apart from being a born organiser and game changing catalyst, spun the ball from his fingers and made the ball snap, bite, spit and then cut back off the seam, forcing the batsmen into a whole sequence of unforced errors. 

But Shane Warne belonged to a generation of innovators, creators and improvisers, the MTV era, a pioneering force, somebody who did things his way rather than the way others would have expected. He was a born rebel, iconoclastic to his fingertips, unconventional at times and a nightmare for batsman who weren't expecting a tough, torrid afternoon at the crease. Warne though was a stylist and purist, fully versed in the wiles and guile of the spinners art, a constant torment to batsmen who just fancied the quiet life. 

For decades we'd seen the likes of Dennis Lillee and Jeff Thompson terrorising English batsmen in an act of wild cricketing anarchy. Then there were the Chappell brothers Ian and Greg, destructive batsmen with whole catalogues of centuries in their locker. In more recent years there was Alan Border and Ricky Ponting, Aussies with cricketing mayhem in their bloodstream, always looking to create merry hell with an English batting attack. 

Shane Warne of course ripped up the rule book as soon as he set eyes upon it. Warne was full of kidology, tomfoolery, infectious humour and an inveterate prankster who never obeyed any official law if he thought he could get away with it. His private life was every bit as colourful as his relationship with English actress and film star Elizabeth Hurley demonstrated. Warne was a night owl and party animal, outrageous at times and always prepared to test the patience of the authorities who thought he should have been setting the right example.

The news of Shane Warne's passing admittedly came as a major shock to the system in as much as it was so sudden and so totally unexpected. Warne did take drugs, imbibed far too many alcoholic libations for his own good and smoked perhaps too many cigarettes. But at 52, Warne died tragically young of a heart attack and suddenly the lights went out in Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane. 

It was no small coincidence that another Australian cricket charmer also died only days earlier. Rod Marsh was one of cricket's most extrovert and gregarious of cricketers. Marsh was a delightful wicketkeeper who simply refused to keep still behind the stumps. He was forever fidgeting, restless, stretching his arms and forever exercising, a marvellous sportsman who had graced the game for so many years. Marsh died at 82 and Warne at 52 and now cricket finds itself at a loss for words. We will remember them well.