On April 27, last year, a friend and I were watching Surrey v Hampshire in the Championship at the Oval. Glorious weather, good food, a stack of newspapers, and a reasonably competitive game of cricket: hard to beat. It was improved on only by the fact that we were also watching the world's greatest bowler in action - while in the Caribbean, later that same day, the ICC's farce of a World Cup was due to come to an end. It was the first time I'd watched Warne and been able to simply enjoy his bowling, as a non-partisan. He took a couple of wickets, I seem to remember, but from his demeanour, it could have been all ten. In terms of commitment, it was indistinguishable from an Ashes match. The same shuffle, hop and bounce into the crease. The same chin in hand, hand on hip pose. The same ruthless, brilliant bowling.
Always, previously, I had seem him bowling against England, and it had always been terrifying. Always, I waited for an unplayable delivery; if not quite a Gatting ball, then something near enough like it. Only the greatest bowlers have the ability to cow a crowd, yet Warne managed this almost every time he walked back to his mark, whatever the game situation; certainly, he always cowed me. I have seen a lot of awfully fine bowlers - Ambrose, McGrath, Muralitharan - all capable of destroying a batting lineup, but none had Warne's ability to destroy batsman mentally as well. Rarely did the striker look so hopelessly alone and outnumbered as when this shortish, rather round, surfer-haired Aussie stood some twenty-odd yards away from them, eyeing them up, before bouncing in to bowl. Rarely did I feel so certain that, whatever they did, they didn't have much of a chance.
I have never seen a bowler so thoroughly enjoy batsman trying to attack him, to egg them on, toss the ball higher and higher, till eventually they are undone by some outrageous loop and turn, or a quicker ball fired in at their toes. And I have never seen a bowler capable of turning matches so swiftly - so ludicrously - as Warne. For me, these are his two most outstanding characteristics. When Amrbose was hit, he got mad, and he got even, usually by levelling the batsman or his stumps. When McGrath got hit, he just plugged away, same line, same length, and waited. When Murali gets hit, he throws the fielders back to the boundary and tightens up his bowling. Warne grinned, took on the challenge, and almost always won.
A brilliant bowler, an entertaining batsman, and also a talented captain, his own flaws denying him the chance to do what he must have most craved: captain Australia's Test team. Warne's failings are well documented: the drugs test, the fitness issues, the lifestyle, yet none of this diminishes him as a cricketer. He is rather, greater for it. His flaws affirm his humanity, which in turn highlights the terrible extent of his infernal-seeming abilities.
While I normally pepper my cricketing comment with statistics, I shall refrain in this instance. Numbers, no matter how compelling, cannot truly capture the brilliance of this man, or his impact on the game. Warne has a place as one of the founders of modern test cricket: he is almost single-handedly responsible for what resurgence in spin bowling that has taken place over the past decade or so. His wicket-taking abilities in a four-man attack were also critical to the reinvention of test cricket brought about by the Australian team under the Taylor and Waugh captancies. He is, I think, the greatest bowler to ever have played cricket: the only person capable of even beginning to approach Bradman in terms of his dominance of the game. And now he has retired from first-class cricket. Player-coach of Jaipur in the IPL is how how Warne will end his cricketing day, and it is a tragedy.
A tragedy because I wanted to see him play for Hampshire again this year. I wanted a last glimpse of the greatest cricketer I have ever seen. I wanted to see him have one last charge at the Championship, to lead Hampshire to the title, to prove to the ACB what could have been. A selfish desire, I know, and I cannot reasonably hold his decision against him. He has given more to cricket than anyone has a right to demand; a contribution that I feel privileged to have witnessed even some small part of.
Always, previously, I had seem him bowling against England, and it had always been terrifying. Always, I waited for an unplayable delivery; if not quite a Gatting ball, then something near enough like it. Only the greatest bowlers have the ability to cow a crowd, yet Warne managed this almost every time he walked back to his mark, whatever the game situation; certainly, he always cowed me. I have seen a lot of awfully fine bowlers - Ambrose, McGrath, Muralitharan - all capable of destroying a batting lineup, but none had Warne's ability to destroy batsman mentally as well. Rarely did the striker look so hopelessly alone and outnumbered as when this shortish, rather round, surfer-haired Aussie stood some twenty-odd yards away from them, eyeing them up, before bouncing in to bowl. Rarely did I feel so certain that, whatever they did, they didn't have much of a chance.
I have never seen a bowler so thoroughly enjoy batsman trying to attack him, to egg them on, toss the ball higher and higher, till eventually they are undone by some outrageous loop and turn, or a quicker ball fired in at their toes. And I have never seen a bowler capable of turning matches so swiftly - so ludicrously - as Warne. For me, these are his two most outstanding characteristics. When Amrbose was hit, he got mad, and he got even, usually by levelling the batsman or his stumps. When McGrath got hit, he just plugged away, same line, same length, and waited. When Murali gets hit, he throws the fielders back to the boundary and tightens up his bowling. Warne grinned, took on the challenge, and almost always won.
A brilliant bowler, an entertaining batsman, and also a talented captain, his own flaws denying him the chance to do what he must have most craved: captain Australia's Test team. Warne's failings are well documented: the drugs test, the fitness issues, the lifestyle, yet none of this diminishes him as a cricketer. He is rather, greater for it. His flaws affirm his humanity, which in turn highlights the terrible extent of his infernal-seeming abilities.
While I normally pepper my cricketing comment with statistics, I shall refrain in this instance. Numbers, no matter how compelling, cannot truly capture the brilliance of this man, or his impact on the game. Warne has a place as one of the founders of modern test cricket: he is almost single-handedly responsible for what resurgence in spin bowling that has taken place over the past decade or so. His wicket-taking abilities in a four-man attack were also critical to the reinvention of test cricket brought about by the Australian team under the Taylor and Waugh captancies. He is, I think, the greatest bowler to ever have played cricket: the only person capable of even beginning to approach Bradman in terms of his dominance of the game. And now he has retired from first-class cricket. Player-coach of Jaipur in the IPL is how how Warne will end his cricketing day, and it is a tragedy.
A tragedy because I wanted to see him play for Hampshire again this year. I wanted a last glimpse of the greatest cricketer I have ever seen. I wanted to see him have one last charge at the Championship, to lead Hampshire to the title, to prove to the ACB what could have been. A selfish desire, I know, and I cannot reasonably hold his decision against him. He has given more to cricket than anyone has a right to demand; a contribution that I feel privileged to have witnessed even some small part of.
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