Shane Warne gave the game a gift it desperately needed by introducing it to the non-cricket lover in a way no player has done since, writes RYAN VREDE.
A measure of the man was found in my social media timeline, and I’m sure yours, too. In the wake of his tragic death, many of my cricket-loving friends posted tributes. Yet, most pertinently, an almost equal number of cricket agnostics did so too.
For those in the latter category, Warne was the portal through which they were introduced to cricket, specifically Test cricket.
Leg spinners have existed since the game’s earliest days. But none were a hybrid of skill and personality in the way Warne was. He was utterly captivating. He was box office.
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I’m not sure he made the format appealing to the cricket agnostic. One simply can’t measure this accurately. Test cricket especially is a rule-laden format and filled with complex nuance that makes it hard to get into. Yet, what is certain is that Warne had magnetic appeal.
They came to watch Warne, and stayed for the cricket.
These types of players are exceptionally rare. They load the game on their shoulders and take it to places it can’t go without them.
I doubt Warne had an awareness of this at the time. He was simply releasing the magic that lived inside. He would, however, have had an acute awareness of his influence on those who played the game.
“We all wanted to bowl like him,” read a friend’s caption on his Instagram tribute. We did.
I’ve played cricket since I was five years old, and have been a wicketkeeper-batsman for that entire time. Watching me bowl is traumatic. I have many friends who were equally deficient in this way. Yet, as kids at the time of Warne’s emergence, we abandoned our specialty in favour of trying to replicate a craft, so complex and demanding of measures of skill, that eludes but a few cricketers on the planet.
And that was happening in schools, clubs and in the professional ranks across the planet for as long as he played. That was the Warne effect.
His life was not without controversy. Warne transcended the game. He was a celebrity who happened to play cricket. This made his private life a point of great interest. There were times when the veil of fame was torn down and his humanity was laid bare for everyone to see.
And even in these moments, it somehow endeared him further. I imagine many saw themselves in this flawed version of Warne.
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I never experienced him as an archetypical Aussie lout. He was initially a young man struggling to manage the weight of fame. Those struggles revealed themselves throughout his career.
The circumstances around his death, and suddenness thereof, raise concerns about his lifestyle. However, reading and listening to tributes from those who knew him best, including Proteas players whose souls he vexed and careers he’d compromised, one gets the impression that Warne was fundamentally a good man.
A good man, and a great cricketer. A master of the most difficult craft in cricket. He was a precious gift to the game and he will be dearly missed.
