Flippers and Freedom: 350 Forever
Your legacy isn’t defined by your achievements in your chosen field, your accolades, or the money you make. Your legacy is defined by the way you inspire others, the way you’re spoken about when you’re not in the room.
In that regard, the measure of Shane Warne’s legacy is unmatched, such was his larger than life personality, genuine willingness and passion for teaching about the forbidden art of legspin, and of course, his titanic achievements on the pitch.
There’s a collective cloud over the cricketing landscape today as millions of Aussies awake to the news that their childhood hero has passed. I myself awoke to a bevy of phone notifications across several social media platforms. Confused, I opened Discord and the first thing I saw was “first Bacchus now Warnie.”
I can’t verbalise the immediate shock that I went into when the penny dropped, as I hurriedly searched the internet for fearful confirmation, or hopeful debunking, of what I’d just been exposed to. But no, there on my timeline, hundreds upon hundreds of tributes, expressions of grief, stories to be shared about a titan of the game.
For my generation, Shane Warne defined our childhood. I recall the primary school playground at lunch time, rife with pop up cricket games during the summers, but kids weren’t steaming in off the long run. No, instead, there was the careful saunter to the crease, the measured hop, the rev of the wrist like a weary woodcutter starting up his chainsaw one last time.
Warne’s laconic style, off the field persona and charm, his party boy lifestyle and ‘dad bod’ all gave the impression of a park cricketer having a run around with his mates on Saturday afternoon in rural Victoria. Such was the effortless nature and careful mastery that it was almost offensive how he ripped through top orders around the world, making the most taciturn, resolute defenders of a Kookaburra look like a child picking up the sport for the first time.
It was that carefree nature that endeared him to a nation. Here was a man atypical of modern sports science. A man who would rather hit the town after a day’s play, forgoing sleep and recovery. I wonder how many rain cards Warnie tried to play in his tenure, rocking up to the ground the next morning groggy from the previous night’s escapades.
Shane Warne’s death has been likened to the tragic passing of Kobe Bryant in early 2020, as that god-like sporting personality, immortal, unaffected by the trivial vicissitudes of mortal life. I still remember Kobe’s death like it was yesterday. The world in a collective state of numb, refusing to accept that one of the greatest athletes of the 21st century could dare be mortal like us.
It was only two months ago that cricket fans in Australia were bemoaning Warnie’s grumbling commentary about Mitchell Starc, his radical plan to give the MCG an extra Test match “in the interests of public safety”, and countless stories from series gone by that the audience had heard a hundred times before.
Through all of that though, was a passion for the game, a willingness to teach, and to learn, and to be forthright with an opinion. Certainly, no one could accuse Warnie of being a wallflower, and whatever your thoughts of him as a broadcaster and commentator (I know I certainly wasn’t his biggest fan in that respect), the coverage will be poorer without him on it.
Spare a thought in all of this for Rod Marsh, who died hours earlier, on one of the saddest days for Australian cricket. Bacchus was well before my time, so I can’t appropriately comment on his legacy and impact, but the thousands of tributes pouring in for him as well have done a more than sterling job.
Australian Test cricketers 249 and 350 gone together, hours apart, with Warne’s tribute to Marsh his last social media post, a harrowing reminder of the fragility of life, a lasting reminder to enjoy the greats while they’re with us, because time is fleeting.
So wherever you are in the world today, pick up a ball, walk a few paces, and give it a bounding rip in honour of SK.
Rest in peace legend.
