How Shane Warne helped push the boundaries with his wise words
Shane Warne’s columns in the Herald Sun were must-read articles for sports fans. He didn’t hold back his opinions and ideas. His ghost writer Russell Gould reflects on his conversations with Warnie.
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It was the week before the 2021 Boxing Day Ashes Test and I couldn’t find Shane Warne.
Before the Test summer of 2017 I was asked to ghost write his exclusive column for News Corp and from hotel rooms all around the world, or his home in suburban Melbourne, or whatever golf course he was on, he’d never failed to return a call, a text message or an email.
This time though, nothing.
Days passed, deadline loomed. He wasn’t tweeting or Instagramming either.
SPECIAL FEATURE: MOMENTS, SCANDALS THAT MADE WARNE
Then, on December 23, just after 11am my phone finally pinged.
“G’day mate, lost my phone, finally got it back! Can you chat in 10?”
The phone call that followed found an extremely relieved cricket legend. Imagine the secrets his phone could reveal to anyone who found it!
But how and where he lost it was an even stronger indication of the man I came to know as strongly passionate about cricket, opinionated, yes, but forever hoping the thoughts we put together for the nation pushed players, and the game, to a better place.
Shane had lost his phone at Cathedral Lodge golf course, an exclusive club in rural Victoria where members are the most VIP of all VIPs. He had the ground staff scour the course and they found his phone next to a tee box.
He had been playing with members of the touring English cricket team, players who had been trapped in iso-bubbles, feeling the strain of back-to-back losses.
Shane organized the game for them, for them to be ferried up and back from Melbourne, for them to escape the confines of their hotel, to hopefully energize them for what he wanted every summer, the best possible Boxing Day Test.
That was a theme of columns we penned across each summer, that the Boxing Day Test was, is, the pinnacle of the sporting calendar.
Shane would tell me again and again that it was a landmark event in the global sporting calendar. He was adamant it should be a pink-ball, day-night Test, a cause he pushed for unsuccessfully, at least to this point.
The MCG cause was one of many, the other being bold selection calls, picking outside the norm.
Shane trumpeted the international cause of a few who selectors caught up on, Marcus Stoinis as a white-ball player for one, Josh Inglis more recently too. He even pushed Riley Meredith as a boom player well before the Indian Premier League paid him $1.4 million in 2021.
Then there was Mitchell Starc.
Never at any stage in conversation about columns, conversations which could last up to an hour when we really got talking about anything and everything happening in the Australian game, and the Australian team, did he ever declare he wanted to go after the left-arm quick.
There was frustration with mixed-bag performances, and the stats he sought from renowned stats man Laurie Colliver, his regular go-to guy, backed up his thoughts.
Conversations organically found Starc as a standout talking point, his walk-up-start selection status not sitting absolutely comfortably with Shane, who, as has been borne out in worldwide reflections this week, was as competitive as anyone who has put on a pair of whites.
But there were ticks for Starc too, big ones, ahead of Boxing Day in 2019 for example and again this summer when he made such a bright start to the Ashes after a “rev-up” before the first Test at the Gabba.
“I love that he has gone back to bowling super-fast … being someone the opposition fears,” Shane wrote. “We don’t criticise players for no reason.”
The Australian team being at their best remained the driving force for Shane’s opinions, which he stood firmly behind, sometimes to a fault, when he appeared on TV, every day of every Australian Test. That takes some belief.
But it wasn’t all “I think this is better”.
When Dean Jones passed away, Shane was truly shaken, and the tribute he penned touched many.
When Australia was rocked by bushfires during the summer of 2020, he auctioned his baggy green cap and made $1 million for the cause.
“We are all in this together,” he wrote.
Shane was in South Africa when the ball-tampering scandal occurred, and he didn’t hold back, as a past player, on how it reflected on all those who had worn a baggy-green before them.
But he was also able to put it in perspective.
“The win-at-all-costs attitude in modern sport can make people do stupid things. I think Steve Smith made an error of judgment,” he wrote, avoiding the pile-on.
When Smith and David Warner returned to cricket, as someone who had endured his own scandals and an enforced break from the game, Shane threw his support behind them.
“I was welcomed back with open arms … I expect Smith and Warner to feel the same,” he wrote.
Empathy was Shane’s strong-suit, knowing that, as someone who spent his entire playing career, and post-playing career more so, being judged as much for his mistakes as his achievements, that while criticism has its place, it needs to come from a good place, a desire to push people, the game, to better.
On a personal level, it’s still staggering to think that I was able to spend so much time, exchange so many messages, with a man who was so spellbinding to me as a cricket fan I couldn’t not watch him whenever he was playing.
I feel incredibly grateful for those conversations, including one in the Long Room at Lord’s, Shane there for a meeting of the MCC Cricket Committee, me covering an Australian tour.
There was no one else in there, except myself and him, going over the machinations of the committee’s agenda, him pushing for changes to the Test Championship and other playing conditions.
His passion for cricket was boundless.
Then, the greatest indication of his unending generosity, when I asked for a first ever favour early in the summer.
Making a playing return, I informed him my pads were being held together with cable-ties, and asked if he knew anyone who could help me out.
“Sure thing, what do you need?” he asked.
“Just someone who might help me with some pads,” I said.
“No worries he said, go down to Grey Nicholls, I’ll organise it,” Shane replied.
On arrival at Grey Nicholls I was handed not just the pair of pads I was hoping for, but the whole box and dice, gloves, kit bag and even a bat that was far too good for me.
“How’d the bat go?” was the first thing he said the very next time we chatted.
With the summer over after Australia’s Ashes triumph, I signed off to Shane, wishing him well on the golf course, having shared many moments talking about our individual Augusta experiences.
“Good on ya mate ! Have a great 2022,” came the reply, with a fist bump emoji.
That could be hard now.
RIP Shane.
WORKING WITH WARNIE ...
Former Herald Sun Head of Sport ONDREJ FOLTIN recalls the man in and out of the office.
He looked like a million dollars. Bleached blond locks, deep tan, white shoes, whiter teeth, and a tight tee, with a pack of ciggies tucked snugly into the shoulder.
The Spin King was standing in the Herald Sun sports department offices, looking every bit the sporting superstar.
The hard-to-impress office was buzzing. Yet, he also appeared a touch uneasy, understandable given his often tempestuous relationship with the media. We loved his on-field deeds and consumed — OK, feasted — on his off-field exploits.
But here he was in the early 2000s, being introduced by then News Corp chief executive John Hartigan, as the newest member of our sports team.
What the ...? He doesn’t like us, maybe worse. We loved him as a player (who didn’t?), but were not quite as enamoured with Warnie the bloke. Then came the charm offensive. Not try-hard, just a big smile, eye-contact, a firm handshake (Teddy Whitten-like firm) and a polite “G’day mate, pleased to meet you”.
From that day and for several years, as the Herald Sun’s Head of Sport, I was assigned S.K. Warne, cricket columnist. To manage, “kinda, sorta”. It proved to be exciting, eye-opening, challenging, and forever changing — a similar experience for most people in Warnie’s world.
The stream of personal Warne stories during the past couple of days, from friends and those who had chance one-off meetings, all ring true. Here’s a couple more from someone who knew him professionally, with the occasional social overflow — because that’s how Warnie rolled.
LOVE/HATE RELATIONSHIP
Warnie actually loved the media. And he hated it, especially print, at the same time. He enjoyed having his say on the game he loved and felt he could always make a meaningful contribution.
But when he appeared in the front pages of the paper, often for the wrong reasons, those positive feelings evaporated.
“Mate, what the (expletive) are you doing to me?” he thundered when a photo of him smoking at a local district cricket game appeared in the news section of the paper. “I work for you guys and now you are trying to turn me over. For what, having a smoke?”
The on-field v off-field conflict arose several times, but we generally managed to work through it, even if it was agreed to disagree. “If I did something wrong, that’s fine,” he’d say. “Just don’t ping me for stuff I didn’t do.”
CONFIDENT/INSECURE
Warnie’s innate confidence is well-documented, his insecurities not so much. He had no qualms about asking for feedback or validation.
When it was “what did you think of my column?” or “did you like how I gave Cricket Australia a clip?” that was understandable.
When it was something more personal, you’d think “why the hell are you asking me?” — but it was also endearing.
Once, he was seeing a TV starlet, quietly, post-marriage, clearly smitten. Things were going well, so well he was planning to meet the parents. He was a little nervous and wanted to share. “Mate, you’re Shane Warne, don’t worry. Dad is probably a big fan,” I said.
The parental meeting went well. Dad loved him.
EASY TO LIKE, HARDER TO EXPLAIN WHY
Everyone who knows Warnie has been asked the same question. “What’s he like in person?”
As Adam Gilchrist said at the weekend, Warnie would be the same bloke if he was playing in St Kilda fourths.
If he played at your local cricket club, he’d be an absolute gun, but still one of the boys. I’d say even if you thought you wouldn’t like him, I guarantee if you meet him, you’ll like him.
Why? You just will.
HAVING A DART
As smokers will attest, standing outside for a quick puff is also an opportunity for an unlikely meeting with a cricketing legend.
Warnie’s egalitarian nature meant he didn’t seem to mind a quick chat with the punters.
On one condition: be polite, be respectful. Cheeky, yes. Smart arse, no.
Standing outside Crown during the Allan Border Medal one year, a throng of revellers all noticed when Warnie appeared to light up.
One pest made a beeline for Warnie, asking, almost demanding, to bot a cigarette. After quietly declining, because the bloke was rude, the Spin King gave the interloper the flipper, a firm “listen champ....” and sent him on his way.
“That was well done,” my reserved mate observed.
“I don’t think I would have handled it so well.”
SHANE WHO?
Warnie the cricketer became Warnie the poker player post-retirement and was good enough to make it to the World Championship of Poker in Las Vegas.
In 2009, playing for the 888 team in Vegas, SKW was pretty much a nobody.
A couple of other Aussies and good mates were recognisable — Joe Hachem had won the world poker championship; Jeff Fenech had fought for world titles in Vegas and was good mates with Mike Tyson.
That night there was an 888 launch event in a hotel room, which featured two bedrooms, a bar, a pool table, even a full-sized bowling lane!
And there was a burly bloke with a distinctive tattoo on his face who was attracting a lot of attention. Jeff’s mate Mike was in the house. Warnie was almost anonymous, but he didn’t seem to mind one bit.
Later, some poker pros were entertaining guests with some slight-of-hand card tricks, oozing one-upmanship. Then Warnie appeared out of nowhere, picked up the cards and peeled off his own brand of wizardry, including a few manoeuvres with cigarettes.
There were lots of knowing, impressed nods around the table as Warnie put the cards neatly back on the table, smiled, said “Thanks boys”, and sauntered off.
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