I ask you, is there any limit to the talents of Shane Warne? I tuned into the new talk show “Warnie” and I must say I wasn’t expecting glory, but I was mistaken.
Warnie, like all good talents, knows that it’s the people around you that apply the spit and polish, and he’s got some first-class producers to provide a professional looking product.
I was wowed from the start. That introduction rid any fear of embarrassment. Warnie showed class from the get go, cruising a sports car, roof down, sunglasses on. I was in. It was slightly satirical, which I liked, but still I love the lure of the image of prosperity, sex and the good life. I’ve wanted the sports car and sunglasses combination for eternity, and the sight of Warnie living my dream was alluring.
He sprang onto the stage to the anticipation of the audience. Here he was, this larger than life hero of the common Australian. And here lies the genius. He wears the cricket creams, not a suit… the creams. He is above us, but can come to us. Beautiful. It also hints at the larrikin. This is no Ray Martin, no Andrew Denton wolf in a hood.
He presented with ease, like a worn (excuse the pun) stand-up comedian; the stage was his home. There was a little nervousness, which is just more genius, for this is cute, and Warnie, if he isn’t anything else, is cute; the little blond mischievous child we all scorn from time-to-time for bad behaviour, but admit his cheekiness is admirable and makes us laugh.
Warnie showed us the serious interviewer inside him. He opened up Punter Ponting like a can of worms; got deep within the mind. I was waiting for the tears to flow and for Punter to crumble; a mess on the floor, muttering something about an unfortunate incident at the nets during childhood, all coming through now under the pressure, causing poor form. I think Shane let him off, that’s what that constitutional pre-amble mateship thing is.
And the humor. Warnie went to some theme park, and followed the age-old but never tiring formula of the gullible host out of his depth. He jumped on a roller coaster, scared as all hell as the g-force wiped the facade of cool. The open wobbly mouth with air rushing in, the horror on his face. Cracked us all up, the nation as one, forgetting our differences. I was hopeless for anything else, muscle spasms from the mirth paralyzing. How do they come up with it?
There were other highlights. Warne showing his class, mate dropping, with interviews with big hitters like Jeremy Clarkson.
But I might suggest a new segment: “How to pick up women”.
We all know that Shane is very popular with the ladies. He has no limits either, recently showing true form by landing every balding man’s dream, the top-shelf Liz Hurley. She is hot, I tell you.
Now I’ve never been good with the ladies – not for lack of good looks either. I even once had a very attractive girlfriend myself. Why would she leave me? “Am I not to your standards?” I sulked. “No, you’re very good looking, everyone says so, it’s just… well, it’s your personality. It just sucks.”
It’s true, personality is not my forte. It hinders my lady pulling. And I think Shane has obvious skill in this department and could give some great advice.
Each week he could go to a nightclub, the candid camera in tow, showing us just how he does it; how he works them. A new one each week. “So there you go, another one in the bag, so join me next week when I visit a night spot in Wagga, where I’ll be sure to pull another, maybe two [wink]. See you then.” A cheeky smile, a nod of the head, as he goes the grope at his willing prey.
Cue laughter and applause. Roll credits.
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