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Do not, I pray, get me wrong. I am a great admirer of Shane Warne. He has given me years of pleasure. I remember the Gatting ball vividly. I remember, too, his coming-of-age the previous summer, when he ran through the Windies on the MCG.
I can see now, clear as the day it happened, the flipper that scudded deviously through Richie Richardson, leaving him baffled as to what happened to his stumps.
I remember his hat-trick in 94-95.
I remember him bowling about half a mile outside leg-stump and screwing the ball back insanely behind Pat Symcox. I remember him winning a World Cup. I remember him crushing batsman after batsman’s spirit.
I remember him heaving a sputtering team onto his creaking shoulders and carrying it, on his own, oh-so-close to glory in the 2005 Ashes. I remember a colossus of sport who fully deserves his place in a pantheon occupied by only the very greatest of performers.
And yes, I remember a bit of a tosser, but even if I never found him very likeable, and in general preferred the wine-quaffing, book-reading, short-fused personality of Stuart MacGill, and wished his extravagant leggies could have had a better run, I bowed to Warne as a bowler of astonishing talents.
In his pomp there was not a spinner in the world who could dream of matching him.
So yes, Warne was magnificent, so the obvious conclusion to draw is that it would be wonderful for him to come back. Wouldn’t it be great, in fact, if Warnie could just keep going and going, forever?
Well, yes, it would … but then again, it wouldn’t.
I’d love to see Warne bowl forever, but the Warne I want to see bowl forever is the Warne of about 1995.
The fresh prince of leg-spin, who made the ball buzz with the snap of his wrist, and bullied batsmen every bit as fiercely as the most menacing of quicks. The Warne of 1999 would do too, and the Warne of 2005 would still be a treat.
But the 2011 Warne, frankly, I am happy to see remain in retirement.
I’m happy for him to remain a civilian, going to parties and hob-nobbing with elites and satisfying Liz Hurley’s physical and emotional needs. I’m happy for him to keep playing cards and telling us how great it is to have hair. He seems to have found a nice, happy, relaxing place in his life, and I’ve found a nice, happy, relaxing place in mine, too – at least the part of my life that concerns itself with Shane Warne.
We are both happy, Shane – why risk something this great?
It’s not like we really need him to come back. Twenty20 is a unique beast – you either think it’s a great night out, or you think it’s the greatest abomination to be visited upon the cricket world since Alan Mullally.
The addition of an ageing Warne may add a certain curiosity factor, but it’s not going to make or break the new Big Bash league.
In fact, it’ll just turn it into a freakshow, so that administrators will, once Warne goes, will have to sustain it through ever-more outlandish gimmicks, like bringing back David Boon or making every team include at least three amputees.
And what benefit will it bring us, really?
Either Warne will come in and bowl like an oversexed retired 42-year-old, and be smeared all over the nation’s cricket grounds like blond Nutella, or he’ll come in and tear through opponents, which will simply prove that Australian cricket is in a dire state and depress all of us no end.
It’s lose-lose for the Australian public, and frankly, it’s lose-lose for Shane, since every minute spent on the field is a minute not spent touching the intimate areas of famous British model/actresses.
No, we don’t need it. I don’t need it.
I have no desire to see that weirdly slimmed-down old body haul itself into the fray once more. I don’t want to see those bizarre sculpted eyebrows setting fields. I don’t want to umpires confronted by bellowed appeals emanating from a bright orange expanse of shiny leather held tightly in place by alligator clips at the back of the head.
It’s too late, Shane. You made your choice, and your choice was to be an over-groomed society dandy. And that’s a good choice. That’s a noble calling. I wish you all the best in it. But we don’t need you playing cricket anymore.
Australian cricket is having its travails, but it needs to move on, and so do you. Don’t feel bad.
All the greats eventually face that day when they know their days in the sun are over. Bradman went through it. Lillee went through it. Peter Sleep went through it. You have to go through it too.
Take a deep breath, Warnie, and stay away. No good can come of this. And frankly I’m not sure your face can withstand any sort of vigorous exercise.