Warne-ing signs

Why hasn’t more been made of the disgraceful turn of events which occurred at the completion of the recent Big Bash League clash between the Brisbane Heat and the Melbourne Stars?

Chasing 172 for victory, the Stars required an unlikely, but achievable, 28 runs for victory from their final 9 deliveries when, against all conventional wisdom, they started blocking.

It’s been somewhat overlooked, perhaps understandably given there’s some real cricket being played in Sydney at the moment, but surely the incident gives rise to some serious questions.

Given all the spin about the newfound legitimacy and seriousness of T20 cricket, how is it acceptable for a team to block out their final over when they require a mathematically-possible 25 runs for victory, with a wicket still in hand?

As his side clung desperately on to their victory chances, just why did renowned slogger Lasith Malinga go all renegade (with a lower case ‘r’, don’t worry fans, he hasn’t been poached) on his captain and play a series of rash, tactically inept forward defensive strokes?

The answer, I fear, is that he didn’t. As batsman-in-waiting Shane Warne sat padded up in the stands, it seems the inspirational captain (recently returned from his UK Christmas sabbatical) instructed his loyal Number 10 to protect his wicket, whatever the cost.

In attendance at the match myself, the prospect of seeing my childhood hero Shane Warne wielding the willow one more time was a thrilling one indeed. As it played out, I was disappointed by his blatantly selfish cowardice at the time, but now I understand.

It’s easy to see how cricket’s greatest modern mind was thinking.

If Warne’s fielding earlier on was any indication, his reflexes are surely gone. Smarter than he almost always looks, sounds and acts, Warne is undoubtedly aware of this decline.

Test cricket? Warne would be tested reacting in time to a changing traffic light these days, let alone a missile hurled by a fired up Test class fast bowler.

He knows it too.

When Kemar Roach knocked James Faulkner’s stumps out of the ground to signal the loss of the side’s eighth wicket, the horrible realisation that he may soon have to bat surely hit Warne harder than a divorce settlement.

While it may have been the result of an unfortunate surgical procedure, the 43-year-old captain’s face seemed locked in sheer panic as he sat in the dugout, dwelling on the prospect of having to wield the bat in public.

“Block it out!” the inspirational leader (surely) yelled above the ‘Warneeeey!’ chants of the blood-thirsty crowd, Ghost Crayfish included, as he sent his star import Malinga out to bat.

“For Christ’s sake, you curly-haired bastard, block it out!”

Praying to the same God that gave him Liz Hurley, Warne begged the heavens for clemency before each delivery, pausing only to threateningly hold up a pair of gardening sheers at a startled Malinga.

Doggedly Malinga threw away his side’s chances of victory as he grimly defended his stumps, captain and manhood. Only on the last ball did he allow it to come unstuck. By then though, Warne was safe.

So was Malinga. Both men breathed sighs heavy with relief.

You may think I’m being unfair to Warne, but I feel like I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. If it wasn’t self-preservation that saw him instruct his batsman to block it out, it could only have been something more sinister.

Though it just seems ridiculous, I hope Warney wasn’t midway through a text to John the bookie…