Remembering Warnie
Photo: Phil Hillyard/Sydney Cricket Ground Trust
Conventions, norms, rules. They didn’t apply to Shane Warne.
Everyone knew it. Encouraged it. People didn’t want the rules to apply to him because, well, because he was Warnie.
The blond hair, the fizzing leg spinners, the drama, the everything. Like everywhere he played, Warne ruled the Sydney Cricket Ground. He may have been from Melbourne, but some of his greatest deeds on home soil were performed at Bradman’s ground each summer as the nation celebrated a new year and complemented a morning at the beach with an afternoon of Warnie.
His career was aligned with the place. He made his Test debut at the SCG in the summer of 1991/’92 against India, playing 14 Tests at the SCG in all, bamboozling South Africa, and the world, twice — taking 7-56 and 5-72 in 1993/’94 and 5-75 and 6-34 in 1997/’98; a total of 64 Test wickets in all – the highest at the ground – at 28.12.
To this day, South African batsman Darryll Cullinan is haunted by how Warne embarrassed him there.
To round things off, Warne played his last Test on the ground in January 2007 alongside Glenn McGrath and Justin Langer. He played his last ever competitive match on the SCG for the Melbourne Stars against the Sydney Sixers in 2011/’12.
Throw in 43 wickets in 26 one-dayers under lights for good measure.
Long after he retired, Warnie still ruled the ground.
It was in those retirement years that I saw him in action. He was then a member of the Nine Network commentary team and even his arrival at the ground was an event.
In his suit, work satchel hanging from his shoulder, he somehow looked resplendent, yet raffish.
“Warnie, Warnie …” fans would call, hoping for a flash of eye contact, an acknowledgment, an autograph from or a selfie with the great man.
And it happened all day, every day. They lay in wait if he ventured from the confines of the media area. And he never lost his patience. Not once.
Warnie’s gift was that he had time for everyone. Even when he didn’t have time. A look, a wave, was enough to satisfy them. He knew it, accepted it, embraced it, and never let them down. They got enough, even from a stroll past, to go away satisfied.
Because of who he was, and the way he embraced who he was, Warnie got away with things normal humans wouldn’t.
Capacity at the SCG is 46,000, and 45,999 of those people are banned from smoking.
That final person was Warne. Technically he wasn’t allowed to smoke at the ground either, but then at the same time, he was.
His not-so-secret spot was in the “office” of legendary groundsman Tom Parker, in the bowels of the Noble-Bradman-Messenger Stand. Parker’s office was exactly how you’d expect that of a groundsman to be. Which was just the way Warnie liked it. No one bothered him there. He could smoke away, no selfies, no “Warnie, Warnie …”
In those years I was at Nine, reporting on the Tests and, at the end of play, I’d read the sports bulletin from on the ground. A Nine cricket commentator would always join me live for a summary of the day’s play.
Warnie was never, ever late for anything to do with his work. He was dedicated, committed and as reliable as the SCG’s famous Barford & Perkins roller, which has prepared the ground’s pitch since 1924.
Right on cue, Warne would appear in the shadows of the tunnel near Parker’s office.
He’d see me getting ready for the bulletin and point to his watch. I’d hold up a hand to let him know he had five minutes. He’d reply with a thumbs up, then gesture with two fingers to his lips, letting me know he’d have a smoke then be out on the ground.
Off he’d go to his sanctuary, knock over a cigarette, then be back on the ground where the kids holding mini bats and Sharpies and sundry other fans holding phones were waiting and yelling “Warnie, Warnie” as he came out. He’d look and let them know he’d be back.
After his on-air spot, he’d put the satchel back on his shoulder, stroll over to the fans and, never in a hurry, sign autographs, take selfies, chat with the kids and flash his smile, before venturing through the tunnel, day’s work done, and into the night to only heaven knows what. Then he’d be back the next day and do it all again.
Near the commentary box, there was a stairwell in the Bradman-Noble Stand.
Through the fire door adjacent to the commentary box in the Bradman-Noble Stand was another Warne sanctuary: an empty set of stairs where he would have a sneaky ciggie.
Only problem was, unlike the Parker hideout, this one had a security camera.
Security would spot him on their monitors but wouldn’t dare approach him. Instead, they’d call SCG Trust communications boss Phillip Heads, to handle it.
“Warnie, you can’t smoke at the SCG,” Heads would tell him. “And when you do, can you just go two steps further up because the security camera can’t see you there. Or go down to Tom’s.”
The rules didn’t apply to Shane Warne. Thank god for that. RIP.