Warne is over ?

In 1954 Neville Cardus wrote that “one of cricket’s rare fascinations is the way it responds to atmosphere, and is quick to express scene or character and even a national spirit.” Cricket as a game, like no other, shifts in its character and tempo to match the prevailing social currents. The golden Edwardian age was one of opulence and confident, carefree insouciance; the game was a leisurely pursuit, the batsmen aesthetic artisans of the highest order. The mysticism of Ranjitsinhji, dismissing all with a contemptuous wave of his bat, the Olympian versatility of C.B. Fry, the explosive and expressive strength of Gilbert Jessop: all approached the game without inhibitions, free from pressure.
After the ravages of the World Wars the game changed with the mentality of the world; the early century optimism had been displaced by a grafting, more introverted mentality where elegance had become subordinated to the necessity of victory. This era spawned Huttons, Hassetts, Graveneys and Barringtons: men all capable of dazzling strokeplay, but who reined themselves in by sheer force of character, sacrificing beauty for something more functional. Now we are sixty years removed from the Great War and the war-time parsimony and conservatism seems a long time removed. No one now wants to graft and scrap for success; ever increasing technological advances mean that we have things at a touch of a button: patience and hard-work are already sepia-tinted virtues. Cricket correspondingly is now conducted at a break neck pace: runs must come at four to the over, bowling of 80 miles per hour is decidedly medium pace, and, as England well proved at Adelaide, there are not many footsoldiers prepared to battle long and hard to save a game. Anger and petulance are abound from modern tyros – stand up and take a bow Mr Sreesanth – and it is only to be expected as the pressures of international sport build relentlessly.
Shane Warne is, and was, something entirely different. He embodies different aspects of all three eras, but his on field virtues have for many years marked him as anachronistic: a throwback to a different time. Ignore for a moment the blonde mop of hair – which becomes more ill fitting as the years roll by – and certainly ignore the off field misdemeanours, which firmly root him as a product of the modern age. But with the ball in his hand he becomes the smiling artisan, centre stage with all agog at the skill and subtlety of his craft: one does not need statistics to appreciate the aesthetic elegance of his bowling.
Warne and Ranji are, on the face of it, as different as it is possible for two humans to be: separated not just by 100 years of history, but also vastly in upbringing, and even more vastly, in physical stature. Yet both had the ability to reduce the game of cricket to its simplest and most beautiful form: when watching, the winning and losing became irrelevant as one could enjoy the gentle magic of of two men who play the game for the game’s sake. Yet it has also become obvious, especially during last year’s epic Ashes series, that Warne also possesses something drawn from the later post-war era. In a team struggling against the tide, and with team-mates incapable of matching up to his own craft and guile, his powers of patience became more apparent. Over after over he worked away, constantly flicking the ball from one hand to the other, fingers numb from sending down upwards of 30 overs in a day. At 37 the body is creaking precariously but Warne, like the Huttons and Hammonds before him, will not show the pain and works away without complaint, dedicated to his art.
When confronted with an adversary who appears to be his equal, Warne shows his appreciation and respect for the other’s skill, but will never give up, working away to a plan until such a time that the batsman will make a mistake. In Kevin Pietersen, Warne appeared to have met such a nemesis and was forced to rethink, falling back on 1950s values of graft and persistence by bowling on the legside. Eventually something would give, and that something was Pietersen, comprehensively beaten in the second innings. Yes, Warne’s bowling in the first innings at Adelaide was unedifying; the expansive artistry stored away safely and replaced by the compact, patient probing. He is just as willing to be that footsoldier as he is to display the full array of his dazzling wares.
His off field activities and appearance mark him without dispute as a modern player, but his relaxed approach and peerless, almost effortless skill, allied with his virtues of patience and desire to win have marked him out as something special. For all the undisputed magnificence of his record, even Bradman could not produce moments of such breath-taking wonderment with such regularity as Shane Warne.