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.

The Trial of Gibbs

The issue of race has always been inextricably entwined with cricket. The international game, born in the crucible of colonialism, became a way for the colonies to project their own character and individualism, and quite literally beat the English at their own game. There were the powerful and athletic West Indians who played their cricket with exuberance and flair, the 'mystic' wristy brilliance of the Indians, and the combative, Australians. All three came to express themselves on the cricket pitch in a fundamentally different way from the often dour and correct English, and that unquestionably made the world game what it is. Between the break up of colonialism and the formation of test cricket as we know it today, race has stamped itself on the game in various different ways: from D'Oliveira to blackwashes, quota systems and Kashmir.
Yet in the past year we have seen that racial tensions have not left cricket, and perhaps it is naive to think they ever will. South African batsman Herschelle Gibbs has received a two test ban for an ill-advised comment picked up on the stump microphones during the first test against Pakistan at Centurion Park. For those unfamiliar, several somewhat over-exuberant Pakistani fans were hurling abuse at South African spinner Paul Harris. Gibbs was heard to remark audibly - to thousands of people on five continents around the world - that they were "a bunch of bloody animals." At the time it seemed the comment was aimed at the Pakistani players, which, as pointed out in no uncertain terms by the commentators at the time, would have been utterly unacceptable. Sledging of the opposition can walk a fine line between the comic and the insulting, but it is a perfectly legitimate facet of test cricket if it walks that line carefully: as evidenced in the recent Ashes series.
Gibbs' comment was not aimed at his opponents however, but toward the fans abusing his team-mate. While his words were distasteful and badly chosen in any context, what would the punishment, if any, have been for the fans had they been calling Harris a 'bloody animal'? What if it had not been Harris but Hashim Amla who was the focus of their abuse? What if the fans had been white, and Harris from Asian extraction?
South Africans are obviously no strangers to racism: on their tour of Australia in 05/06 they were mercilessly targetted, and not just the black players Ntini and Prince, but also the whites in the team, who were taunted as "kaffir boettjes" (meaning 'brother of a nigger'). One could forgive the South African players for muttering a few frustrated oaths between themselves, and the merits of the 'animals' moniker could certainly be discussed. In that situation the South African players did the right thing, by making their displeasure known to the relevant authorities. The ICC labelled it as an 'isolated incident', and did absolutely nothing as is their want, but it was still the right thing for the players to do. Gibbs misjudged matters badly in his retort last week, and showed scant regard for the Pakistani batsmen out in the middle, but should he be the one made an example of for his own foolishness?
Why a man who grew up in post-apartheid South Africa, plays in the same team as a Muslim, and has himself been on the wrong side of verbal abuse, would purposefully be racist to fans is anyone's guess. Whether the comment was racially motivated or not is something that is not apparently clear: if it was then Gibbs should definitely serve his ban in silence. However, Gibbs should not be singled out and crucified for this once incident: it is clear that there is still a certain amount of racism in cricket around the world, as they is in wider society. But to expect players to conduct themselves as saints in front of verbal barrages from fans is not always fair.