Start the Car: The World According to Bumble. David Lloyd

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СКАЧАТЬ Warne chats away as he does, the camera is his own; he has as much presence as a commentator as he did as an international performer. He knows when to look and when to look away, when to make his point and when to keep quiet. And just as in the middle, he knows how to milk the big moments, with that inherent sense of timing. This particular afternoon Nasser, who was hosting the live feature, threw him the ball in real Nasser style, as if throwing down the gauntlet to an old nemesis for the final time. ‘C’mon then, show us one,’ he said, abruptly, not long after he had warned the TV audience that this Aussie, fast approaching 40, had not bowled for months on end.

      Well, blow me if Warne didn’t rip this flippin’ leg-spinner three foot. With no warm-up, no practice deliveries, his very first ball produced that trademark fizzing sound through the air.

      ‘Ah, pretty good that,’ Warne said. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother with another.’

      The jaws on these two young kids just dropped. They are two nice young leg-spinners, who can both give the ball a pleasant little spin, but Warney absolutely tore his one ball. That was enough to confirm to anyone what we already knew – he’s a flaming genius.

      His presence is enough to inspire a team, and I remember the way Australia reacted to his return in the 1998–9 Ashes. We had just won at Melbourne, bowling the Aussies out in what you might call English conditions, to reduce the score to 2–1, with one Test to play. But who was back for that final Test in Sydney? And they made damned sure there would be nothing in the pitch for the seamers, as they prepared what could best be described as a dustbowl for Warne, Stuart MacGill and Colin Miller, who opened the bowling with off-cutters and then switched to spin later in the innings, to operate on. In those conditions the returning superstar might have run amok, but his presence only served to inspire MacGill, who had been phenomenal in that series, even further. He took a dozen wickets to Warne’s two as we lost by 98 runs. Imagine how good a career MacGill would have had without the greatest-ever exponent of the art of leg-spin pissing on his chips.

      As a character, as a mate and as a performer, Warne is absolutely top of the tree. When he waltzed into our box at Sky for the second Ashes Test of 2009 it was obvious that he had done things in television before. And it also helped that he is a complete natural. Regularly people will ask me, ‘What’s the best advice you’ve ever had?’ They are normally talking about cricket and are expecting a reply like ‘Keep your elbow high and play with the full face.’ But I sidestep the technical stuff and tell them that the best thing to do is what comes naturally. To me, that is what Warne does. He is just so comfortable on screen, and what you see is what you get.

      Certainly, Warney being himself helped me click with him on air, and it wasn’t long before I got him going. We were chatting away about what we had been up to between Test matches, and Shane was recalling a memorable few days up at Archerfield in Scotland, playing golf with Beefy. ‘Oh mate,’ he said, and proceeded to ramble about doing this, doing that, having clearly had a spanking good time. Knowing he was a lad of great manners, however, I just knew he would come back with ‘What you been up to?’ Right on cue, he did so.

      ‘Actually, I’ve been to LA,’ I replied.

      ‘Oh, that’s great, mate, yeah, I like LA. Love it, in fact.’

      ‘Do you? Have you been to Lower Accrington? Oh, of course you have.’

      ‘Pardon?’

      The following week, I told him, attempting to put a serious spin on things, that I was off to the USA. ‘Whereabouts?’ he asked.

      ‘The Uther Side of Accrington.’

      We were having a ball, bouncing off each other, and getting paid for it. But he was certainly becoming wary of my humour, so I waited for the next Test match before I snared him again.

      ‘Been anywhere nice, Shane?’ I said.

      ‘You’re not getting me with that one again, Bumble,’ came back the reply.

      ‘C’mon, where’ve you been?’

      He relented and started telling me how he’d done this and done that.

      ‘Great,’ I said, adding a hurried, muffled ‘Well I’ve been to T-o-u-r-k-e-e.’

      ‘What?’ he said, giving a quick glance at my lack of tan. ‘You’ve been to Turkey?’

      ‘No. Torquay,’ I replied. ‘You’re not listening. And I also had a couple of days in Sw-dn.’

      ‘Wha’d ya say? Sweden?’

      ‘No, Swindon.’

      He just put his microphone down and said: ‘Get me a pint of what he’s had.’ During our stints we got on like a house on fire, and I was in stitches with his suggestion that we could take cricket to a new level with what one might call after-the-watershed highlights.

      ‘I’ve got this management company back in Australia,’ he explained. ‘And I’ve put it to them that we could begin specialising in extreme commentary.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

      ‘Oh, it would be great,’ he said. ‘Just for the Internet, you could tell it exactly how it is, rather than have to toe the party line, like you do on TV. When the ball raps the batsman on the pad, for example, and the fielding side all go up for lbw, and the umpire gives him out, when he’s clearly nicked it, you have just got to come straight to the point and say exactly what you think: “You blind c—–, he’s f—–ing hit that!” Or, if there’s a massive waft outside the off stump, a big deviation, the ball changes course and there’s a huge appeal – HOWIZZEE! – when the call is answered in the negative, you could wade in with: “You’re f—–ing kidding, aren’t you, mate? He’s knocked the f—–in’ cover off it.”’ Great idea, I told him, just not sure we could do it. I have heard a few people have access to this Internet thingy these days.

      Warney is just your typical Aussie bloke, no airs and graces, or side to him, just willing to call it as he sees it. Pure, unadulterated fun. We did get a taster of what he was getting at within our own family-friendly guidelines. We had only been sitting down for a couple of overs at Edgbaston when the ball was whacked through the covers for four.

      ‘Terrific shot,’ I said.

      ‘Oh, he’s twatted that,’ Shane joined in.

      Everything went totally quiet in the commentary box. Our producer Paul King took the opportunity to have a quiet word. ‘Look, Warney,’ he began, and explained the problem. ‘No, we can’t have that. It is not a word we can use on air.’ Shane was typically apologetic. Putting his mic down, he said: ‘Sorry, mate. In Australia that just means he has hit it hard.’

      We made him aware of the different connotations over here, and he was kept abreast of what can and can’t be said. ‘Do you want me to put it right with the viewer?’ he asked, full of innocent enthusiasm. ‘Tell ’em what it really is? I didn’t know it meant the c—–.’

      ‘No, just let it go, Shane,’ came back the collective response. He is just Mr Bloke and his enthusiasm got the better of him. You can’t speak highly enough of him. He is a very affectionate chap, a very infectious character. Yes, he has had off-field issues, but there is no edge to him at all. He just enjoys life to the max. He understands he has cocked up a few times, the way everybody does, but you can’t speak too highly of him. As a cricketer he had few peers СКАЧАТЬ