Like the rest of the cricketing world, I have been in a state of shock since the news of Shane Warne’s death broke.
I was lucky enough to be one of Warney’s close friends and it hasn’t sunk in yet. I am still expecting my phone to flash up with some nonsense he is sending through on a WhatsApp group.
There have been hundreds of tributes centring on what it was like to face the greatest spinner of them all. It was extraordinary, and an honour. Warney was a genius. But he was just as special as a character as he was a cricketer. Again, he was a total one-off.
Warney was a global superstar, but those who knew him knew another big kid making the most of every second. He did more in a year than I could do in a century, and was the most generous person I’ve met. He wanted nothing in return except loyalty. When he had that, he would give back tenfold.
For a man who was so busy, Warney was impossibly generous with his time. I have never met anyone with so much enthusiasm for people, and he was a great judge of character (this, like he had on the field, was like a sixth sense).
He came to dinners run by friends of mine just to help out, and would spend the day in schools where former Hampshire team-mates now worked.
He had a level of fame — he was probably the most famous cricketer in England, even though he was Australian — that meant he would get pestered a lot, and people also liked to have a crack at him.
You’d play golf and guys would shout, “bowled, Shane” from the next fairway and the rest. I never once saw him brush anyone off. Everyone wanted a piece of him, but he would answer every question — and ask twice as many.
And he was never, ever late. If he was going to be two minutes late, he would call apologising profusely. He was hugely principled.
I first got to know him playing county cricket in the early 2000s. He had an incredible battle with Rahul Dravid at Portsmouth in 2000, but it was through poker that we became close. I reckon when Kent played Hampshire, players were looking forward to the poker more than the cricket.
There was one game at the Ageas where it started raining heavily, clearly ending the day, and players from both teams were sprinting off to get started.
We played until about 3am, with Warney ordering pizzas, loving the competition and telling his incredible stories. His stories were always on another level, about legendary people from cricket and beyond, while I’d be telling him about how Dave Masters had got me out again! There was never an ounce of judgment.
At the end of the evening, the Kent boys realised we needed to go back to the hotel. As I was walking out, I noticed that Warney was diligently cleaning up the mess we’d made. We were entitled young cricketers expecting someone else to do it, but there was the most famous player in the world sorting it out.
It was a bit of a wake-up call to me. I thought, “Keysy, you’ve got to be a better bloke than this”.
My mindset was that I might not be able to play the game like him, but I can at least think like him.
We had a couple of young spinners, James Tredwell and Rob Ferley. We played Hampshire, and they were struggling to pluck up the courage to go and talk to him. I made them go over.
Warney told them that he had a day off the following week, so why don’t they head over to Hampshire to bowl with him. They spent hours in the nets together and couldn’t believe their luck.
I remembered this when, in 2014, we were playing Surrey. We were in a good position, but needed to bowl them out on the last day to win. We had another young spinner, Adam Riley, and there were some footmarks, so I needed him to come to the party.
On the third evening, I called Warney and asked if he’d mind having a chat with Riley. He told me he was busy now, but to call back in the morning “not too early”. At about 9.30, I tried him again, and told Riley that I had a mate who wanted to talk spin with him. He looked confused but, when he heard Warney’s voice, his eyes lit up.
With Warney clearly still in bed, they chatted for 45 minutes before we went on. Riley was buzzing. He took five wickets and we won.
My whole philosophy on the game is built on chats with Warney, whether 20 years ago or more recently on the golf course or around the Sky commentary box. When Peter Willey was umpiring, he would joke that, “Warney’s here setting the fields again”.
My mindset was that I might not be able to play the game like him, but I can at least think like him. I am very lucky to be where I am now, commentating with greats of the game, and I believe I have him to thank for that.
He will be hugely missed by all of us at Sky, not just for his commentary, but his company. It is only now, watching videos of us mucking about, that I realise how funny he was. He lived his whole life like a big teenager, and lived to make people smile and laugh — and succeeded.
