Lightning in a bottle: An ode to Shane Warne

In your mind's eye still you see him, standing calm atop his mark,

Ball in hand, it's fizzing, as he looks around the park

He waits another heartbeat, points his fielders where to go,

It's all part of the magic act, it's all part of the show

His walk begins, deliberate, it builds towards its height,

He lets it go, the rest we know – has there been a better sight?

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But now it's gone forever, our sport will never be the same,

And so we ponder how to honour a true icon of the game

For where to start with Shane Keith Warne, that otherworldly gift?

We could talk about the wicked spin, the endless flight, the drift

We could talk about the wickets and the bluster and the guile,

We could talk about the character, the look, the hair, the smile

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We could talk about charisma, a bush ballad come to life,

We could talk about the dramas and the trouble and the strife

We could talk about the slider and the leg breaks and the flipper,

We can contemplate a world in which he was full-time Aussie skipper

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But single takes won't encapsulate this giant of the sport,

A Melbourne kid with cricket nous that simply can't be taught

We're reflecting on an icon here, Australia's finest sprig of wattle,

This is Shane Warne – the king – the lightning in a bottle

For such a man we need to go beyond the one-off traits,

Where history meets destiny, and a wider legacy awaits

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Think miracles and magic, think spin bowling redefined,

Think generations spellbound, think unique, one of a kind

Think mastery and sleight of hand unmatched in cricket's lore,

Think phenomenon, a genius who allowed an art to soar

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We can marvel at the theatre, a crowd expectant, still,

We're all in awe and in his palm, the game bent to his will

We're watching and we're waiting as our showman owns the stage,

We're witnessing the golden glow of Australia's golden age

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Then each of us will zero in on moments we hold dearest,

The balls that somehow shaped our lives, the ones we still see clearest

Richardson and Cullinan, you remember who was batting,

Gibbs and Strauss and Stewart, and you'll always treasure Gatting

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A hat-trick in the Ashes, a World Cup spun his way,

The comeback in Sri Lanka, that final Boxing Day

So take your pick and go there in the quiet of your mind,

Just close your eyes and conjure – this is what he leaves behind

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See the wickets we can tally up, but the emotion we can't measure,

The feelings that he stirred in us, the simple sense of pleasure

A chubby blond in cricket whites, he took a ball and twirled,

For fifteen years he cast his spell, bewitched the cricket world

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He was just a bloke – extraordinary – but fallible and flawed,

It meant he felt like one of us, made him all the more adored

Which is why he's left us grappling, left the cricket world defeated,

From Launceston to the Long Room, we've all been left depleted

But flip that thought and think instead how enriched we are by Warne,

Let's salute a pure entertainer – the greatest bowler ever born.

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