Let’s begin by me saying that it’s all my fault.

I remember where I was when Warne started his Test career. I was at a youth camp, marching through a forest (though it felt like a tropical jungle) listening to the cricket on the radio and wondering why Australia was playing this shitty leg spinner named Warne. He’d dropped Shastri (of the Ravi fame) when he was 6 and Ravi when on to belt him and the rest of the Australian team, for another 200 runs. Ravi was finally dismissed by Warne, caught by Dean Jones at cover, but by that stage I had put Shane Warne in the same category I’d put other rubbish Australian spin bowlers like Ray Bright, Peter Sleep* and Murray Bennett.

I remember watching Shane Warne spin Australia to victory against the West Indies at the MCG. There were 10,000 people there, including little old me, watching as this young bloke bowled Richie Richardson with an amazing leg break that pitched on leg and hit middle, sneaking through the gap between bat and pad. Shane Warne was now my hero.

I remember sitting up late a night and screaming in joy with my father as he bowled his first ball in England. You know the ball. And if you don’t, well you’ll have fallen asleep by now anyway after reading all this cricket wankery.

I remember sitting up late at night and watching Warne beat South Africa in the semi-final of the World Cup. A week before Herschelle Gibbs had dropped the World Cup, allowing Steve Waugh to power onto a superb hundred. In the semi-final Australia had struggled to score over 200 on a good pitch. Australia’s World Cup hopes were doomed. But Warney never gave up and he mesmerised the Proteas, removing three batsmen in quick succession including the dangerous Cronje. The game ended in a thrilling tie that saw Australia through to the final. And all because of Warne. It was 4:00 in the morning before I could sleep.

And, I remember where I was when Warne took his 700th wicket. I was desperate to see him take the wicket, to see it happen. And I thought it was tea time at the cricket when I left Jules’ apartment. I honestly thought I had time to get home and watch the final session at my house.

So imagine how horrified and elated and upset and angry and elated and gob-smacked and sad I was when I turned the key in the ignition, the radio sprang into action and I heard Jim Maxwell (I think) say “And Warne bowls and Strauss is… BOWLED, straight through him… and Warne is doing a lap of the oval and the crowd has gone mad…”

I’D MISSED IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So many memories, but when it counted… when it really counted all I’ll be able to say to my kids, my grand-kids, and anyone who bothers to ask is I was in the stupid car.

Stupid Shane Warne. If I didn’t love and didn’t care I’d feel less hollow on the inside.

Still, I was there for 99% of the journey and I promise to be there Warney until the bitter end when you bowl your last ball at the SCG.

*OK Peter Sleep did win us a Test Match against England, when winning against England was a rarity. But he was still rubbish.