Shane Warne’s most lasting legacy may be as much in the boardroom as on the field

(Illustration by Suneesh K.)

Daniel Moss

Shane Warne, the cricket superstar whose death this month rocked the sporting world, was literally asked to write his own obituary. The exercise, guided by psychologist and former player Jeremy Snape, involved watching digital simulations of himself decades into the future at the age of 70, in a house by a beach and surrounded by grandchildren. According to his autobiography, this visualisation was supposed to help Warne figure out his priorities for his next phase in life. He wanted to show the world he was more than an easy caricature of a jet-setting celebrity.

Warne, who passed away at age 52, will be commemorated on March 30 in a state memorial service at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, which has capacity for about 100,000 people. It’s the sort of official farewell normally reserved for deceased prime ministers. Warne’s celebrity transcends them, even in death. The memorial will be held the day after the federal budget is announced, an occasion normally reserved for political and economic salesmanship. Prime Minister Scott Morrison is expected to call an election within days. Yet he dare not be seen to politic too openly on this sacred day.

This isn't a column simply about Warne as a unique Australian. Nor will it dwell long on his prowess as a player. (He’s listed in ‘Wisden’, the bible of cricket, as one of the five greatest players of the 20th century, and tossed a career-defining ball in 1993 to dismiss batter Mike Gatting, considered one of the best hitters of spin.) As significant as those accomplishments are, Warne's legacy will be shaped by his contributions to, and vital connections with, cricket's ascendance from an easily parodied, five-day game played by gentleman amateurs dressed in white who stopped for tea, to a colourful, rapid-fire, made-for-television festival where players themselves become brands. His career is linked to the wresting of financial and political control of the game from quiet corridors in London to the C-suites of Mumbai and boardrooms of Chennai.

With his bleached blonde hair and sparkling Nike earring, Warne revived a type of cricket-ball delivery — a pitch, in baseball parlance — thought to be dead. Leg spin, a slow technique aimed at deceiving the batter through beguiling rotations and movement off the ground, was something nobody had done well for at least a generation. Youngsters wanted to be fast bowlers, delivering the ball at about 90 miles an hour and often slamming it into the deck so hard that it would bounce menacingly, almost decapitating the batter.

Yet here was this very cool young guy, bursting onto the scene in the early 1990s, doing leg spin brilliantly. Warne soon had Ferraris, global brand sponsors and pop songs written for him. He hung out with Phil Knight, founder of Nike Inc., and Michael Jordan. A long-defunct art form had been brought to life in spectacular fashion. Whether in Karachi, Cape Town or Sydney, kids wanted to be just like him.

Warne proved to be a vital link between business and sport. One of his mentors and great friends was Kerry Packer, a media magnate who established a rebel private-sector cricket contest, in competition with formal matches presided over by tradition-bound official administrators. Things that viewers of US professional sports take for granted — games at night, team colours, a global market for talent — were introduced by Packer. His rival tournament in the late 1970s took place before Warne was a teenager, and didn't last. But it put the game onto a trajectory that would benefit the cricketer enormously, and he simultaneously helped lift the game.

The natural heir to Packer's venture was the Indian Premier League (IPL), which tapped the mania the second-most populous nation has for the sport, and married it to the country’s rising financial and political clout. While strictly speaking a domestic contest, the IPL’s eight franchises needed a smattering of international talent to really get off the ground.

Warne, so much a zeitgeist of the modern game, was an obvious draw. He was hired in 2008 to captain the Rajasthan Royals, a team whose owners include UK-based technology entrepreneur Manoj Badale, and Lachlan Murdoch, chief executive officer of Fox Corp. Not only did Warne star, the team won the title that critical debut year of the tournament. The genre of cricket showcased by the IPL — games that last mere hours, replete with cheerleaders and fireworks — encourages constant action and spectacle.

No player had as much impact on the Indian league in its infancy as Warne, according to Badale. “Equally, no other tournament could have been better designed for Shane Warne,” he wrote in his book, ‘A New Innings: How the IPL’s Reinvention of Cricket Provides Lessons for the Business of Sport’, co-authored with Simon Hughes. “Commentators often use the phrase ‘box office’ for certain sportsmen — those that entertain, those that keep people in their seats — Warne was the definition.”

Despite his coronation as cricket’s first true global celebrity, Warne professed to dislike drama off the field. He was generous with his personal time and took his role as a mentor seriously. Early in the pandemic, as Singapore was enduring a lockdown, Warne spent part of an afternoon on a video link with the Singapore Cricket Club’s junior players and supporters, fielding questions from youngsters — and indulging those of us with a few grey hairs. (I’m a member.)

As a result of his sessions with Snape, Warne began to prioritise fitness, sleep and key relationships, according to Snape's recounting in the book ‘No Spin’ by Warne and Mark Nicholas. It was in a villa on the Thai resort island of Koh Samui with friends, as Warne was preparing for a big weight-loss programme, that he passed away.

His contribution to the game, to the lives of more than a billion people, will endure. In the boardroom, as well as the field.

Daniel Moss is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist covering Asian economies. Views are personal, and do not represent the stand of this publication.