No Spin: My Autobiography

452 Pages·2018·9.8 MB·English

by  Shane Warne

Contents

COVER
ABOUT THE BOOK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
AUTHOR’S NOTE
INTRODUCTION

1 SATISFACTION

2 HEROES

My Mother
My Father

3 GROWIN’ UP

The ’Hood
School’s Out
Jason

4 A HEAD FULL OF DREAMS

Home and Away
The Academy
Learning at Last
Straya

5 SOMETHING IN THE AIR

TJ’s Place – March 1992
The Sri Lankan Miracle – August 1992
Boxing Day for the First Time – December 1992

6 THE RISING

No-One Teaches You This Bit
The Gatting Ball

‘Simmo’ and the Work Ethic

7 UNGUARDED MOMENT

John
Salim Malik
‘Match-fixers’
Hansie
IPL

8 CHANGES

Nike
Just Jeans
11,660 Balls Already
We’re Going to the Como, But First, We’re … Going to Get Married
Simone
Birth
Postscript

9 ADVENTURE OF A LIFETIME (AKA THE ART OF LEG-SPIN)

In the Beginning
The Magic
The Set-Up
The Sting
The Box of Tricks
Revolutions
The Process
The Teachers
Spin Up!
The Passion
History Lesson
The Rough
People, Places
And Finally …

10 I’M STILL STANDING

Surgery
Revolution
Sell the Ferrari, Son
Yellow

Dropped
Magilla
World Cup 1999
When September Came

11 MIXED EMOTIONS

A Famous Five
Two More Men at the Turn of the Century
The Other Side of the Coin
Gilly
Surgery Again
Kolkata 2001
One More Thing

12 NO SURRENDER

King of Pain
The Diuretic
Remission
Footnote

13 FIELDS OF BLUE AND GOLD

Hampshire … or Lancashire?
Judge and Jack
Captaincy
KP
Hampshire vs Nottinghamshire 2005
Reflections
Thanks …
The Future, Briefly

14 ASHES TO ASHES

If You Fail to Prepare, You Prepare to Fail
London, Birmingham, Manchester
Coaches
Trent Bridge
The Oval
Fifteen Months, That’s All It Took
Boot Camp
Amazing Adelaide

15 START ME UP

The Story of the Rajasthan Royals in the First Indian Premier League
It Couldn’t Have Gone Much Worse
It Couldn’t Have Gone Much Better
The Three-Second Chill
The Royals Win the Cup!
Manoj Badale
How the Stars Didn’t Win the Cup

16 PHOTOGRAPH

Elizabeth
Regrets? Come to Think of It, I Have Had a Few
Rewind, Early May 2006
The Snape Sessions

17 THE GREAT GIGS AT NINE, SKY AND STAR (MEANTIME … GET ME
OUTTA HERE!)

Nine
The Sky and Star
I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here

18 REASONS TO BELIEVE

The Shane Warne Foundation
Lloyd Williams
Shane Warne: the Musical
Melbourne Days
Saints So Near, Saints So Far
23
The King of Moomba

19 NEW YORK, NEW YORK

Cirencester CC, 9 June 2013
London Calling
Flower of Scotland
It’s Only Rock and Roll (But I Like It)

20 IMAGINE

21 IN THE YEAR 2018

3 June, St John’s Wood, London
17/18 March, Augusta National
24 March, Cape Town
13 May, Jaipur
17 May, Melbourne
15 July, Las Vegas

22 SIMPLY THE BEST

Mac and Fries, Tiger and Nugget
C’mon, Aussie, C’mon
The Boys of Summer

EPILOGUE A BEAUTIFUL NOISE

Brooke, Jackson, Summer

PICTURE SECTION
STATISTICS
INDEX
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
COPYRIGHT

About the Book

‘My story, without the spin.’

From the start of his glittering career in 1992, to his official retirement from all
formats of the game in 2013, Shane Warne has long desired to tell his incredible
story without compromise. No Spin is that very story. It will offer a compelling
intimate voice, true insight and a pitch-side seat to one of cricket’s finest eras,
making this one of the ultimate must-have sports autobiographies.

Shane is not only one of the greatest living cricket legends: he is as close as the
game has had since Botham to a maverick genius on the field and a true rebel
spirit off it, who always gives audiences what they want. Despite being the
talismanic thorn in England’s side for nearly two decades of regular Ashes
defeats, he was also much loved in the UK where he played cricket for
Hampshire. He’s also a much-admired figure in India and South Africa.

Alongside his mesmerising genius as a bowler, Shane has often been a
controversial figure, and in this book he’s talk with brutal honesty about some of
the most challenging times in his life as a player. Honest, thoughtful, fearless
and loved by millions, Shane is always his own man and this book is a testament
to his brilliant career.

About the Author

Shane Warne, born 13 September 1969, is widely regarded as one of the finest
bowlers in the history of cricket. Warne played his first Test match in 1992, and
took over 1000 international wickets (in Tests and One-Day Internationals). A
useful lower-order batsman, Warne also scored over 3000 Test runs. He also
played Australian domestic cricket for his home state of Victoria, and English
domestic cricket for Hampshire. He was captain of Hampshire for three seasons,
from 2005 to 2007. He also captained the Rajasthan Royals to victory in the IPL
in 2008. He officially retired from all formats in 2013 and currently
commentates for Sky Sports.

For Mum and Dad

And for Brooke, Jackson and Summer

Author’s Note

I MET SHANE in 1993 outside my girlfriend’s house in London, having driven at
the speed of light from a county game in Nottingham, nerves on edge, to ask her
to marry me. I parked in the road, took a deep breath, and climbed out of the car,
only to see the blond leg-spinner who had bowled the Gatting ball a couple of
weeks earlier emerge from her front door. Okay, I thought, this boy is good!

Charm was written all over him. He explained that a mate of his knew her

sister and that the four of them had whacked back a bottle or two of rosé in the
next-door pub, before attacking another on the tiny back patio of the girls’
terraced cottage. He said he was sorry to rush but he had a commitment for
which he was already late. No worries, I said, and that was that. The next time I
saw him was on telly, knocking over England again. I didn’t propose that night,
the adrenalin had disappeared into the ether. I was not to know that he had only
recently popped the question himself, on a boat in the Lake District somewhere,
a question that received an enthusiastic response.

Women have been both his fun and his folly. Cricket, of course, has been his

fulfilment. He is, in the truest sense, a great cricketer. He has touched the game
in all its genres and formats, and in myriad ways. Mainly, he has ridden
roughshod over any opponent who has stood in his way. Only in Test matches in
India has the local talent held sway, though there were mitigating circumstances.
Richie Benaud called him not just the greatest leg-spinner of all time but the
greatest bowler he had seen, full stop. Richie’s judgement will do for me.

He is a challenging and rewarding personality, and about as strong a character

as the sport has seen. He is a loyal friend and, thankfully, after more than a year
on the project of this book, I find him just as engaging as I ever did. The pace of
his life can be overwhelming, for the dull moments are few and far between;
with Warney, it’s all or nothing.

The book is written mainly in his vocabulary, as a stream of consciousness. I

could see no other way, since it is Shane’s story not mine. After 35 hours of
recorded conversation there were expletives to delete and, necessarily I think, a
few worth keeping. Given there have been at least 12 books written about him
by other people, it has been fun hearing his own version of a life less than
ordinary.

The songs at the heading of most chapters reflect his great love of

contemporary music, as well as his general sense of a good time. The choices
come mostly from favourites in his own collection and they attempt, at least in
some way, to reflect the chapter of his life to come. The saying goes that singing
makes you happy; well, he sings a great deal.

Whatever conclusions you may make, most of all I hope that you hear his

voice, for it continues to echo with the game he so loves.

Mark Nicholas, August 2018

Introduction

I STARTED OUT in the Melbourne suburbs and I remain happily there to this day.
Though London has called for a lot of the time over the past few years, Brighton,
just a few miles out of Melbourne’s city centre, is my patch. I’ve traded houses
there like I don’t know what home is, but I do; I know what’s in my heart.

I’ve only ever had two serious relationships. Yep, two: the first with my wife

of 10 years, Simone, and the second – much more recently – with my ex-fiancée,
Elizabeth Hurley. Believe it or not, I’d take the quiet life over the red carpet any
day. The trouble is I haven’t often portrayed myself as anything but a good-time
boy, hunting down something different every week of the year. Kerry Packer
once told me, ‘Sell the blue Ferrari, son, and lie low for a while,’ so I did as I
was told, and bought a silver one. Lying low hasn’t been my thing.

I have lived in the moment and ignored the consequences. This has served me

both well and painfully, depending on which moment. I’ve tried to live up to the
legend, or the myth in my view, which has been a mistake because I’ve let life
off the field become as public as life on it. In my defence, I’ve never pretended
to be someone or something I’m not.

I’m a little older now and often wish I was wiser. I’m sick of taking up space

in tabloid newspapers and plan to work on that with a bit more conviction than
previously in my life. Yes, I’ve been silly at times but, equally, I like to think
I’ve done justice to my talent, openly shared it with the world and provided
plenty of entertainment. Regrets? A few but not as many as you might think. I
can’t change anything so what’s the point of regret? I’ve tried to do the best by
Brooke, Jackson and Summer, my beautiful kids, but the space in those tabloid
papers has at times embarrassed and hurt them. Right there is a regret.

Now that’s off my chest, we can get down to business. Other than ‘Would you

sign this, please?’ and ‘Can I have a selfie?’, the question I’m asked most is
‘How did you do it?’ By that I think people are referring to the Gatting ball, the
World Cup semi-final, Amazing Adelaide, the MCG 700th, the IPL and so on. I
might be wrong, of course, but probably not, so as my life unfolds over the
coming pages, I hope to answer the question. Yes, the search for fame, love,
admiration and lifestyle are in the make-up somewhere. Ultimately, though, it’s
about the leg-break, and the strategy, instinct and burning desire to win that
came with it.

The stories on the pages that follow are the result of many recorded

conversations with a longtime friend, Mark Nicholas. Mark’s job has been to
make sense of it all – his magic trick, if you like – and he’s pulled more than a
few rabbits out of the hat. Mine is more mysterious and has been worth a bunch
of wickets and a few trophies along the way. Best of all, it has been a whole lot
of fun. You gotta remember football was my thing, not cricket …

1

Satisfaction

I ANNOUNCED MY retirement from international cricket soon after midday on 21
December 2006, almost exactly 15 years after first appearing for Australia
against India at the Sydney Cricket Ground. I probably wasn’t ready back then in
January 1992, but now I knew for sure that the time was right to wave it
goodbye. As Ian Chappell said to me, ‘It’s better they ask “Why are you?” than
“Why don’t you?”’ I was done, physically and mentally, and had the feeling that
I’d run out of arse anyway. You can’t play at that level without it. I don’t care
who you are!

The timing of the announcement meant that I’d play a final Boxing Day Test

against England on my home ground five days later, and then finish with the
New Year Test in Sydney, where it all started. Nice symmetry.

The build-up to that Boxing Day Test was manic – understandably, I guess.

By the time Christmas Day came I was cooked, so it was a relief to have a few
hours of nothing with my family and children.

I had a few chuckles to myself about how my life in the game had panned out.

I mean, going into the occasion I valued above all others with 699 Test match
wickets under my belt, and gunning for number 700 at the Melbourne Cricket
Ground, of all places – well, it doesn’t get any better than that. I knew there’d be
sadness too, partly because I still loved playing Test match cricket and partly
because I was saying goodbye (or thought I was!) to the mighty ’G.

I’d set the phone at full volume, and I remember how the suddenness of the 5 am
alarm makes for that feeling of shock when it wakes you up from a deep sleep.
There was no time for the usual snooze buttons and then the last-minute panic to
get ready: I had to move right then. Urrgghh.

It had been a bad night. I’d last checked the time at 3.30 am and then fallen

into the kind of heavy sleep that knocks you about a bit. It took a while to get my
head round where I was and what I was doing. I rolled over, stiff and sore as