when we got to Durban and he discovered an even bigger motor to handle. Unperturbed by the challenge, Nasser was intent on taming the beast, only to run it straight into the garage wall of the hotel.
There are some lovely drives on a tour of South Africa, and Nasser, bless him, had volunteered to be chauffeur. It was a call of duty, in fact, that led him to turn down the privilege of playing golf at the picturesque Fancourt, a course on the Garden Route, designed by Gary Player. He took a call from Paul Collingwood, inquiring whether he would like to make up an eight, as they were one short, but to his eternal credit he did the decent thing and turned them down. That was touching, as before the £300 fee for the privilege of a private flight and eighteen holes was mentioned, he had seemed keen. ‘I’m sorry, I really can’t let my mates down. I’m needed to ferry them around as designated driver.’ Once a team man, always a team man, I guess.
David Gower – the Lord of Cool?
Nasser has always had a reputation for having a feisty side, but it may come as a surprise to some that Lord Gower also has something of a volatile temper. He is an extremely good presenter, a very clever bloke who does everything in a typically laconic manner, and never appears to be flustered. Truth is, he never is when it comes to being on air, but off screen, boy can he blow a fuse. Beneath that chilled exterior – his style as a presenter is so reminiscent of the way he batted – there is some fire. From nothing he will erupt, then as quick as a flash the lava is cooling, and he has calmed back down again.
He has always been that way, but you remember him as a player for being a wonderfully relaxed batsman. I played against him a fair bit, and cricket for him was all about having fun. He played for sheer enjoyment, and if anything went wrong he would simply say ‘sorry’. He would not be bothered, there would be an apology by way of recognition if he nicked off in a pressure situation, but he would not be overly concerned. Within seconds he would be more interested in the whereabouts of the book he’d been reading before he went out into the middle.
I recall one County Championship match in which I was officiating at Grace Road when he played absolutely magnificently, as only he could. It was a pleasure to stand and watch as he caressed, eased and touched the ball here, there and everywhere. Overnight he was 70-odd not out, and his innings was the kind that made you look forward to play resuming. Next morning, in the very first over, he had an unbelievable hack at this nondescript delivery, the ball went straight up in the air and, as he trudged off from whence he came moments earlier, all he could say was: ‘Oh dear, the lights seem to have gone out.’
Things naturally came very easily to him, he was a touch player and has always been good at whatever he has put his mind to. Holding things together in that presenting role is a real knack and not something I could ever do. Some can, some can’t, and I am in the latter category. What David has got – and Ian Ward also has this, by the way – is an ability to flit from being instructed to instructing with natural ease. When you sit watching them on screen, you may not realise that while they are talking, bringing people like myself into a wider debate with their questions, they also have directors and producers rabbiting in their ears.
The biggest compliment I can pay him is that he always makes me feel calm, and that is exactly what you want in my position. With him I always know where I’m going, what he wants us to talk about, why he wants to talk about it and that we will get there in a smooth ride. With the way international cricket is screened around the globe these days, you can often be working for other networks or sharing resources, and my experience of other presenters can be quite the opposite. At times you are sitting in a studio thinking, ‘Crikey, where are we going now?’ But Lord Gower makes me feel at ease, which is an essential part of his job.
He has made that presenting role his niche, so I don’t have much interaction with him in the commentary box. Neither do I see a great deal of him outside work. While I play golf, he could think of nothing more boring. He is much more likely to set off for historical sites such as battlefields, no doubt in search of his ancestors, rather than do something as mundane as hit a golf ball around for four and a half hours. He would class that as absolute purgatory. And just as he would not engage me in conversation about a 1996 Château Margaux, I wouldn’t try to persuade him to join me for a pint of Chiswick in the Lord’s Tavern, among the Barmy Army. That’s just not him.
Shane Warne – Entertaining in the Extreme
There are two things that connect me and the great Shane Warne: Accrington Cricket Club and Sky Sports. Few people will know that Warne played as a professional at my club during the 1990s, shortly before he made his international début for Australia. Our paths did not cross back then, as I had packed up playing at the weekend and was progressing my coaching career. But all the reports I heard around the town were that Warne was the life and soul of every party going. He used to fall off his stool at the end of a night. It was the sign that everyone had had a good one. If he didn’t, people would worry something was up. He has always been Jack the lad, of course, and part of his vast appeal is that he is a guy who knows how to have fun. If there isn’t any around, he goes elsewhere to find it.
There are simply not enough hours in the day for Warney; he is a real larger-than-life character. In one respect he is very similar to Beefy, always planning what he wants to do next. ‘What we doing tonight? Tomorrow? Next week?’ He has a busy social diary all right, but whereas others are connoisseurs of wine or beer, he is an aficionado of fast food. Yep, one in a million is Warne when it comes to this. Everything has to be just so: chips not only have to be hot but served at exactly the right temperature. He looks at chips as others would look at a glass of Cloudy Bay Sauvignon after swilling it around their palate. With pizza, he is looking for a specific consistency and depth of base. He looks at it with an expert eye and talks you through its success or failure. Oh, and he doesn’t eat anything other than chips and pizza, as far as I can tell. He also smokes fags like world supplies of tobacco are about to run out, and as we usually operate at strictly non-smoking media centres these days, he will forever be dropping notes into security guards’ top pockets, so he can go and have a puff out the back.
Shane is a real character and slipped seamlessly into our commentary team during the 2009 Ashes, just as I knew he would. He made a great start to his broadcasting career with Sky – he just looks the part for a start. As he ought to, given the outrageous amount of work he has had done. He’s got new teeth, new hair, and goodness knows what else. With all the showbiz glamour of a man nicknamed Hollywood, however, come impeccable manners and a fantastic attitude towards the sport.
Australia will always be up there, they will always be competitive, but you just don’t replace Warne, and my favourite moment of the Noughties was when he left the field at the SCG, the scene of his international début, for the final time. I sneaked out on to the field, camera in hand, and got a wonderful picture of Warne and Glenn McGrath walking off. He was just holding the ball to the adoring crowd. It is a picture I treasure and one I keep on my computer.
That picture to me symbolises what a profound effect he had on the game. You will never see the like of him again in terms of his character and ability. He was a complete and utter one-off. It is hard to pinpoint exactly what made him so good. People might say it came so easily that he did not understand, or appreciate, what he had got. But I think he did. He was such a confident lad. The only thing which suggests he ever worried – and it’s so well documented that I am definitely not telling tales out of school – was the fact that he was such a chain-smoker. Yet, if he ever lived on his nerves, there was no sense of it in his career performances.
To him the art of leg-spin came so ridiculously naturally that he makes a mockery of his competition. When, during his initial summer with Sky in 2009, he did a spin-bowling demonstration at a break in the Oval Test, he did so after borrowing a pair of shorts and shoes off Michael Clarke. He must have had five fags before he went out into the middle, chain-smoking one after another. ‘I ’ope it goes OK. I don’t want to mess up,’ he said. He hadn’t bowled anywhere since
