Men Of Honour

Brilliant though as the Ashes were, there were two warriors, two fighters of sublime skill, who will cause this series to be remembered many years later as I do now. England revolve, maybe even a touch uncomfortably, around Andrew Flintoff and Shane Warne has been Australia's man of all seasons; bowling on first day and last, to keep the runs down and to take wickets. Their personalities rather pleasantly typified the series.

Richie Benaud made the right observation when he said that Flintoff had evolved from a batting all-rounder to a bowling all-rounder. Earlier he was a destroyer of ordinary bowling and provided support with the ball. Soon he could be England's best bowler for he is more consistent than the temperamental Harmison and more troublesome than either Hoggard or Jones. But by being that kind of bowler, and batting sensibly at number six, he allowed England to play five bowlers.

All good teams must have five and that has been the cornerstone of England's revival. Few teams in history have the luxury of four outstanding bowlers—the West Indies did and so did Australia till recently—but for everyone else having five is critical to winning matches. Indeed, if he stays free of injury he could join the likes of Miller, Sobers and Botham. But the greater journey lies ahead. He, like Warne and Tendulkar in the decade before, is going to be the most watched cricketer of his era.

But for all his brilliance, to me the Ashes were about Shane Warne. He is as fascinating a personality as he is a bowler, spinning a yarn and a ball with equal felicity. You would have thought his shoulders and his fingers would have been complaining by now but if they were, his heart has quietened them. Everytime there was a sniff of battle, he sallied forth and you would have thought a youngster had arrived on the horizon.

He couldn't have had a worse start watching his marriage crumble before a ball had been bowled. Some men might have been devastated by that, Warne might have been too for his wife said he cried more than she did when the time came to say good-bye. But Warne straddles two worlds, able to shut one while searching for glory in another. It couldn't be easy.

Like Andre Agassi, and with the same joie-de-vivre, he stands out in a young man's game. Some of his tricks have deserted him but his bluster remains so does his extraordinary belief in his own powers. On the last day at the Oval, you could see that he was physically spent but the moment he had a ball in hand, he grew unrecognisable; searching deep within himself for reserves of energy. The body waned, the mind didn't.

Sport has this quality of lifting us. They tend to remind us the good that exists inside us. Cricket does it for me though ironically I am among its poorest practitioners.