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Swindon.’

      He just put his microphone down and said: ‘Get me a pint of what he’s had.’ During our stints we got on like a house on fire, and I was in stitches with his suggestion that we could take cricket to a new level with what one might call after-the-watershed highlights.

      ‘I’ve got this management company back in Australia,’ he explained. ‘And I’ve put it to them that we could begin specialising in extreme commentary.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

      ‘Oh, it would be great,’ he said. ‘Just for the Internet, you could tell it exactly how it is, rather than have to toe the party line, like you do on TV. When the ball raps the batsman on the pad, for example, and the fielding side all go up for lbw, and the umpire gives him out, when he’s clearly nicked it, you have just got to come straight to the point and say exactly what you think: “You blind c—–, he’s f—–ing hit that!” Or, if there’s a massive waft outside the off stump, a big deviation, the ball changes course and there’s a huge appeal – HOWIZZEE! – when the call is answered in the negative, you could wade in with: “You’re f—–ing kidding, aren’t you, mate? He’s knocked the f—–in’ cover off it.”’ Great idea, I told him, just not sure we could do it. I have heard a few people have access to this Internet thingy these days.

      Warney is just your typical Aussie bloke, no airs and graces, or side to him, just willing to call it as he sees it. Pure, unadulterated fun. We did get a taster of what he was getting at within our own family-friendly guidelines. We had only been sitting down for a couple of overs at Edgbaston when the ball was whacked through the covers for four.

      ‘Terrific shot,’ I said.

      ‘Oh, he’s twatted that,’ Shane joined in.

      Everything went totally quiet in the commentary box. Our producer Paul King took the opportunity to have a quiet word. ‘Look, Warney,’ he began, and explained the problem. ‘No, we can’t have that. It is not a word we can use on air.’ Shane was typically apologetic. Putting his mic down, he said: ‘Sorry, mate. In Australia that just means he has hit it hard.’

      We made him aware of the different connotations over here, and he was kept abreast of what can and can’t be said. ‘Do you want me to put it right with the viewer?’ he asked, full of innocent enthusiasm. ‘Tell ’em what it really is? I didn’t know it meant the c—–.’

      ‘No, just let it go, Shane,’ came back the collective response. He is just Mr Bloke and his enthusiasm got the better of him. You can’t speak highly enough of him. He is a very affectionate chap, a very infectious character. Yes, he has had off-field issues, but there is no edge to him at all. He just enjoys life to the max. He understands he has cocked up a few times, the way everybody does, but you can’t speak too highly of him. As a cricketer he had few peers in history, and his treatment by the crowds around the country in the 2005 Ashes showed how he was revered. Only the very best receive such levels of abuse, and the standing ovation he received at the end of the series, and the chants of ‘We wish you were English’, said it all. Everyone loves a fallible hero.

      The Others

      Rather like a cricket team, our group features many different qualities, skills and interests but we all combine well as a unit. Charles Colvile brings us something totally different as a presenter because as a trained journalist he has that instinct for a story. When Charlie sniffs something he gets straight into it, and I think that is a terrific quality. We are all well connected, given our backgrounds in the sport, but Charlie is someone I respect greatly because of his news sense. I enjoy being around journalists – whenever I get a break during the day’s play I will pop into the press box for half an hour to have a chinwag – and there are some brilliant ones in our sport.

      Paul Allott, aka Walt, is our all-rounder, our utility player, because he can slip seamlessly into any of the given roles. He is equally at home as a presenter, reporting at the toss, commentating, and hosting the after-match presentation – whatever he turns his hand to he does with assurance. He is also a tremendous eater, not quite in the Jack Simmons category, but when hungry, boy, can he put away some grub. Walt is a big unit, which means he can hack it in Botham’s company without spending the rest of the night in casualty, and a talented sportsman. Undoubtedly he is the best golfer among us – has been playing off very low single figures for years – and dedicates himself to fitness sprees throughout the year. In one stretch he sank four rowing machines.

      Michael Holding is the nicest guy you could ever wish to meet; such a polite and gentle man. As a broadcaster he has a wonderful voice, and as a bloke I am not sure he has an enemy in the world. So it’s hard to believe what a nasty bugger he could be with a cricket ball in his hand. He used to run in all day, and send it down in excess of 90 miles an hour. But his big passion is for horse racing, as long as there are no jumps involved. A flat fanatic is Mikey. He is also possibly Jamaica’s greatest debater. Once he gets going off air, at the back of the commentary box, he will not let go. He reminds me so much of the Felix Dexter character in Bellamy’s People. His capacity for debate is unbelievable, and once he is on one he does not budge from his stance. He is very trenchant in his views.

      Going back to his playing days, you didn’t need to tell anyone how fast he was because his reputation went before him. Everyone who faced him verified that he was like lightning, and he caused his own team-mates some problems when he played with us for seven matches at Lancashire. He took 40-odd wickets but could comfortably have had more. We had two good slip catchers in Andrew Kennedy and Jack Simmons. Well, they were good slip catchers until Michael’s arrival, at least. Everything kept hitting them in the chest! At one stage Simmo sent for the 12th man, John Abrahams, moments after shelling one. Mikey was not flustered, because he knew the ball was going like an express train. But Jack, in his high-pitched Great Harwood voice, implored John: ‘Fetch me my reading glasses.’ He then stood there with them balancing on his hooter in a bid to clock this thing flying off the edge at great speeds.

      During my umpiring days, Mikey was playing in a match for Derbyshire against Northamptonshire at Derby. Robin Boyd-Moss was batting against the new ball and got himself into a royal tangle against a throat ball on a quickish pitch. He got his hands up to defend himself and the ball struck his glove with such velocity that his thumb surround was knocked clean off and flew towards the slip cordon; Boyd-Moss’s thumb, meanwhile, had gone in about five different directions. That tells you how ferociously quick he was.

      Bob Willis has had his detractors but he is passionate about the game, and about English cricket, and is someone who doesn’t go round the houses to get to the town. I must admit I’ve missed Bob since he slipped off the regular international commentary team, because he has good, strong opinions and is magnificent to work alongside. He is very intelligent and reads the game so well, you can bounce your ideas off him. Not that you can often beat him to the punch, because he calls it exactly as he sees it. To me there is nowt whatsoever wrong with that style. His following as a studio pundit for exactly that reason is phenomenal. Emails and texts are pinging around Sky’s inboxes to a chorus of ‘Go on Bob, get stuck into them.’ The public like to see people display their passion, and he is not shy on that front. All the lads who are playing for England now make a habit of saying ‘that bloody Willis’, but what I would say to them is they’ve got to meet him, go and have a beer with him and chat. Because you can’t fail to like Bob Willis – he’s a great bloke, who is just doing his job.

      His image may not suggest it, but he is a gentle, unassuming chap off air. He can be the happiest soul going but, whatever you do, do not get him singing. Because once he starts, you cannot shut him up. He does a very passable Bob Dylan impersonation and can trawl through his entire back catalogue, word perfect. Our Bob is a great humorist, a great wit and great fun. Whenever we have a day off, he will saunter up and ask: ‘Right, what we doing then? Shall we go off for a spot of lunch? Yes, let’s have a spot of lunch.’ Invariably that means lunch, dinner and supper merging into one without you noticing. He can be great company.

      Another bloke who always fancied himself as a bit of a pop performer, Mark Butcher, has shown himself to be very proficient with a microphone since retiring from

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