Why am I crying about Shane Warne?
I don’t watch cricket. I’ve never met him. To be honest, I always thought he was a bit of a d*ck, albeit a loveable rogue kind of one. But when I turned on my phone early on Saturday morning, having decided to avoid news sites because I needed a break from the relentless despair and anxiety of the news cycle, I learned from various group chats and text messages that he had died.
And I was overcome by a rush of sorrow and despair.
It just felt like too much.
The most shocking part about the way Shane Warne died suddenly of a heart attack while on holidays with mates, aged just 52, is how unexpected it was. To those who knew him and to those who didn’t.
To those around his age it was particularly chilling, I know many men who nervously reassured themselves that Warnie lived a very large life and crammed more into it than most people twice his age.
What also came as a shock was how upset so many people were about it. I don’t mean people who love cricket. Or people who knew and loved Shane Warne.
I mean people like me who don’t love cricket, or watch it or have given any real thought to Shane Warne over the years except maybe when he was engaged to Liz Hurley and had a massive glow up.
My WhatsApp groups were popping off all day with women expressing shock and sadness. And astonishment at how devastated they felt about the death of a man they didn’t know or even particularly admire.
Women were weeping. I was weeping.
“The war and the floods and now this,” I sobbed quietly to my husband. “Two news stories in five days have bumped a war, an actual war, off the top of the news cycle. I just want everything to slow down.”
Let me please pause for a moment to acknowledge that I am not directly affected by the war in the Ukraine. Or the floods. Or the death of Shane Warne. None of the chaos and trauma of those epic events have disrupted my life in the devastating way they have impacted so many others to whom my heart goes out.