Borish wee Davey boy part of series that’s out of control

As a strapping young alpha male destined to represent his country in its national game, no doubt big Davey Warner had quite a past himself.

If he weren’t the vice-captain of the Australian cricket side, a bully, a bore, an egotist, a show off and, incidentally, a damn fine batsman who more often than not puts New Zealand to the sword, you could almost feel for sorry for David Warner.

Here’s someone who is married to a woman whose personal life seems to be an open book – herself an athlete who dated around a bit before deciding that the guy who leaps five feet in the air every time he scores a century, impersonating a St Vitus Dance victim who has just been stung by a bee, was the one for her.

There is photographic evidence of our own Sonny Bill Williams, in a less spiritual phase of his life, enjoying Aaron Smith-type relations with the future Mrs Warner.

Consensual adults consenting. Allah be praised.

You would assume that ‘‘Davey’’ knew all about his wife’s past.

As a strapping young alpha male destined to represent his country in its national game, no doubt he had quite a past himself.

Perhaps the happy couple got all that baggage out of the way on the first date.

Better to look forward than back. We are all grown ups here.

It must have come as quite a surprise then when an opposing wicket-keeper mumbled a thing or two about Mrs W in Davey’s presence during a tea adjournment.

Quentin de Kock lived up to his name, reflecting a degree of research on Warner that went beyond the opener’s vulnerability early on outside off the stump.

In a different era such a slight would have seen a slap across the face with gloves, the swift choosing of seconds and either the sword or the pistol at dawn.

Even today, it’s fighting talk. Before you could say ‘‘hold me back, hold me back’’, big Davey was roused into action, defending his lady’s honour.

Outright fisticuffs were avoided only narrowly as teammates intervened, denying what turned out to be a world-wide CCTV audience the biggest stoush between Australia and South Africa since the Second Boer War.

Of course there was a back story.

Earlier, on the field, Davey had been playing the ‘‘Australian way’’ – which is to say he had been swearing at the opposition and making disparaging remarks about their cricketing abilities and family members.

With a refinement of expression most of us evolve out of around the time we graduate from kindergarten, Warner had called de Kock a ‘‘bush pig’’.

He also insulted de Kock’s sister, who, judging by her response on social media, can more than take care of herself.

So-called ‘‘slut shaming’’ may or may not represent a new low in sledging.

The subsequent donning of Sonny Bill Williams masks by South African cricket administrators, alluding to something other than SBW’S less than stellar season last year in the All Black jersey, suggests such behaviour is contagious.

It’s rather at odds with the tenor of the times.

The moral of the story?

We reap what we sow. Punch and counter punch, almost literally.

The ICC, through the offices of stalwart Jeff Crowe, match referee, are officially dismayed.

Warner has been fined and sanctioned, as has de Kock.

Other players, equally guilty of having potty mouths, have had their behaviour assessed. Australian bowler Mitch Marsh, an erudite student of the game with a vocabulary to match, lost 20 per cent of his pay for exclaiming ‘‘f... you, c...’’ after dismissing fiery paceman Kagiso Rabada.

Still harsher punishment was reserved for Rabada himself, whose ‘‘send off’’ of Australian captain Steve Smith involved a minute form of physical contact.

Somehow, Crowe has determined that Rabada brushing past Smith while in mid ‘‘spray’’, an interaction that requires slowmotion replays to pick up, warrants a greater sanction than Warner’s bully boy histrionics in the stairwell.

However much this decision involves past misdemeanours and cumulative demerit points, it’s a brave one to make against a black man in a country with a long history of injustice.

There has to be a better way for everybody to clean up their acts. I say transparency is key. Let stump microphones be left on throughout matches, so that the players’ children, wives and grandparents can bear witness to their stupidity.

And let umpires have the power to remove boorish offenders from the field of play.

If Warner were red-carded the moment he started making unacceptable statements about de Kock’s sister there would have been no sequel upstairs.