Warner’s hateful rhetoric will only backfire
The Australian is aiming to turn spiteful in the Ashes, yet true winners play with ice in their veins, writes Jim White
For a white Australian to claim historic justification for hatred is not a robust position
David Warner really ought to get himself along to any Istanbul derby. When Fenerbahce and Besiktas played last month, five red cards were shown as the game descended into a street brawl. In another previous Istanbul clash, riot police used their shields to form a protective circle around the corner flag to enable a player from Fenerbahce to take a kick in front of where Galatasaray fans were bombarding the pitch with bottles, fireworks, seats, small children, anything they could chuck.
Were he to make his way to Turkey, it would do the Australian vice-captain good to see for himself how effective unhinged hate actually is in a sporting context. Because Warner has been insisting hatred is the way forward for his Aussie team-mates as they prepare to face England in the Ashes.
“You have to dig deep into yourself to get some hatred about them to get up when you’re out there,” he said in a sentence that did little to advance the cause of English grammar. “History is a big part in this – that is what carries us on to the ground.”
Ah yes, history. If an Indian, a Pakistani or a West Indian cricketer had talked about scouring the history books to find a cause to fire up his side, then they would have plenty of material. But for a white Australian to claim historical justification for hatred is a somewhat less robust position. Centuries of oppression, injustice and inequality: it will take quite a bit of digging and delving to uncover much in the way of that. Even Mel Gibson, who spent his teenage years and early acting career in Australia, was obliged to look elsewhere to explore his theories about English repression. Though, astonishing as it is to report, there are those who suggest Braveheart, his masterpiece on the subject, is not the most rigorous of historical examinations.
Warner has a past when it comes to delivering the kind of public observation James Corden might consider a little tactless. Four years ago, he gracelessly described Jonathan Trott’s Ashes performance as “poor” and “weak” at a time when the batsman’s fragile mental health was commonly known within cricketing circles. This is someone whose lack of control over his mouth is matched only by the lack of control over his fists while out for the night exploring Birmingham drinking venues. This is a man whose every public utterance does little to challenge outdated prejudices about chippy, aggressive Ocker blokes.
But even with his record of foot-in-mouthery, there is something desperate about Warner’s sub-david Haye trash talk. If I were the England coach, Trevor Bayliss – an Aussie of a less look-at-me demeanour – I would use Warner’s gobby intervention as a motivational tool of my own: “Hatred, really, is that all they’ve got?”
Because on a sports field hatred is only ever a self-destructive force. Allowing yourself to be sidetracked by personal venom is not only neither clever nor grown up, it undermines emotional control. Nobody wins anything, least of all an Ashes series, without the ability to freeze the veins, to cut out peripherals and concentrate solely on the task in hand. Dennis Lillee, Shane Warne and Glenn Mcgrath did not scour the history books for personal motivation; they simply applied their superior skill. And then, after reaping widespread destruction, they went into the opposition’s dressing room to share a consoling bottle or two. That was why they were so successful: they recognised that hatred is never as clinical a weapon as being patronising. Which is not something Warner is ever likely to understand.