THE first thing he does before beginning to bowl is stand still. Very still, to collect his own thoughts, it would seem, and to hypnotise his waiting opponent. There's no fizzing loop of the ball from hand to hand as there is with Mushtaq or was with Qadir, no eccentric sideways shuffle, no flailing arms or hop, skip and jump to the crease. There is no extravagant eastern drama in this bowling action, there is more the chill of the operating theatre; the work of the surgeon's knife.
It is accuracy, spin and an acute bowling brain that Shane Warne relies upon for his drama, the extravagance comes with its result. The appeals, the pouting responses; the agony and the ecstasy. The disbelief in disappointment; the wide smile and the right arm thrust to the sky in salute to success. Then the rush to hug Healy, his accomplice, which signals the rush of his team-mates, who gloat together and pay homage to the Wizard of Oz. This is the extravagance of Warne, it is in everything except the mechanics of his bowling.
The initial stillness is the cleverest thing. The moment of calm before the storm, the moment Warne asks his audience to settle into their seats and the enemy to settle under his anaesthetic. During this calm, the ball is hidden by both hands, which search for their grip while the bowling brain searches for its option. Decision made, the arms drop loosely alongside the hips and relax the key muscles in neck and shoulder. Then he begins the short journey to the crease, a measured, thoughtful stroll. The ball is back in both hands now, lost to the eye, before it reappears alongside the always-still head, where the right arm is cocked and ready, the left arm bent and sighting its target.
In textbook fashion, Warne looks briefly over that left arm, which turns his body just enough to allow him to pivot and to link with those powerful shoulders, a fast arm and a strong wrist, all of which work together to impart such extraordinary action on the ball. A lot has been made of the injured finger and certainly it is swollen and is a nuisance, but Warne's bowling comes as much from his body as from his fingers - listen to his grunt of effort if you doubt it - and from his aching right shoulder.
All around England for the next three months, cricketers will be challenged by this most charismatic man and his talent. Only in the Test matches, however, will opponents feel the real Warne, the maestro strutting his stuff. It is one thing to take guard and to survive him, quite something in the first instance to take your place at his table with your mind still intact.
When Warne takes a wicket, the batting dressing-room shuffles and betrays its insecurity. The next batsman reaches for his kit, barely hears the calls of good luck and grim-faced leaves the warm bosom of his pals for the cold eyes of his opponents. This trip will take forever, past inquiring club members, through a gate opened by a sympathetic fellow wishing him well but doubting it, and into the brighter light which makes him squint and momentarily lose his bearings.
In bars and boxes, amateur analysts and professional commentators judge the replays before digesting the statistics of this new batsman's lifetime work, statistics which are displayed on a million television screens. The hum of the expectant crowd and the first sight of the gathered oppressors ensures that the heart thumps faster and the armpits join the hands in sticky sweat. It is a lonely walk. It is you against Australia.
Do not underestimate the gladiatorial nature of this thing, the overpowering effect of the arena or the imposing history of the Ashes. Like Lillee before him, and Botham, too, Warne is a very great cricketer with a particular kind of confrontational edge. These men take wickets with their personality, a gift which is every bit as valuable as a late out-swinger or a well-pitched leg-break, and they believe that the arena and the Ashes are their own. This edge and this self-belief has led, at various times, to acclaim as hero and accusation as villain but it has added to their aura and has made them and their team into winners.
When a batsman takes guard against Warne, he feels this and fights it in his mind but the fight is hard because Warne is already plotting with the predators, the short-legs and silly-points in their helmets.
It is the leg-break upon which Warne will rely most and don't think that his bowling in the one-day games even gave a clue to its effectiveness. He bowled masses of sliders, or ``zooters'', as he calls them, into the batsman's pads to restrict the swing of the bat. He's got a new zooter, too - ``a special for lefties'' - a sort of back-spinner or slow flipper.
He says he bowls three different types of leg-break, two which are faster and flatter and spin more, one that is slower and should dip to deceive the batsman. He is bowling more googlies, or wrong 'uns, as he calls them, to left-handers, and places great importance on the extra bounce of the top-spinner.
Believe all this if you will, not forgetting that the man is a master of his own myth and a mischievous so-and-so who'll stick his tongue out in delivery if it helps, but don't for a minute think he has ``lost it''.
One reason for any perceived lack of menace from Warne since his finger operation is the amount of cricket that opponents have played against him and therefore the amount of opportunities to decipher his rich variety. Another is the availability of super-slow-motion replays which assist the batsman's eye in picking him. Actually, he is not as hard to pick as, say, Qadir was, but he bowls fewer bad balls so applies more pressure.
The worst pressure comes when he bowls around the wicket into the rough and strangles an end. This is the toughest tactic to deal with because the batsman has so few no-risk strokes with which to respond. He can kick the ball away in defence but he attacks across the line at his peril. This is where Warne imprisons the batsman. It is where Australia can rest and regroup.
The key for England will be to remain positive in defence and yet to retain ``soft'' hands. To bat in partnerships and to attack at every opportunity so that Warne does not settle and find his rhythm. If he persists in bowling around the wicket, to take guard outside the leg stump so the batsman is set up in line with the ball rather than across it. Most important of all will be to have confronted and conquered the mind game before Thursday, when it will be focusing on the ball, not the man, which matters most.
It is a about a second from the moment the spinning top leaves the magician's hand to the moment the batsmen has to kill its danger. A mesmerising second to make a choice. Spare a thought on Thursday for the men with the choice.