Dear Mr. Warne, You may dislike the formality of that address and insist on being called "Shane". Alternately, being the old-school guy Gideon Haigh described, you may approve of the respect. Either way, it'd be on your terms. Almost everything involving you was. Was. I use that word in disbelief. It's futile to reconcile with the fact that you are now of the past. You were such an important part of my youth; what still seems like my cricketing present. So, your death feels unfair. As if you turned a part of my cricketing memories from colour to black-and-white. A final unplayable delivery, sir. No author, family or friend; ultimately only you truthfully know what special compass guided such a remarkable life. To a shy, self-conscious, self-doubting, self-loathing guy like me, you were an irreconcilable meteor in cricket's night sky. Burning brighter and more intensely than any other celestial body (some of the things you did indeed seemed godlike) and unlikely