The Peculiar and Brilliant Leg Spinner

“The thing is, it's really hard to be roommates with people if your suitcases are much better than theirs – if yours are really good ones and theirs aren't. You think if they're intelligent and all, the other person, and have a good sense of humor, that they don't give a damn whose suitcases are better, but they do. They really do.”
-Holden Caulfield, The Catcher in the Rye 

Stuart MacGill has always been different; an intelligent individualist who has never felt bound by institutional structure, the Holden Caulfield of modern Australian sport. MacGill, like Holden, never really operated on the same level as the majority of his contemporaries. He was sharper, smoother, deeper. In an age where sporting star speak is marked by staidness and stupidity, stereotype and sellable sound-bites, MacGill has remained an individual, a man that was always prepared to shun the almost-mandatory conformity for the freedom of being true to himself, in spite of the professional cost.

Like Holden’s teenage angst, driven by a belief that there was something more, MacGill’s career was punctuated by a failure to control his intellect and emotion for much the same reason. Neither could stomach rubbernecks and neither tolerated phonies gladly. Both were often cast into the role of the untamable rebel, yet not the kind of rebellion that causes the masses to whoop and holler and coo in admiration. They both had as much courage as Davy Crockett, but they didn’t fight Indians or fly space-shuttles or follow Yankee dress code so few cheers were reserved for them. They were peculiar outcasts who refused to be suppressed by The System, round bolts that just wouldn’t fit in the square nuts as writers with penchants for DIY home repairs might say. Often outraged and frustrated by the failure of others to understand them, neither wavered in their belief that they were ultimately right, reluctantly accepting their seemingly permanent state of non-alignment with what some perceived as deep-rooted arrogance.

Few had suitcases better than MacGill. Even fewer had the good sense not to give a damn. The wider public declined to embrace him, a result not only of failed connection but a refusal on MacGill’s behalf to even engage in the process of bond formation. Those in the cricket game cut him far less slack than they would have afforded to a System Man with equal ability and probably less. Both accepted him only whilst he was performing well. The Australian sporting community, from the core of the playing group to the periphery of fandom, rarely holds much affection for those who won’t “play the game” in the more general systematic sense. Rebels are allowed but intellectual troublemakers are not. The rapscallion is loved or at the very least cast as the lovable wild-child while the non-conformist is shunned and tolerated only when producing.

It is hard to believe that such a formidable protagonist of the most difficult facet of Australia’s national pastime, a man who took 207 Test wickets at a touch over 28, the fourth fastest man to reach 200 Test wickets, who won Test matches for Australia, bamboozling the best batsmen in the world, was not a beloved figure held close and firm by those with any attachment to Australian cricket. This was, however, the case for MacGill’s entire career, which will end sometime between writing and reading, pending the effects of Caribbean resistance and whiskey on a shot brain.

On one level, it was not so much MacGill’s contrast with the persona society has constructed for modern sporting stars but his contrast with Shane Warne, the Last Australian Hero and MacGill’s predecessor and peer. The difference between the two, off the field, could not have been more striking. MacGill was a thinker, volatile and obtuse and outwardly cold, a reader of books and a connoisseur of wine. Warne was a lad, a blonde haired and confident rascal who sucked back beers and pies and the most common Winfield Blues and dealt with the same common temptations the way most of us do. He gives into them. In doing so, Warne transcended the boundaries of cricket and sports to become an Australian pop culture icon, a David Beckham for the Southern Hemisphere. MacGill was Coltrane. Warne was Presley.

On the field, the difference in styles was as stark as their difference in historical and popular stature. MacGill bowled loose and was erratic, deadly at his best and uncomfortably awkward at his worst. MacGill could turn it like a top but played in the mould of the old-time leg spinner, who was as likely to bowl a long-hop as he was to bowl a perfectly-rotating wrong ‘un. MacGill had brilliance in him but he rarely seemed in charge of it, often struggling to understand and channel his own genius. This often manifested itself in personal frustration, ambivalence towards fans and abuse of officials, opponents and at times, teammates. Warne, conversely, redefined the role of the leg spinner. No longer was the leg spinner a mysterious artist whose inconsistencies were accepted but a revered craftsman who could continually reproduce his brilliance. Warne redrew the boundaries with his ability to dominate, taking wickets and refusing runs. And though he was as brilliant a spinner as has ever walked the planet, Warne never lost his image of a knockabout bogan done good. He had a fierce will to win but he usually did it with a smile on his face or at the very least a wag’s wit. Warne also engaged in forms of personal abuse and mental warfare but where it was frowned-upon petulance with MacGill, it was deemed a form of ultra-competitiveness to be admired when it came from Warne.

It must have been extraordinarily difficult bowling to the new constraints bought about by Warne’s greatness. It must have been twice as difficult doing it in his shadow. For Shane Warne was and is a popular idol, the Last Australian Hero. Shane Warne caused men to worship, women to swoon and children to go giddy even though he walked a line that has seen President’s impeached, superstars ruined and mere mortals shot. Stuart MacGill, for nearly his entire career was the heir to a throne he would never sit in. His personality, his predecessor and his pigeon-holing ensured he would never be accepted as king, no matter what he achieved.

Many thought MacGill would thrive upon Warne’s retirement. But it was too late by then. MacGill’s best days were behind him and too much water had passed under the bridge. At any rate, MacGill seemed to relish the competition with Warne and he seemed like The Riddler without Batman once Warne was, in a physical sense, off the scene. The measuring stick was gone. And come Antigua, so to was MacGill. Age, form, injury and a decade in the shadows had all caught up with Stuey.

It would, of course, be grossly unfair to measure MacGill’s career with that of Shane Warne. It is impossible to properly quantify as it is impossible to gauge Stuart MacGill, in a cricketing sense, existing in a world without Warne.

If anything, MacGill’s legacy should be elevated by the successful and dignified manner in which he played Test cricket without ever seeing the sun through the shadow. He spent the majority of his career as the second choice, the back-up and as the fall-guy yet he never let it cripple him, like it would have so many. He was a warrior who took every opportunity he got and never let the threats of excommunication silence him. If a blackjack dealer in Colombo was cheating, MacGill had no problem slapping him around. If a leader of a third-world cricketing nation was running a campaign of oppression from the presidential palace in Harare, MacGill had no problem sacrificing his own career to hold true to his ideals. If the coach of the Australian cricket team runs a boot camp that MacGill believes is detrimental to his career, he had no problem speaking out. If he was dealt a professional injustice, he had no problem naming names.

And this is how MacGill should be recalled. He should be remembered as an irrepressible individual, a man who thrived despite his incredibly difficult position. He was a wicket-taker, a match-winner, a peculiar and brilliant leg spinner who could tame batsmen with his turn and objectors with his tongue. Most importantly, he was a character. Maybe not in a traditional or popular sense but he had conviction and the strength to stand by them. He was a character and these days, characters are rare commodities.

Stuart MacGill is a goddamn prince and he will be sorely missed by the few of us who fully appreciated the whole Stuart MacGill Experience.