Viv Richards, on the other hand, was apparently inclined to wander to the crease, nonchalantly gnawing on the chewing gum and acting as if he expected a cheery greeting from anyone on the fielding side he happened to pass on the way in.
Seriously, regardless of the rules and procedures that have been set in place and quite apart from any misbehaviour along the way, anything that gives the other side the slightest hint of an edge is to be avoided.
Warner, in company of at least one bloke with a history of drink-related disciplinary issues is out at half-past two in the morning. Someone does something he doesn’t like so he clocks him one.
This, in an era when practically everyone in the bar at the time probably has a mobile phone that’ll provide an opportunity to record an unsavoury incident and have it splashed across YouTube, FaceBook and Twitter within minutes.
Pressure, in the words of my old Sports Psychology bible, is something you put on yourself. Some people, of course, are alleged to be above such considerations (which probably means, in a pressure situation, they’ve either developed mechanisms to ignore it or fail to recognize that it’s there).
In a few weeks the Barmy Army will be baying, there’ll be eleven blokes on the field who’re willing to give you plenty of chirp, and Messrs Warner and Hughes, both of whom will have big question marks about their ability to handle the swinging ball, are going out for a big night with some of the blokes who’ll be dishing it out to them from close range in a situation where there’ll be plenty of pressure to be found and put on yourself.
Worse, in a situation where you could fix someone with a steely glare, suggest that he’s an expletive deleted racist and possibly have him react in a manner that’ll attract the media attention (imagine the newspaper headlines, should such a matter manage to leak itself) you react in a way that guarantees the headlines are going to be working against you instead of for you.
Not very clever, Mr Warner.