Dear David Warner,

I am writing to you today after I saw that you have offered to buy any of your doubters, any of your naysayers, any of your critics a beer. Now I’ll be honest with you Mr Warner, I fit that description.

I am a naysayer, I have been very critical of you and, to be honest, I like beer. So, my hand is up, I’ll take you up on your offer of a beer and then buy you one as well. I’d love to do this, because not only am I all those things that you described and like beer, but I also love cricket. I think we would have a lot to talk about.

I’d ask you about your family. I have a young family myself and have nothing but respect for the way that you protect and provide for yours. The way you have worked so hard to break the cycle of government housing to government housing that no doubt grabbed so many that you grew up with. You’ve ensured, through hard work, that your girls will have doors opened for them rather than closed and I admire that. I’d love to swap some stories.

Then I’d love to talk cricket with you. I’d love to talk about some of your greatest innings and some your greatest victories. The breakout innings that made Cam White’s jaw drop. The battles with Dale Steyn and the ODI hundreds that you made, I’d love to talk about them.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on cricket and batting, I’d just find that fascinating. Some of the shots you have played in your career, some of the innings that you’ve completed, have just be extraordinary and I respect that.

Then, however, as I am sure you would expect, I’d have to talk to you about Cape Town. Just the fact that I could write the location rather than the event and so many people would know what I was on about should really show the gravity of what happened.

I’d need to ask you so many things about Cape Town. You said in the media this week that you felt you could turn my opinion over a beer. I fear we would need several for you to have such an effect when we were talking about that day in South Africa.

My first question would be why? Why did you feel the need to orchestrate such a blatant contravening of the rules of cricket?

What was going on behind closed doors, that you felt the need to take this line of action? To not only come up with the idea but to then approach the greenhorn in the side to carry out the act because you felt too many eyes were on you, is hard to understand. I’d love for you to explain that to me. Why?

I’d then not so much as ask a question but make a point. That point being that Cape Town broke something in Australian cricket. I remember exactly where I was when Cameron Bancroft got caught on the ground. I’m 45 and also remember exactly where I was when Princess Diana died and when the first plane hit the towers. This is where I held and still hold what happened.

This team that I had loved for so long, that so many Australians would have loved to have been part of, had cheated and we were all rightly aghast. They were aghast because up until them the side was something that so many were proud to be proud of. My point would be that the far-reaching effects of Cape Town were how it took such gloss of something that so many had loved for so long.

I know that many others have been done for similar things over the years. Afridi back in the day with his apple act, Faf du Plessis with the lolly and maybe with the zip on his pants, Michael Atherton with some sand. So, it could be argued that what you guys did wasn’t that bad. It was though, David. With respect it was, for I don’t really care what the other guys did. I hold my sporting heroes to a higher standard.

I’d love to have a beer with you, Bull. I’d love to hear all the stories about the cricket, about the tours and about how your family is doing. I’d love to talk tactics and bat speed and how good Steyn really was.

Before we finished though we’d have to talk about Cape Town, I’d love to hear your side of events and try and understand more than I do right now. We just might need more than one beer is all.

Yours sincerely,
Craig Gmeiner