He was not even a political party person or known for any special political causes. He was so popular however that he was one of those figures who managed to loom large over the huge debate in the 1990s over Australia becoming a republic. His name was frequently invoked by those who feared direct election of an Australian head of state to replace the Queen.

When I was campaigning for a republic, two names were always thrown up by those who distrusted direct election: Kerry Packer and Warne. Packer, the media tycoon, was feared by those who believed that a directly elected office, like a president, could be bought by those who had the big bucks to do so. To his critics Warne the sportsman exemplified the type of unqualified popular figure who, in a nation in which sporting heroes were deified, would be swept into office on a tide of popular acclaim.

Those who feared money or sporting popularity could not be persuaded otherwise; despite international evidence suggesting there was nothing to worry about. Both money and popularity were important in politics but seemed not to be decisive in the election of presidents around the world.

The fear of sportspeople in politics also underrated their credentials and personal characteristics. It was snobbery to prefer judges and military officers over people from other backgrounds, reflecting a view that sportspeople were, by definition, unqualified. It also revealed distrust of the voters.

There have been enough successful sportspeople in Australian public life, including recent governors, like athletes John Landy and Marjorie Jackson, to demonstrate their credentials. Either of them would have been eminently qualified for the office of president. The same is true of other prominent sportspeople in politics, such as the cyclist Hubert Opperman, a minister in the Menzies government.

The fear about Warne was telling evidence, however, of the prominent place of sport in Australian culture and society. He was certainly one of the best examples of such prominence, confirmed by the public reaction to his death, including the offer of a state funeral by the Victorian government. He has been described as an iconic Australian cultural figure.

Like other professions, sportspeople have very different personalities and very different styles. Compare Warne for instance, with other remarkable cricketers like the recently deceased champion wicket-keeper, Rod Marsh, or with some of Warne's compatriots such as champion fast bowler, Glenn McGrath, or their captain, Steve Waugh.

They are so different in style that it is like comparing recent prime ministers. Compare, for instance, the different styles of recent Liberal prime ministers from New South Wales: John Howard, Tony Abbott, Malcolm Turnbull and Scott Morrison. Sportspeople are equally variable.

Warne, commonly described as a charismatic larrikin, brings to mind Labor prime minister Bob Hawke, as described in the new biography by Troy Bramston, Bob Hawke: Demons and Destiny. Warne too, possibly the second-best Australian cricketer ever after Sir Donald Bradman, could also be framed by demons and destiny. Both Hawke and Warne were exceedingly colourful characters whose extravagant personal lives constantly threatened to derail their careers. They shared a firm belief in their own ability and destiny.

They gloried in putting their lives on show and did not fear the media. That is a first lesson for politicians. Whatever one thinks of the media, it is essential to political success.

The major lesson that Warne's cricket life offers, however, is his approach to competition and combat. He loved what he called "the contest". He illustrated it in his 2018 ABC interview with Leigh Sales of the 7.30 program, repeated this week, and it shines through in reflections by close observers, like former Australian wicket-keeper Adam Gilchrist.

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The general theme that emerges illustrates the adage that competition is fought "between the ears", meaning that it is often a mind game between the competitors as much as a physical contest. That is true of much politics too, especially during an election campaign.

These mind games can become very personal and face-to-face. In cricket the worst of it is called sledging, which is trying to put the opposition off their game by distracting them with personal niggling. Warne loved and mastered that sort of sledging. This type of tactic, certainly ungentlemanly and sometimes unlawful, is like the negative politics evident in parliament during Question Time, in which one side tries to undermine the composure of their opponent to prevent them becoming comfortable.

More creatively, Warne accepted that his range of different deliveries were already well-known to his opponents and so he tried to "make something happen", which was not tried and true but out of the ordinary. These tactics included theatrics, changes to the rhythm of the game and varying his deliveries. He was always thinking about ways to outsmart and defeat his opponent within the rules of the game. That is something political opponents should always be trying to do too.

Warne was an outstanding player and a legend of the game of cricket. His long career demonstrated exceptional skill and resilience. Only a few politicians match that level of skill and resilience, but all of them would benefit from close attention to how he plied his trade.