Kevin Pietersen made an impressive start to his international career in limited overs cricket, but it was not until his Test debut, in the first Test of the 2005 Ashes series, that he would face the ultimate challenge: the bowling of Shane Warne. Here, in an exclusive extract from On Cricket he recalls his baptism of fire.

At that point in my career I played spin really badly. I used to stay on the crease, plant my foot and rely on my reach, my hands and my eyes – and when they failed me, I always had my pad. Pre-DRS, no umpire would give me out if I’d got in a big stride, so I was fine, pretty much, however great the bowler.

I was also lucky. Warnie was my captain at Hampshire and we got on great, so I never had the intimidation factor that everyone else did; there was no intimidation at all. Absolutely none. I would just laugh at him, and that helped me a lot. I call him Shaun, Shaun Wayne, so if he was talking at me in the middle, I’d be saying, shut up Shaun, shut up Shaun, whereas if someone like Belly had had done that, he’d probably have gone berserk.

He was such a big, vocal figure in the dressing room, just a really respectful, really nice guy. Obviously he’s one of those people the media have tried to turn into some kind of beast, but actually, in terms of friendliness and politeness, he’s a superstar. You send him a message, he’ll always reply to you. He’ll always remember names, he’ll always guide you, and he’ll always talk about the positive things in life. He’s never, ever afraid to voice an opinion and he’s never, ever afraid to help, wherever and whatever it is.

Shane Warne: 'I’m just a guy going to a bar trying to unwind' Read more

He’s just the kind of person you want to hang around with. You want to know how he goes about his business and what makes him tick. He brings confidence out in you, and makes you want to be wherever he is.

And that was a crucial part of why he was such a great bowler. When I faced him in the nets, I realised straight away that I could pick him, but then, most people could – that wasn’t the key with Warnie. It was all about the theatre he created in the middle. He was an absolute performance artist.

The show started when he was told he was coming on. As soon as he took off his hat and gave it to the umpire the crowd got up, and that was when Warnie’s juices started flowing. He’d come down the pitch a little, go back and make a big show of wiping his hands on the crease to dry them off. Then he’d spin a few balls to himself, but he’d be looking you in the eye the whole time, reminding you who was in control and building the atmosphere that he wanted in the middle. He’d bowl a few sighters to mid-on and mid-off and eventually walk in after a pause at the top of his mark, still staring at you, gaining momentum closer to the wicket. He had a lot of energy in his delivery stride, and then his arm came over and his wrist gave such a rip that there was thisprrrrh sound on release, like the fizz you hear when a golfer hits the ball, a kind of whistling vortex. Prrrrrh!

Whenever I’ve spoken to Warnie about bowling or heard him speaking about bowling, whenever he coaches youngsters, he’s all about spinning the ball as much as possible. Just get those revs on it, because that’s what brings the dip, that’s what brings the drift and that’s what brings the natural variation which messes with the batter. Most of all, that’s what gave him the best chance of getting wickets, which was what he was about – he was always looking to get you out. He had no fear of failure, he always looked for the positive option, and he was willing to risk a six for a wicket.

And that’s what a lot of players are like, the great players. You look at them when the pressure’s on and you just think, that guy wants to be there, he wants the confrontation. He’s desperate to be involved in the confrontation.

There was Murali the silent, smiling assassin; Ricky Ponting, the aggressive assassin; and Shane Warne, the jovial assassin, who just loved it. A lot of people know what they should do when things heat up, but can’t perform because they let situations get to them.

Shane Warne loved them; he got so buzzed by them. Everything about him said to everyone there, this is my time. I’m on here.

But as much as Warnie loved the battle, he also loved the art of battle, and he was brilliant at it because he’s a special person as well as a special player. He just understands people and how they work, so had the knack of really zoning in on their vulnerabilities; it was all part of his genius.

Along with the opposing captain, he always liked to target the young guys, so in 2005 properly went for Ian Bell, who he called the Sherminator. He’d be telling him he didn’t have a clue, asking if he knew where his next run was coming from, saying that I should be ahead of him in the order and, actually, what was he doing in the team anyway? He had everything over Belly in that series, and even though Warne only got him three times, he decimated his confidence for the bowlers at the other end.

Daryll Cullinan was another: a good player who Warne completely wrecked. He’d abuse him, knock him over, abuse him, knock him over. Then, when Warne started calling Andrew Strauss Daryll in 2005 – just a little thing – it was enough to make Straussy start to wonder.

You had to be very careful not to let him get to you psychologically, because that’s what would destroy you – he got so many of his wickets by destroying his opposition. If you weren’t mentally strong he’d get right on top of you and nail you to the ground, whether it was by standing at slip abusing you, running from slip to slip at the end of the over and telling you how bad you were as he went past, going on about how easy it was to knock you over, or loudly discussing all your technical faults in front of you. He always found a way.

The Joy of Six: Kevin Pietersen | Rob Smyth Read more

Warnie was a great reader of a newspaper. He always used to read the newspapers. So if a player was under pressure and the media were on him, he’d always be able to bring up an article that was in the Telegraph or the Sun or whatever to have a go at him. The guy’s just an outstanding pisstaker.

He also had an amazing ability to put you under pressure when you weren’t actually under any pressure. If I hit a beautiful shot, if I slog-swept him for six, he’d still create a scene. He’d be shouting ‘Oooooooh!’ like he was that close to getting me out. Aw, fuck, mate, you don’t want to miss that! Which made me think, oh my gosh, jeez, was I almost out there? Yet I’d just smashed him into the stands!

And all this is loud enough for the umpire to hear, so he thinks there’s a wicket on the way as well. Then Warnie would start talking to the batter, but for everyone’s benefit: Fuuuuuuuuck, fucking dead, mate. If you’d missed that … That was dead! Dead! Then he’d look directly over at his man behind the stumps and he’d say it again. Dead! Stone dead!

Then the umpire would nod or whatever and that would be job done: he knew this was Shane Warne, and that Shane Warne was bowling a line that could get someone lbw. And somehow, even though he knew it was all bullshit, because he’s this amazingly confident person Warnie kind of believed in it himself.

Other times, he didn’t get a decision he wanted, and when that happened he’d be right at the umpire. He’d turn like he was shocked, and say, ‘What do you mean? What? Aw, mate. Aw!’ Then there’d be deep sighs like he was really hurt, and then he’d start again. ‘How is that missing? How is that missing?’ By this time he’d need to get back to his mark, so on the way he’d say, ‘Mate, if he misses another one like that you can’t let him off again. You can’t let him off twice. What are you trying to do to me?’ Warnie would just be in his ear the whole time, so the non-striker was getting it too, and if that’s you, you know that if you’re up the other end next time there’s a shout he’s going up again with more chance of getting the decision, which makes you more wary of making a mistake.

It’s funny, because you if speak to Warne now, he’ll talk about how many wickets he’d get playing with DRS. But I always tell him he’d have got fewer, because of how many decisions he got thanks to spinning the umpire round his little finger. He just has this charisma, this infectious personality, that encourages people to agree with him, especially on the cricket pitch.

It wasn’t just the batters and umpires who were caught up in it all. When Warne was bowling, his teammates knew they could get a wicket every single delivery, so the enthusiasm just went up 10, 20 per cent. The chat around the bat changed as well; everyone was at it. It was just a really good phase of the game when he was involved.