Michael Clarke asked me this on a handful of occasions throughout his stormy career, but most notably in the weeks following his much-publicised break-up with former fiancee Lara Bingle in 2010.

He was referring to the public and the media, both of which had been scathing about the Australian captain-in-waiting.

Until this point in his career, I always considered Clarke to be misunderstood.

Recently retired Michael Clarke is looking chipper in the portrait. Rui Vieira

He hadn't connected with the public or press because the boy from the western suburbs drove a Ferrari, had peroxided hair, had a diamond stud in his ear, had wanky tattoos, dated a model … He was the exfoliated pin-up for metro-sexuality.

Abandoning the tour of New Zealand to call off his relationship with Bingle had also hurt him immeasurably. For some reason, this made him a bad person, when privately it was clear he wasn't at all.

Since then, Clarke has carefully rebuilt his image, leaving behind several people who have helped him along the way, collecting new friends in high places.

His question that day was probably best answered with another question: "Mate, who cares?" Would Allan Border? Or Mark Taylor? Or Steve Waugh?

Stand tall, f--- them all. Test cricketers are supposed to be made of sterner stuff, are they not?

Clarke's insatiable appetite for runs – he's scored 13,811 of them at first-class level – is matched by his desire to be loved.

Of all the sportspeople I've dealt with over the years, none have been as obsessed about perception and image as much as Clarke, who announced his retirement from international cricket in the wake of the Ashes massacre.

Clarke has been dignified in his exit, although the fact that he afforded himself one last Test at The Oval, despite his dearth of runs, shows much hubris. Giving Steve Smith the captaincy for the dead rubber was surely the more gracious option.