JUSTIN LANGER: Warney didn’t believe in a coach, yet taught so many, remember to say thanks to your teachers

A notification pinged on my phone in Manchester this week.

On it was one of the nicest messages I have ever received.

It was a simple photograph of a sunrise over the mountains, a young man kneeling with his hands pressed together in front of an old teacher, a candle burning beside two weathered books, marigolds scattered on the stone.

Across the top, in beautiful script, it read “Happy Guru Purnima.”

Underneath the image were the words that moved me.

“Thank you for being our guiding light.”

The message was from Arshin Kulkarni, one of the players I coach in India. A young cricketer with immense talent, he has been one I have laughed with, guided, hugged, challenged, dropped and then re selected.

In a sense, he is no different to all the players I have had the privilege of coaching and mentoring over the years.

I sat with my phone in my hand for a long time.

Guru Purnima is as Indian tradition the rest of the world could learn a great deal from. It falls on the full moon and is set aside as an entire day marked in the calendar to honour your teachers.

Not your achievements. Not your trophies. Your teachers.

The word ‘guru’ itself is interesting. In Sanskrit, ‘gu’ means darkness and ‘ru’ means the one who removes it.

A guru isn’t someone who gives you answers. A guru is someone who turns the light on so you can find your own.

The verse on the card is one you hear chanted all over India.

“Guru Brahma, Guru Vishnu, Guru Devo Maheshwara. Guru Sakshat Param Brahma, Tasmai Shri Gurave Namah.”

Translated, it means: “The teacher is the creator. The teacher is the sustainer. The teacher is the transformer. The teacher is, in truth, the Absolute itself. To that teacher, I bow.”

I’ve spent enough time in India now to know that this isn’t just sentimentality. It’s more a way of life.

Respect for the teacher is built into the foundations of Indian culture. You can feel it and see the power in it.

Respect for elders and their wisdom is a practice, a path, a discipline, an art of living, a lived philosophy, a manner of moving through the world.

At home, back in Australia, I’m not sure this is the case.

For me this is a great shame. We hear of the disintegration in respect for authority, whether that be our teachers or the police force.

This is a far cry from Guru Purnima.

We seem to be better at respecting the self-made story: The bloke who did it on his own, pulled himself up, backed himself when nobody else would. The underdog champion.

Cricket legend Shane Warne was famous for saying: “He has been our coach during a successful era, but that begs a question _ does the coach make the team or does the team make the coach? I’m a big believer that the coach is something you travel in to get to and from the game!”

Warney’s son Jackson interviewed me this week and asked me about his Dad’s view on coaches. As I explained to him and his audience, this is a great yarn; it’s also, in almost every case I’ve ever encountered, complete rubbish.

Warney would talk with great reverence about his captains Allan Border and Mark Taylor, and his mentors and coaches Ian Chappell and Terry Jenner. His parents Keith and Bridgette were never far away when he talked with devotion of his circle of influence.

He himself transformed into a coach and mentor for hundreds. Warney was a natural teacher and guide on and off the cricket field.

Like him, I would not be sitting here without my teachers. Not close. Not remotely.

That starts with my batting coaches. Thousands of balls thrown to me in the backyard, in the nets, on any strip of concrete we could find. They never once told me I’d play for Australia. They just kept throwing or putting the balls into the bowling machine. Hours of selfless service, just for me.

Then there was Rod Marsh at the Cricket Academy, who had a gift for making you feel simultaneously terrified and 10-feet tall. And his mate, Dennis Lillee, who taught me more about competitiveness in a single conversation than most people learn in a career.

Or Border, David Boon, Steve Waugh or Ricky Ponting who walked down the wicket every time I got hit on the body. They didn’t ask if I was OK, they looked me in the eye and said something to the effect of: “Get up. You’re not going anywhere.”

I’ve thought about those moments for 30 years. Those men weren’t being cruel. They were doing what the best teachers do. They saw a version of me I couldn’t find by myself, and they refused to negotiate on that.

Then there was psychologist Vic Smith who taught me that the game between the ears is the only game that ever really matters.

Before I was sent my Happy Guru Purnima message, I had instinctively sent my friend Vic my own version of that memo as he is currently facing a few challenges of his own. Hope you’re recovering strongly Victor.

There’s also my family, who has taught me more about ego and humility than any dressing room ever could. And, of course, my mates who keep me grounded and remind me not to take myself or life too seriously.

All these people bring me back to that message on my phone on Monday.

Through them I learned the art of teaching, mentoring, counselling and parenting without knowing I was doing it.

There is something profoundly humbling about the wheel turning. You spend the first half of your life being taught. Then one day, without any ceremony or announcement, you look up and realise you’ve become the one doing the teaching.

It starts with parenthood. The ultimate teaching experience.

Some teach for a living. All of us teach, one way or another _ positively and negatively _ simply teach through our example.

As a coach I have learned that the young player not only remembers the technical adjustment you made to their back lift or footwork, they will also remember whether you looked them in the eye or gave them a hug when they were struggling.

They remember whether you backed them in public and had the courage to challenge them in private, or the other way around.

They remember whether you were the same person on the day they made a hundred, as you were on the day they made nought.

They remember if you have taught them that mastery is showing up on the day’s when they didn’t feel like it.

Every time I walk into a dressing room now _ in Perth, in Lucknow, in Manchester _ I try to remember that there is a young person in that room who will carry something of me with them, for better or worse, for years. But even I don’t get to choose which bit they choose to carry.

The great teachers in my life had no idea what they were giving me at the time. It may have been a throwaway comment, a guiding hand, or a clip to my ego or attitude when I needed it the most.

If you’re reading this, you also had a guru once; a teacher who showed up to teach you the basics of ABC.

Or there may be a coach who threw you balls, or taught you how to throw, catch or kick a ball yourself.

A boss who took a punt on you, or someone who removed a bit of darkness so you could see the path ahead.

You may have never told them how important they have been in your life. But from my experience, and as I experienced this week, it is an amazing feeling when someone you have helped takes the time to say thank you.

Equally, when you take the time to say thank you back, there is a respect and power in that as well.

Every day isn’t Guru Purnima, but it can be. Maybe ring one of your past teachers today, you will make their day.