Ray Warren - The Voice: My Story

I cannot remember when I first met Ray Warren, but I can remember my first impressions. He will think Im gilding the lily a little when I say that every meeting with Ray Warren is an expression of his modesty about his own ability and of his interest in yours.

There are characteristics in sport which either commend people to you or discourage you from an association with them. This is because sport, and especially rugby league, is about more than what happens out there on the field.

In other words, there is more to a broadcaster than the person behind the microphone and the voice. Ray Warren would have become just one of the many broadcasters who plied their trade in many sporting fields, were it not for the fact that his fundamental decency has lifted him above and beyond others.

When it comes to rugby league commentary, there is little dispute that Ray Warren is the best in the business. What follows in these pages, though, explains more than that. It explains the ebb and flow of a career in the media. Amid the funny tales of gambling and socialising, this is a comeback story, as much as anything else.

From the age of six, Ray grew up wanting to call sport. He heard Ken Howard calling the horseracing on the wireless at home in Junee. You see, Ray Warren is a bushie. Ray Warren fell in love with racing. Like many of us, he fell in love with the artistry of Ken Howard, his colour and his accuracy, and in this way Ray very much fell in love with broadcasting.

Rays cards were marked straight away: he was going to be a racecaller. And as the basis for his art he made phantom calls with marbles rolling down the hallway of his parents home.

From there, he walked an unlikely path, from working on the railways to being a policeman in Canberra, to calling rugby league for 2LF in Young, to finally getting his start with 2GB, where he was understudy to Ken Howard and the comparable Johnny Tapp, calling the horse and harness racing.

He also started calling rugby league for 2GB from the card table on the sidelines, alongside the likes of the legendary Frank Hyde and Tiger Black.

But then television beckoned. Ray Warren became the voice of the Amco Cup for Channel Ten, and then gravitated towards full-time TV. He was set to anchor Channel Tens coverage of the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics, but his deep fear of flying forced him to pull out.

I well remember, during my first year coaching Balmain, how we were to play a preseason game in Darwin. Ray was to broadcast the match for Channel Nine, and we were seated next to one another on the plane. He was a nervous wreck. I used to think the expression white knuckles was an exaggeration Ray Warrens whole body was white!

But in all of this, there was always a sense of humour. When I subsequently told the story about his genuine fear, his retort was: How would you know? From the moment the plane took off, your head went down like a beaten favourite and you fell asleep.

The racing images were never far from his lips. And the tone of Ken Howard in his voice was equally never far away.

But his decision to resist flying eventually counted against him, and he was told: If you cant travel, you cant broadcast. And so he was forced out.

He meandered around regional and country racetracks for the next six years, before calling swimming for Channel Nine, alongside Norman May, at the 1990 Commonwealth Games. That opened the door for his return to rugby league. And, as we all know, he is now as much a part of the fabric of the game as any other figure, and that includes the players. We can picture the iconic plays and epic moments in our minds, but we can also hear them in stereo, in Ray Warrens voice.

To me, one of his extraordinary strengths is that he never sets himself up as an authority on the game. His exchanges with his expert commentators are colourful and always without malice. And, always aware that you cant play first-grade rugby league without having ability, Ray Warren is never judgemental about the people providing the entertainment on the paddock.

He is forever mindful that without them, he has no job. That is the inherent modesty of the man. In his field, he is brilliant. But he never talks about it. He talks about the glory of the game. The broadcaster, to Ray, always seems incidental.

I remember a couple of years ago when Ray was diagnosed with prostate cancer, a frightening reality which is faced by many men. Ive been down that track too. As soon as I heard, I phoned Ray and told him there was only one man he needed to speak to: Dr Phil Stricker at St Vincents Hospital in Sydney.

Ray was nervous and apprehensive, so I sought to reassure him. I simply told him that all he had to do was to turn up let Phil Stricker do the rest. Ray was forever grateful. Hes that kind of bloke.

That might also be why he has come through the other side of that ordeal and continues to call sport like no other. Indeed, much like Richie Benaud, he is universally loved in an unforgiving industry, and in the sometimes merciless world of sport. I often wonder, as do others, what will we do without him, because Ray Warren is the enduring voice of rugby league.

I know youll enjoy his story. It is, as I have said, apart from anything else, a comeback story; a story of talent born with modesty; a story of decency and humility. But for me, above all else, it is the story of yet another boy from the bush made good.

The sporting world will always acknowledge that, whenever a discussion about great sporting broadcasters takes place, there will be mention made of Ray Warren. There can be no greater legacy.

Alan Jones AO

April 2014