David Legatt: Warney's sledging smoke without fire

John F. Kennedy, about whom there are more conspiracy theories than 100 New Zealand-Australia cricket skirmishes, once argued against the old saying that "where there's smoke there's fire".

Rather, he said, in political terms, "where there's smoke there's a smoke-making machine".

Cricket hasn't had a conspiracy theory for a while. It has been all of a few weeks since New Zealand coach John Bracewell wondered aloud about dodgy pitch swapping in Brisbane and the veracity of Hawkeye speedball readings across the Tasman.

Conspiracies are a bit like fires. They need oxygen, in the form of reaction, to take hold. Ignore them and they tend to go away.

Just when we needed another one, along came Shane Warne.

Warney. I know a chap who, when the champion Australian legspinner appears on screen, is liable to cry out "Warnee" in a high-pitched, nasal Bill Lawry imitation.

He can have that effect on people. Depending on your perspective, he's a likable rogue or a first-class jerk.

Warne doesn't play one-dayers any more. So he pitched up this week to join his mates and prepare for the first test in Christchurch, and immediately set off a bonfire with a bizarre attack on Bracewell.

Entree: "[The players] must be getting pretty nervous every time he comes to the press, I would have thought."

Main course: "I've heard some excuses in my time, but some of the ones he's been coming up with are the best I've ever heard, absolutely ridiculous."

Dessert: "I'm not sure how they're getting along with him, but if I were them I'd be listening to Stephen Fleming and not John Bracewell."

That, in turn, had people wondering: What's got Warney's goat?

Had he had a bad flight across the Ditch? Got out of bed the wrong side that morning?

Or was he the mouthpiece for the Australian camp searching, as they always are, to extract any extra mental edge over their opposition?

Or was there a more sinister aspect relating to his acknowledged mateship with New Zealand captain Stephen Fleming, whose biography included a foreword by Warne.

From there, the theorists had it, it was no more than a long hop to the whispers that the relationship between Fleming and Bracewell was strained.

Was Warne firing a few short ones around Bracewell's head as a favour to his mate, went the extension of the theory?

The flames were well and truly fanned.

It's not quite in the Who Shot JFK? league, but on the eve of a test in which an embattled New Zealand team were preparing for another shellacking from the world's best side it had a juicy aspect to it.

Warne launched his attack in Christchurch out of nothing. There was no prompting, giving substance to the argument that he was simply the hired gun for the Australian top table, the chap who was happy to fire a few shots at opponents already on their knees.

Warne has plenty of strikes against his name for shabby behaviour on and off the field.

A year-long ban for drug use, allegations surrounding phone sex and grubby text messages, an affair with a Melbourne stripper ... will be part of the Warne legend in years to come, not to mention exaggerated bouts of sledging.

Those who know him well reckon he's a good, knockabout bloke, and that includes some New Zealand players.

He would also be a shoe-in in any cricket aficionado's top-10 players ever.

But, apart from imparting his wisdom on how to spin a ball, should you take seriously much of what tumbles out of his mouth. No.

Bracewell and Fleming took the softly-softly approach in response.

But you can safely assume Bracewell briefly pondered letting rip.

Bracewell the player certainly would have; Bracewell the coach, no doubt biting hard on his top lip, let it ride.

And Bracewell might feel he had the last laugh as his batsmen exceeded all expectations over the last couple of days.

On the JFK smoke meter, Warney was puffing pretty hard this week.