"Tangles" because of his distinctive action, Max Walker actually was as uncomplicated as his big toothy grin, his other trademark. If there was darkness in him, it was more hidden than in most. Whatever was next on his plate – and there was always something – he had a zest for it. It makes his death all the more of a shock.
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Max Walker: In his words
In 2014, Max Walker talked gave at TedxMelbourne, where he explained a philosophy that made him one of the most revered and beloved sportsman and media personalities in Australia.
Walker was a seriously accomplished sportsman who never appeared to take himself too seriously, and this became the dominant motif in his life. Originally from Hobart, he moved to Melbourne to play ruck for the Demons. He was good enough for 85 games over six years, and probably many more, but when his cricket career began to blossom, the squeeze became too great. After he was picked for Australia in 1972, he played another half-season for Melbourne, then devoted himself to cricket.
He bowled hooping inswing, sent down "right-arm over left earhole, legs crossed at the point of delivery", as he described it himself. Quirky action, quirky expression, and so a lifelong theme emerged. Foiling for Dennis Lillee and Jeff Thomson, also making redoubtable lower order runs, he helped Ian Chappell's Australians on their rollicking rise to No.1 in the mid-70s.
In 1977, Walker joined Kerry Packer's pioneering privateers in World Series Cricket, causing momentary tension between himself and Melbourne Cricket Club, which banned him and suspended his membership. As cricket and commercialism fused, he was the right character in the right place. "Avagoodweekend, Mr Walker," was the slogan for an insect repellent ad, but it became a national catchcry. Meantime, many a schoolboy, trying to imitate his action, ended up in a crumpled heap at the popping crease.
Walker, though, wasn't depending on the cult of personality. All the while, he had toiled to qualify as an architect, an interest he inherited from his father, and he ran his own successful design business for a decade. His oeuvre is less well known than his wickets, wisecracks and writings, but it is safe to presume that it wasn't concrete prefabs.
At length, though, he became his own industry, parlaying his affability and infectious humour into radio and television commentary for the ABC, and then Channel 9, after-dinner speaking and into a series of books, written in longhand, with titles like How to Hypnotise Chooks and How To Kiss a Crocodile. They were nowhere near as obtuse as they sounded, but like his bowling action, they had a very particular effect.
Later still, Walker expanded into new technologies, and all along, he gave time to charities. Countless small anecdotes about his generosity mount into one fundamental truth: he was a good bloke. In 2011, he was honoured with the Order of Australia.
Walker had the sort of vibrancy about him that meant his personality lingered in a room for a while after he left it, like the still glowing pixels on a television screen when it is has just been switched off. That is how it feels in the Australian sporting landscape today.