As it happened, Slammin' Sam was the keynote entertainment for the afternoon's festivities. And what an almighty job he did. Hell, if I had any pull, I'd appoint Kekovich as the next Governor-General of the Commonwealth of Australia, he speaks that much bloody sense about this great nation of ours and about less complicated times. When a "cougar" was a bourbon; a "hard drive" was a long, hot journey in a Torana with black vinyl seats; and "metrosexual" was shorthand for striking some unexpected good fortune on the tram ride home, after a late night over the drip tray.

But you can't get away with nothing no more (impeccable grammar, I know). I'm going to my 25-year school reunion this afternoon. Seems like last week, in so many ways; aeons ago, in others. It still feels like yesterday, the day I sat an HSC exam the morning of the 1992 Melbourne Cup. By midday a mate and I were punting at Penshurst TAB, resplendent in full school uniform (he's now the principal of a primary school - best he remain unidentifiable).

My best recollection is that we ventured to the pub across the road after that, and watched the races all afternoon (and gargled only Mello Yello). And you know what - nobody got hurt, or ended up unemployable. Nobody was irreparably corrupted. But, just try having a crack doing the same thing in a fortnight's time, Class of '17. The fun police now lurk around every corner; life is so complicated.

Which brings me to David Warner, and his hopes expressed this week that the umpires appointed by the International Cricket Council, to officiate in the Ashes series starting in Brisbane next month, might approach their task with the same degree of latitude afforded by referees controlling a State of Origin match.

Now that's kind of ironic in the sense that Origin ain't exactly the epitome of orchestrated mayhem it once was. No longer is the first 20 minutes of each edition devoted exclusively, to Cane Toads and Cockroaches bashing the bejesus out of each other; you can't even snot someone once anymore (now I'm not saying that's bad, it's just an observation). And given the game's played at such a frenetic pace, the art of sledging is overtaken by players gasping for oxygen.

But those matters aside, Warner's thoughts are all at once curious, perfectly reasonable and fighting against the tide.

Puzzling, in the sense that Test cricket and State of Origin share very little in common. Played at its highest level, footy is a blitzkrieg of a sport; Test cricket often ambles with the unhurried fluidity that comes when a match that can start on a Thursday morning, but mightn't finish until the following Monday evening. What cuts the mustard in the middle of Suncorp Stadium ain't necessarily going to wash in the middle of the SCG, in early January.

Each sport has its nuances. There's never been any love lost between Phil Mickelson and Tiger Woods - to the point maybe they'd secretly delight in trash-talkin' becoming de rigueur on the PGA Tour - but that'd destroy the essence of golf. If pre-fight shit-canning was prohibited in professional boxing or UFC, only the rusted-on devotees would bother watching at all. Manufactured hate, maybe. And don't even get me started on Nick Kyrgios (but I'll come back to him in a bit).

Warner's utopia is nonetheless reasonable, in that Test cricket is - because of its sometimes leisurely pace - a sport which almost commands an element of psychological warfare. Players are on the field for more than six hours a day; yet for over half that time, there is no active play. Players ain't statues, and it's facile to suggest they behave as choir boys. Those positively languid types aside, what else exactly is the fielding team going to do with more than three hours of dead air every day, but try and prise open every known weakness in a batsman's psyche.

But it's a murky line. During one match of the 1982/83 Ashes series in Australia, Ian Botham strode nonchalantly from the pavilion to the crease, only to be greeted by the Australian wicketkeeper Rod Marsh. Marsh ever so politely and discreetly enquired of Botham, as to how Botham's wife and Marsh's kids were. Botham retorted "the wife's fine; the kids are retarded though". Too special, there's an art in that.

Conversely, there's infinitesimal wit or intelligence in almost anything which escapes from Kyrgios' mouth on court. His intemperate, grubby comments in late 2015 about opponent Stan Wawrinka's girlfriend being the exemplar. Where artful sledging is subtle and often hilarious, Kyrgios' carry-on is mean; vicious, and invariably a by-product of him being trounced.

I tend to agree with Warner, that sledging is important to cricket. Indeed, hard-nosed banter and a bit of trash talk is an integral element of the fabric of the game. If anything though, the laws of cricket now make it more difficult - not less - for a player to properly sledge an opponent. Which of itself explains Warner's comments.

You see, from the start of this month, the Code of the Laws of Cricket was amended. Changed in myriad respects, but in one regard important to players' on-field conduct. Under the new Rule 42, umpires have entirely new powers to deal with player conduct on the field; not just identify conduct in their match reports. Penalties under these provisions range from awarding penalty runs, through to the "sin-binning" of players, and finally the removing of players for the remainder of a match. The rationale of the Marylebone Cricket Club - the keeper of the Laws - is that these changes are necessary, to combat "deteriorating levels of behaviour".

Relevantly, a player who directs language or a gesture to another player, which is deemed obscene or of a seriously insulting nature, is sufficient to attract a five-run penalty. And the possibility of that eventuating in the Ashes, is what Warner's comments are likely directed at. Because enforcing the rules is at the discretion of the umpires. What's considered "obscene" or "seriously insulting" is manifestly subjective.

Sledging is a special art in cricket, Test matches in particular. Of course, foreshadowing that a batsman ought brace for a broken arm, or worse, is unimaginative, crude and nothing the kiddies ought be emulating. But clever, psychological warfare in the form of sledging, is golden in Test cricket. If only for Kekovich's simpler times. If only.