We are Farrrrrmaleee!

A week ago I took the unusual step, for me, of commending the Australian cricket team for their sportsmanship. I highlighted their apparent concern for tailender Umesh Yadav after he was felled by a Mitchell Starc bouncer. In the light of subsequent and much reported Australian behaviour at the Cup Final I somewhat regret writing that post. It has also been pointed out to me that I should have questioned the temerity of bowling a bouncer to a tailender in the first place, particularly as it was tacitly countenanced by an Australian team captain who wears a black armband in memory of a team mate felled and killed by a bouncer.
However, I am adding nothing new here. All this has been written about before and even attempts by such writers as Chris Rattue to present a fresh perspective by playing Devil’s advocate, “They (New Zealand) surrendered in the final, and took this whole nice-guy business too far.”, lacks vigour and, some would say, credibility.
So, for my final word on the ICC Cricket World Cup I want to leave you with what it left me. Like much of the country I felt a real pride about the on and off field performance of this New Zealand cricket team. In terms of representing this country it was an almost flawless performance from beginning to end. The team was universally commended for the way and the spirit in which they played. It did not go unnoticed world-wide and in Australia it drew the inevitable comparison with their own team.
In sporting terms we were gifted with magical moments and memories. Some games were pure theatre that would defy scripting. Almost all games included examples of individual brilliance, and not always from the same individual. And then there was the way Brendon McCullum’s side went about their business—methodical, determined, skilled—getting the job done.
For themselves. For us.
And that is the point. It was us. I believe this team did something that no other New Zealand team has ever done. Yes, we have unified behind teams in the past—the America’s Cup team once or twice, the All Blacks often and the The Breakers repeatedly.
But somehow—and I cannot explain it—the New Zealand cricket team succeeded in making each and everyone of us feel that we were part of the team. Think back—did you not feel, as I did, that mix of dread, fear and anticipation every time Mitchell Starc stormed in at Eden Park? Did you not stand alongside Brendon McCullum for each and every ball wondering whether it was going to be an out or a six? We were there. Eden Park got crowded. Even the MCG got crowded. There were so many of us out there in the middle.
New Zealand’s participation and performance in this tournament had a family feel about it. So did the team itself. I felt that watching the NZ Cricket Awards last Thursday. There was a real sense of camaraderie in display there. This was a homogenous unit, unified on and off the field and remarkably free of any obvious ego. The speeches were heartfelt and eloquent—none more so than the perfectly crafted yet spontaneous and sincere speech by the team’s dying uncle Martin Crowe. That speech, even the gentle admonishment to Daniel Vettori to get a shave, was a perfect exempla of how this nation can handle itself when it sets out to be itself—without pretence.
Yes, it is just a game. A cricket game. A sport.
But you know what? It did something magical. It endeared ourselves to ourselves. During the course of this tournament we looked at ourselves.
And guess what?
    We liked what we saw.

Pitch Fever

It is easy to define the word great. Somewhat harder for greater and greatest; they require a point of comparison, and ‘greatest” in particular is subject to so many variable and subjective views that it is usually impossible and often irresponsible to term anything the greatest.
So, will victory against Australia in Sunday’s ICC World Cup be New Zealand’s greatest cricketing achievement, or even New Zealand’s best sporting achievement? Some will argue that we are already there, simply by succeeding through to the semis for the first time;  a finals win against the Aussies just extends that.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that it has galvanised the nation and we are almost united as a country behind our team. Yes, there are those who say, correctly, that it is only a game and there are more important things in the  world (the Northland by-election, anyone?)
But at this time, and particularly since last Tuesday’s semifinal win, they have been rather muted, stripped of their usual weapons: “it’s elitist” (America’s Cup) or “thuggery” (rugby and rugby league). Left, like the rest of us, with the simple fact that the Black Caps exemplify almost everything that is inherently good about this country—including and perhaps foremost the great spirit in which “we” have played the game—Grant Elliott and Dale Steyn an enduring memory.
Which brings us to the Australians.
You knew we would go there.
 I watched last night’s semi between Australia and India. I expected the worst in regard to on-field behaviour. These two teams have been never afraid to have a go at each other, often resulting in near physical confrontation and massive fines. Before this match an unnamed Australian player or official stated that the team was “pledged to sledge.”
So, it was going to be all on.
What happened?
What happened, I think, was in part Phillip Hughes.
The tragic death of Phillip Hughes, felled by a bouncer at this very ground, the Sydney Cricket Ground, last year, drew the cricketing world together like never before. The outreach of support for the Hughes family and for the Australian cricket team was unprecedented in the sport
I think it caught Michael Clarke and his team by surprise and they have not and will never forget it.
Yes, they will continue to sledge. Yes, they will continue to be aggressive. That is who they are. That is what they are.
But there has been a subtle change. For the better. Perhaps, think first, sledge second. And that, surely, is a legacy of Phillip Hughes.
There was another last night.
Last night in the dying stage of the game Indian tailender Umesh Yadav was hit—hard—by a blistering bouncer from Aussie quick Mitchell Starc. Yadav staggered for a moment and there was a sudden silence—terrible silence—that swept over the ground. Remember, it is the same ground that… .
Michael Clarke was the first to react, the first to Yadav’s side, the second was bowler Starc, six or seven other Aussie players soon followed.
None left his side until the Indian physio reached them.
That will be one of the enduring image of the tournament for me: a solitary Indian batsman surrounded by Australians, not sledging, not being separated by umpires—just sincere concern for a fellow cricketer.
Something happened here.
Something special.