Thank you, Brendon. You have capped the most incredible of weekends, the most important of summers.
The majority of the words to follow will focus on the magnificence of Brendon McCullum's deeds over the last two weeks in particular, and of a period that exemplifies humanity at its best. Before I do I first need to be honest with you all about a personal development that came about as I witnessed these latest marvels.
I have shared the belief that I became riddled with cancer due to my toxic suppression of negative events throughout my life. What isn't known is that one of those demons was my decision to not field against Pakistan in the semi-final of the 1992 World Cup, and to instead put my torn hamstring on ice, elevated and compressed, in an attempt to be fit for the final at the MCG, four days later. I thought we had enough on the board (262 on a slow, low pitch) and the medical advice was that to be fit to play in four days I needed to elevate and ice immediately, and therefore not field. I have regretted that decision for nearly 22 years.
On Saturday, day two of the second Test at the Basin, while India dominated New Zealand, I delivered an address to a large audience as part of the 1992 World Cup team reunion. The occasion marked exactly one year to the start of the next World Cup, to be held again in New Zealand and Australia.
As I admitted my regret of that decision, I broke down. As I looked into the eyes of Ian Smith, Andrew Jones, Dipak Patel, Mark Greatbatch and the rest of the squad, I choked up completely. From deep within, the pain of that regret surfaced unexpectedly. I somehow finished my speech and sat down next to my wife, Lorraine. She had not known of this pain, and now it was finally out. As I sat there I realised I was free of a curse that had tormented me for over two decades.
In very dark times I blamed others, like John Wright, and I felt guilty at having done so. In truth, I simply blamed myself. It was the one real chance for glory for my country, to lift the World Cup, and I was beside myself that I had misjudged the moment, under the West Stand at Eden Park that day. Yet one demon remained.
February 4, 1991. Basin Reserve. I never forgave myself for getting out for 299 against Sri Lanka. Not a week would go by when I wouldn't be reminded of the one run I craved so much. It tore at me like a vulture pecking dead flesh. I did not know how to let it go, could never laugh at the absurdity of my anger. Ultimately it contributed to a dislike of myself, and to a notion that I was not worthy enough. I was desperate to be liked and I thought scoring big hundreds would suffice. I even thought one more run would be enough. I was staggeringly naïve to think so. I missed the entire point of life, how it should be appreciated.
In the last year, through counselling and various unexpected moments, I have learnt to let go. On day one of our summer, the first day of the first Test between New Zealand and West Indies in Dunedin, when McCullum and Ross Taylor embraced each other upon reaching their respective centuries, I felt a massive weight lift from within, as I sensed they did. I was genuinely pleased for both players, equally. It was truly symbolic.
And now today, with Brendon scoring our nation's first ever triple-hundred, I have finally removed the one remaining stone in my shoe. It's pathetic to even have to do so, yet massively necessary. Yes, it has been quite an uplifting few days of personal selfish rehabilitation. But enough of my personal crap; I will bore you no more. Forgive me for the purge, but it sets the scene for what I really want to say.
Cricket in New Zealand has experienced a euphoric awakening. What Ross Taylor and Brendon McCullum have achieved these last few months is monumentally epic. They have inspired their team, a team that has been in the doldrums for too long. Indeed they have reinvigorated a cricket nation, and most importantly encouraged many young aspiring athletes to dream big. This is what sport at its best does: it offers hopes and dreams for all, and if you are positively aroused from a young age it can steer your life down that personal path to fulfilment. To actually see magnificence on your nation's sporting stage is to suck in the air of its very excellence. You get moved by it. Richard Hadlee did it for me. And so these two team-mates this summer have done it for their fellow men and those to follow.
"I never forgave myself for getting out for 299 against Sri Lanka. Not a week would go by when I wouldn't be reminded of the one run I craved so much. It tore at me like a vulture pecking dead flesh"
McCullum was always a leader. He did it at under-19 level superbly. Taylor was in that team, three years the junior. So McCullum should always have assumed the mantle of national captain one day - a natural step from vice-captaincy to Dan Vettori. Somehow he got laid off from the vice-captaincy in 2009, Taylor reluctantly stepping into the breach.
Four long years later McCullum is the true leader, marching his men forward with exemplary and extraordinary example.
With New Zealand 30 for 3 in Auckland, he strode in and dismantled the Indian attack for 224, setting up a stunning, close-fought victory. To then contemplate a dire situation with a stirring rearguard action only days later, in the second Test, and occupy the crease longer than any Kiwi has ever done, speaks volumes of his character and his stamina. For a man with career-threatening back- and knee injuries screaming at him, it simply defies all odds.
From the little I know of Brendon, he is a sensitive, intensely proud, even emotionally driven, human. By removing the emotion from his game he allowed the right energy to flow through his game, settling him into a zone of fierce focus and determination, where he was always aware the job was never done. He showed that with responsibility he could seek a new wisdom, a better way, and that a large picture can only be created one fluent stroke at a time. His defence was immaculate, his footwork aligned and flowing, to making the bowler bend down to field, his concentration built one over at a time.
Taylor set the scene in December, batting over 20 hours in three Tests, yet McCullum has added a new layer, achieving even better in just two. He has set the bar that others like Kane Williamson will now aim at, and which will challenge Taylor further. McCullum has a blueprint from which he, and hundreds of youth watching, can call upon again and again.
It's all about relevance. The canvas at summer's start was bare; now it oozes genius and richness. The landscape has been redrawn for good, and the portrait is of proud, resilient, inspirational New Zealand cricket men fulfilling their gift and their want, and calling on others to walk this newfound path.
The next generation's DNA is already building on the work of these two men this summer, who not long ago were forced innocently to stand 12 paces apart from each other, eye to eye, guns at the ready. Yet as we know happens in life, the pleasure came along at the right moment, when it was meant to, to give us balance and faith again.
It is another worthy story of love, not war.