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It’s 1996. ‘How bizarre’ is top of the charts. The All Blacks have finally conquered the Springboks in a South African series. I am ten years old. These are fun and innocent times.
The bleak day at the Basin Reserve dampens my spirit, but only temporarily. The rain won’t last. Wellington versus Canterbury in the Shell Cup will eventually start.
My mates and I loiter around, waiting for the skies to clear. This is a forlorn hope. It’s really damp, but we are determined to see the sun.
To kill time before the official and inevitable abandonment, we play cricket with a tennis ball in the old stand.
I am not much of a batsman. In high school, I recorded my own stats, finishing with an average of 3.9. If I used the full face I might have reached four.
This day is different. I launch into an extravagant cover drive. I make hefty contact and dispatch the ball onto the ground below. It takes the bowler ten minutes to retrieve. He has to sneak past security, as the field is cordoned off. I loudly boast about my shot, pretending to be my hero Chris Cairns.
The ground announcer interrupts: “Ladies and gentlemen, regrettably the umpires have agreed the match will be abandoned without a ball being bowled.”
We trudge towards the exit. I am armed with a poster and a vivid. I hope some of the players might emerge so I can collect an autograph.
Underneath the RA Vance stand I instantly recognise Cairns. There is he! So tall and dashing.
I nervously approach him and politely inquire for a signature. He snatches my pen and all he says is, “These fucking kids ruin these posters.”
No hello. No how are you, just an expletive and a scribble. What arrogance!
Cairns is quickly demoted from hero to zero in my eyes. When I get home I break down in Mum’s arms.
For three years, I hiss violently at the television whenever Cairns appears. It’s immature, but why was I treated with such contempt?
January 19, 1999. New Zealand is playing India in the fifth and final one-day international at Jade Stadium, Christchurch. The Black Caps must win to tie the series.
Cairns starts batting steadily, before exploding, plundering 115 from 80 balls. The Indian bowling attack resembles the construction site at the ground. They are decimated. Suddenly Cairns is my friend again and would remain so for some time.
Later that year he helps New Zealand win their first ever Test series in England.
In 2000, at the ICC tournament in Nairobi, he makes a century as New Zealand enjoy their first one-day international tournament success.
In 2001 against South Africa, he belts 7 sixes while making his highest Test score, 158. The pugnacious Proteas are humbled.
In March 2004, he becomes just the sixth man in Test history to achieve an all-rounder’s double of 200 wickets and 3000 runs in Tests. That is class with a capital C.
In March 2012, Cairns successfully sues former Indian Premier League commissioner Lalit Modi for libel, after Modi posted on Twitter in 2010 that Cairns had been involved in match-fixing during 2008. He wins costs and damages and retained my respect.
In December 2015, Cairns is cleared of perjury in a London court and, by implication, is cleared of match-fixing allegations. My respect for him, however, is tenuous.
There wasn’t enough evidence to totally prove he was guilty, which might mean he is innocent, but why would nine internationals risk their reputations and integrity if Cairns is completely innocent?
Why was New Zealand cricket so reluctant to support Cairns, one of their genuine champions?
Furthermore: is Brendon McCullum’s sporting reputation and position as New Zealand skipper tenable?
Will this verdict prevent other players from coming forward and reporting their concerns or suspicions?
Will Lou Vincent now face criminal prosecution?
So much doubt, but for now Cairns can be as smug as he was to me in 1996.
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