As every Star Wars devotee will know, fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.
Brendon McCullum, I hated you.
Do you remember Melbourne 2004? We were playing under the roof at Docklands. The game was over, you needed 32 from three overs.
Batsmen didn’t score 32 from three overs in those days.
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Just have a bit of a swing mate, and let’s all go home. You took 22 from poor Michael Kasprowicz. A humble man, a sporting example of the quietly toiling Australian battler, and you crushed him with a swipe of those ham-sized arms. What the hell Brendon? You don’t win matches like that, not least of all against the Australians. You’re meant to just scrape a couple of singles and lose.
Why didn’t you get it?
You annoyed me then. Then came Christchurch 2005. That’s when I learnt to fear you.
It was over mate. You needed 74 from seven overs. Have your fun if need be, but come on, the game was done. You got the runs in six. It wasn’t audacious or daring. You were a bully, tripping all the Aussie kids as they ran to the finish, while you strolled over line unopposed.
Excuse me Brendon, but we are the big fish here. We are the bullies, not you. You can’t do that to us. We have the miraculous escapes, not you.
We didn’t see you bat in a one day game for four years, Brendon. Do you honestly think that was an accident? Heck no. We didn’t want anything to do with you Brendon. We hated you. But why? It wasn’t as if you ever had a lot of success against us. In fact, you rarely beat us.
You want to know why I feared you Brendon? You didn’t get it. You didn’t know your place. You were a New Zealander. You were meant to be a world-beater against the smaller nations, but ultimately, you were meant to be brushed aside like the rest. Chris Cairns, Stephen Fleming, Adam Parore, they all knew the score. They knew that they could appear to put up a fight, but ultimately, fall away in glorious defeat. Why didn’t you know that?
I was in Melbourne in March. I watched you walk off, not 50 metres from me, head bowed, expression mellow. I damn near cried. How dare you? How dare you take away what should have been a moment of triumph, a mighty foe slain, and turn it into a standing ovation?
A crowd that should have been spitting bile in your face stopped to applaud a man who played with joy, flair and a class that inspired a team and country. A man whose respect was not born of fear, but was won by his play and his conduct. Why did you make my heart ache for you at that moment? Damn you Brendon.
Even at the end, you didn’t give it away. Why didn’t you just roll over? We were going to win, why did you have to embarrass us by hitting the fastest Test hundred in history? Just leave already Brendon.
You were the example of how cricket should be played. You understood it was a game. You understood your role was to entertain. You knew that good cricket is attacking cricket. It didn’t matter the result, you knew that cricket needed to inspire tradition, not be chained to it. You were everything we wanted our team to be. Heck, even your final speech was full of class.
On a side note, do you remember Ben Hilfenhaus? He retired today as well. You’ll probably see him on the T20 circuit from time to time. I hope he reminds you that you were his first international wicket.
Go away now Brendon. You scared me every time your broad face peered out from below the lid. You made me angry every time the Kiwi crowd roared their approval at another mighty smite. I hated you, knowing that regardless of the result, you would always be a winner.
Leave me and Test cricket to suffer without you in our lives. Damn you.
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