'The pluck and skill of the New Zealanders, led from the front by Martin Crowe, entered New Zealand cricketing folklore.'
'The pluck and skill of the New Zealanders, led from the front by Martin Crowe, entered New Zealand cricketing folklore.'
The year was 1992. 'Twas a Palmerston North summer.
Notwithstanding there's no such thing, the heat was appreciable at the student flat on Ferguson St.
The occasion?
The cricket world cup.
Massey University's campus was quiet. Scarfies stayed at home, glued to the box. My flatmate and I flagged lectures.Text books remained shut. Bottle stores and pubs were the grateful beneficiaries of an academic hiatus.
Students don't need any excuse to slumber, so this was the stuff of bliss.
Back then of course there was no Sky (again quite fitting for Palmy). Each and every game was free-to-air. Couple that with the fact a dozen beer cans in the early 90s set you back only $9.
What ensued was a four-week party that gathered steam with each match. As we all now know well, the Black Caps were the surprise packet of the tournament. At their first fixture on February 22, they knocked hot favourites Australia out of the park and went on to claim another six scalps on the trot.
Our last match, March 21, was a heart-breaking semifinal loss to Pakistan.
The pluck and skill of the New Zealanders, led from the front by Martin Crowe, entered New Zealand cricketing folklore. They way we talk about it now you'd be forgiven for thinking we'd won.
Fast forward 22 years and I've a full-time job to juggle with a household of kids and no Sky TV to watch the games. Time takes no prisoners.
No doubt the pending tournament, starting in 12-days' time, will be followed by this writer with a little more temperance, a little less decadence.
Regardless, if the Black Caps go one better and I get along to some of the Napier games I'll be happy to relegate 1992 to a distant slice of long-lost nostalgia.
