As the sun rose on Monday morning, the thrilling vigil that was the Cricket World Cup final came crashing down on me.
Cricket tragics such as myself are used to investing our life force into supporting this team which time and time again has shown their character and ability, and at times their frailty. The Black Caps' scarcely believable loss to England at Lord's was a sporting occasion for the ages and a roller coaster unlike any other I have endured.
Not long after 6am, tired and deflated, I looked down to see my Kane Williamson Steady the Ship hat on the floor. Somewhere in the calamity of the final ball it had been cast to the ground and I came to a few conclusions.
Compared with the tense Rugby World Cup finals of 2015 and 2011, where there was an arrogant expectancy, the Black Caps kept giving us hope. As England looked to take control on Monday, they found ways back into the game. On the other side of the world England fans, albeit at a much more gentlemanly hour, were being teased with the same hope delivered on the swift-swinging pendulum of Sunday's final.
In the end a countback of boundaries, after a super over, denied the Black Caps their maiden world cup title and handed England theirs. The brutal nature of sport at the top level was showcased perfectly with agony and jubilation in equal measure.