Given you have won every game so far, you might be a touched miffed about having to play the final in Australia. But please don't be daunted by the prospect of moving from your scale-sized replica fields to a Big Boys ground - one where silly mid-on isn't standing in the beer queue. We're sure Brendon McCullum and Martin Guptill can clear a boundary they can't touch.
Your bowlers might also find it slightly disconcerting that the ball doesn't swing at the MCG like a Wellington wind chime. But as gentlemanly hosts, I'm sure David Warner, Glenn Maxwell and Co will treat arrow-straight medium pace on a dead track with utter respect.
Oddly, some of our mild-mannered Australian players have been accused of sledging. We promise they will not resort to any tired, old jokes in the final.
You know, the ones about how your anthem pleads with God to 'defend New Zealand' because no reputable lawyer would do so. Or how staging Miss New Zealand only involves putting up a mirror ball in a shearing shed. Such childish taunts have been strictly baaaaa-ed.
You will also be reassured that the generous MCG crowd has a long-time love affair with the Black Caps. Remember the great days when, impressed with Richard Hadlee's shrewd and thrifty bowling, they called him a banker?
Indeed, such is our respect for the Black Caps - who knows? - should you require six to win off the final ball we might even bowl a ball that bounces slightly higher than the productivity levels in a Dunedin factory during an All Blacks game.
Speaking of which, even Richie McCaw is welcome to come to the game. In the spirit of transtasman bonhomie, we might offer him a reduced sentence for his crimes against rugby.
So generous are we feeling, you can even have the pavlova recipe back, we'll put Phar Lap's stuffed hide on the next flight to Auckland and, if you insist, we will think about keeping Russell Crowe.
The World Cup? Lovely to have you here. But I think we'll hang on to that.
