I first heard of the flanker with the matinee idol looks from my bemused mate at Lincoln University in 1999.
Both of us had left Nelson for a tertiary education - me to Canterbury University - and while my friend was not a follower of rugby, he spoke in glowing terms of the new Canterbury NPC flanker who was making quite a name for himself with the ladies in the dorms, allegedly going room to room, floor to floor. I told my friend that a couple of seasons in the disfiguring world of the ruck would probably spoil those features, and while the boy's face did flesh out, so to did it develop character, the scar tissue road-map around his eyebrows a testament to never backing down on the field.
We asked so much and took excellence for granted, as I pointed out with an unfair remark under the AMI Stadium grandstand in 2007 as McCaw, then wrapped in "cotton wool" as part of the rested World Cup training squad, was headed to the dressing rooms to congratulate his Crusaders on an early season win.
"They're not doing too bad without you Richie," I opined.
The young captain had not heard me in the cavernous stadium tunnel, but such is his marked character of politeness he stopped and raised his eyebrows to repeat my statement, which was then followed by that boyish grin and a "yeah, you're not wrong".
One of the heir-apparents filling his shoes that day was a bloke named Kieran Read, just one of many outstanding flankers to stand ready as a replacement over the years, but ultimately left to become second among equals.
Ask many, mainly Englishmen, about McCaw's ability to dive into that cauldron of arms and limbs and somehow emerge with the ball and the exasperated response is that the upstart Kiwi has to be a cheater. He just has to be.
A class at the IRANZ academy in Palmerston North would tell you different, as in 2008 I joined the teenagers for a feature I was writing on the school and watched as tutor Scott Robertson, another proud Canterbury All Black, showed them video footage of the master at work.
Freezing the frame on McCaw approaching a breakdown, Robertson guided the youngsters on how the skipper already had the ball in his cross hairs from more than 10 metres away.
Going slow motion, you saw him perfectly position his 108kg frame to swoop in like a hawk with impeccable timing to rip possession away from a shocked South African scrumhalf. It was like a "magicians exposed" documentary, because when played at full speed, McCaw's sleight of hand was quicker than the eye. This "magic" explaining why he was so revered, and yet so reviled.
Not only opposing players seemed befuddled in his presence.
A Greymouth Star colleague once came to me in 2007 for help with an interview she had to do with the All Black captain about his "Water for Everyone" branded company.
Simply reading off my supplied list of about a dozen questions over the phone, the young lady apologised for the formal nature of their chat because of her lack of background knowledge, only for McCaw to reassure her it was a much better interview than with most sports reporters, who made up their queries off the cuff.
A fellow Taranaki reporter did not have time for my guidance in 2010 when she was caught on the hop by McCaw calling in for a pre-arranged interview about his company, therefore blurting out what had been a "joke question" option provided by a workmate - "Are you gay?".
"No, I'm not gay. That's the first time I've ever been asked that," came the well-thought out reply after a long silence.
Suitably mortified, the 24-year-old scribe pressed on but word of her gaffe soon went around the office and you can guess what the next day's front page story read.
My overwhelming memory of McCaw will be watching from the Eden Park grandstand on October 23, 2011. Leading by one point in a World Cup final that had somehow floated into the realm of the surreal - where it didn't seem possible that we could lose nor win - it was later remarked the crowd did New Zealand no favours by not cheering loud enough.
While I can tell you those around me were rowdy from word go, there was one moment you could have heard a pin drop.
Having just watched the French narrowly miss a penalty to regain the lead, all eyes were on the battered All Black skipper, already playing on a broken foot, who had just collapsed.
Tended to by teammates and a trainer as he lay head down, whatever was written later about the Stephen Donald kick or the never-ending drive to hold possession inside the final five minutes, this was the true defining of the game.
When McCaw regained his feet and told the referee he was ready for the scrum, it was like 60,000 hearts resumed beating.
It was also the moment, even with a lifetime of 15 minutes to go, that I was convinced we would win, even if the skipper could do nothing else but be a pedestrian from that point. McCaw politely told Prime Minister John Key shortly afterwards it would not be an appropriate time, as a current player, to be considered for a knighthood.
It's a shame really, because the reality is that for New Zealanders, he already walks with the air of royalty, because with 100 tests as captain and another World Cup in his sights, he is already living history - still unfolding before our eyes.
Those are just my stories of Richie McCaw. One of 4.5 million to be told.
