McCullum makes good from first innings madness

Brendon McCullum is cricket's shining light. When interviewed, he engages; when at the crease, he entertains; when at the helm in the field, he lets nature run wild. To him, the game is just that, a game. There are various ways to go about it but the best of them incorporates instinct and imagination. New Zealand have thrown off the shackles that restrict so much talent. It was the captain who gave his players the key.

It had taken a while for the selectors to decide on the man to replace the studious Daniel Vettori. For a few months, the position became the subject of a national debate. Eventually, Ross Taylor won the election and McCullum went away to lick his wounds. Taylor is a disciple of Martin Crowe and Crowe shared his pain when, after 18 months, the coach persuaded the selectors to change course. They were advised that Taylor was more follower than leader and, thus, McCullum was crowned king. His desire for the role was no secret.

Unsurprisingly, this caused more national debate. The Taylor camp, led by Crowe, were rightly disgusted with the treatment of a good man and fine batsman. Taylor himself retreated to an inner shell. His batting became uncertain, his future too. Crowe argued that this was typical of New Zealand cricket, that there was no common purpose and that the constant bickering and mistrust further diminished the stature of the game in a country whose sporting attentions were so focussed upon the oval ball.

Crowe, along with many others, had underestimated McCullum. Not that his beef, or theirs, was with the new captain. The coach is an important figure in the revolution that has changed the face of New Zealand cricket. Few people know of him and the rest would not know of his impact. Michael Hesson was a modest cricketer with no first-class, never mind Test match, experience. He knew McCullum from their home town, Dunedin, and though it cannot be said they hatched a plan, we can assume they were as one. Hesson's risk in his political game was the loss of Taylor but it was, he felt sure, a risk worth taking. And he believed, with time, Taylor would come with them.

Once empowered, McCullum was left to his own devices and they have been splendidly effective. No team in the world plays with such a sense of possibility and joy. It is as if the clock has been wound back to, in the words of Crowe himself, "a kinder, gentler game". This is not to say New Zealand's cricket is gentle, far from it, only the attitude with which they play. There is no sign of arrogance or disdain; no suggestion of complacency or deceit. They are lucky men to represent their beautiful land at sport and their ambition is to make the most of it.

This team might have won the World Cup but, at the final throw of the dice, were not quite good enough to do so. That they came closer than any other New Zealand team tells you pretty much all you need to know about their quality of performance. At times, during the long six weeks of the tournament a Black Caps match was needed to break the tedium. Unbeaten until the big day in Melbourne - a run that climaxed with a gripping semi-final win against South Africa, a match for all time - everything McCullum touched had turned to gold. His ferocious assaults on the new ball became the legend of the Cup and they inspired a high-octane style of cricket that left opponents bewildered.

Sadly, for some, and certainly for all those across the Tasman, the extremity of that approach betrayed him on the big day. He won the toss, boldly said we shall bat, and turned in horror as his stumps were uprooted by Mitchell Starc in the first over of the World Cup final. General opinion agrees that it was the loudest roar ever heard at a cricket match. Most Australians thought get McCullum, get the game, and dead right they proved to be.

These three days at Headingley have come close to stripping McCullum naked. He has played two innings of contrasting measure but equal effect. In the first innings he fell to his own hubris, in the second to the whim of the umpire and the system that supports him. That first innings began with a six over extra-cover first ball and progressed in breakneck fashion. The tea interval broke his step and first ball after it, he clattered, with a staggering lack of care or attention, into the hands of mid-off. His reaction was exactly as it should have been. Shock, maybe even disgrace.

The second innings needed something different. When this mighty mouse of a cricketer - one so gifted and daring that last year he made a triple-hundred, two doubles and a 190 in Test cricket alone - arrived at the wicket, the match hung by a thread. Soon enough, after Martin Guptill was taken at cover, it dangled loose and dangerously close to the abyss. Get McCullum, get the game, thought England.

So he blocked. Don't laugh, he did. He blocked a score of 55. His actions spoke and the message was, we will not yield. When Alastair Cook posted eight men on the off side of the pitch and just one on the leg, the England captain became his temptress. But he resisted those charms and said I will not yield. It was just about the least fluent innings of his helter-skelter career but it was one of the most relevant. He put his hand up for the first innings moment of madness and made it good.

BJ Watling responded in kind, with a hundred borne out of desire and resolution. Watling is evidence that skill must be matched by temperament and clear thinking. His command of the crease was a sight for the sorest English eyes. This batting should have taken the game away from England.

Late last November, at that dreadful time when Philip Hughes died, New Zealand were deep into a Test series against Pakistan in the UAE. A number of the team were not keen to play on, fearing a lack of will for the fickle nature of bat and ball and needing time for reflection at the loss of a sporting brother. But play on they did, to honour their country's commitment to Pakistan and to honour Philip's life.

Their performance in the match was superb. The pleasure in playing cricket remained clear but nothing was celebrated for its own sake - not the milestones of batsmen, nor the fall of wickets or the holding of catches. Each reaction was understated, respectful, worthy of the game's spirit and their friend's memory. At the initiation of McCullum, New Zealand created a live and moving memorial for Hughes.

In summary, the New Zealand captain is the best thing to happen to the game in ages. He is the true Spirit of Cricket for he respects the opponent every bit as much as his own and he respects this marvellous sport for its simple pleasure and mighty history. As Martin Crowe now says, New Zealand are in good form on and off the field but, better still, the team is leading the way forward to a better game for all. Crowe could not be happier and was the most welcome guest of the team in the dressing-room after the World Cup final. He rejoices in the chosen path. McCullum has won him over. McCullum has won us all over.