For Sydney

Even though both Smith and I didn’t see Sydney through, we’d already had closure.

I had to leave Sydney four overs before close. Smith spared less.

Not that it mattered.

When Steyn fell, and Smith walked in, Sydney, at least for me, was purged of its previous misdemeanours.

Some of its cricketing soul had returned.

Walking down the ramp, in company, never before had Smith seemed so aloof, apart, awesome. Almost a higher being, from another era. Bradmanesque.

We knew the injuries, we couldn’t see them. That added to the aura.

The Aurora Borealis of cricket.

Thank you, Graeme. Shine on.