Kane Williamson: Greatness who never needed announcing, or farewelling
By Dylan Cleaver, The Bounce
Opinion: The ending was perfectly imperfect.
This most un-Hollywood of sporting greats was never going to stick to the script you and I wanted; he was never going to nudge and nurdle his way to a number that other people thought was important. His story of his cricket career was always unlikely to finish with a guard of honour and a silver salver because Kane Williamson, a bona fide batting genius, never really believed in narrative arcs.
So he instead went gently into retirement courtesy of a one-line statement delivered with a knowing smile.
“I stand here to announce my retirement from international cricket and am happy to take questions from you all.”
No tears, no regrets, just a love of his team, a deep gratitude for the sports and an acknowledgement that it was the right time to let go of something he held onto with soft hands and a feathery touch for so long.
In many respects he represents the Platonic ideal of a New Zealand icon. He is understated, humble and team-first.
He rarely courts controversy, never grandstands and deflects credit as adroitly as he has many good-length balls to the third-man boundary over a 16-year international career. In a sporting milieu that increasingly veered towards oversized egos and false bravado, Williamson chose serenity as his superpower.
He never snarled, sledged or harangued. He rarely showed any outward signs of emotion when achieving unprecedented milestones or falling short of the lofty standards placed upon him by others.
Because despite the otherworldly numbers - 33 test centuries at an average of 54 - he didn’t put expectations on himself. He recognised early in his career that once you start pre-empting your own storylines, all you expose yourself to is relief or suffering. Instead, he dedicated himself to training hard, some would say maniacally, and staying in the moment.
He didn’t leave preparation to chance, but recognised that many things, including luck, remained outside of his control. The only thing he could be certain of is that when he took guard and waited for his first ball, he didn’t know what would happen after.
That’s how he looked at it. New Zealand cricket fans have felt something a bit different. The sight of him unhurriedly walking out to bat at No 3, the most technically demanding position, brought with a level of comfort and familiarity that felt permanent.
At his best he was clipped, precise and fluent. He scored faster than it appeared precisely because he was unfussy and didn’t need the spectacular or high-risk option to keep the scoreboard moving. At his worst, when the eyes, hands and feet were not quite synced up, he remained effective because he was a problem solver. Across the three formats, he never experienced a prolonged slump.
He batted in the service of the team. Always. He barely celebrated 100s because he never saw three figures as a specific goal or an end point. Someone else had decided they were important markers to greatness, not him. He remembers his very first, scored for Otumoetai Intermediate in a Milo Cup game against a Tauranga Intermediate team containing Trent Boult and Doug Bracewell, and you’d imagine he remembers his last for New Zealand, 102 versus South Africa at last year’s Champions Trophy, but you can be certain he’s forgotten a lot in between.
Williamson would be sheepish if someone was to tell him they felt blessed watching him score centuries from the banks of Hagley Oval, the Basin, Seddon Park and beyond. He’d think that was over-egging the cake. But while he has always maintained an equanimity and vice-like control of his emotions, he doesn’t get to control ours.
Because it was a blessing watching him bat. It was as much a part of summer as sand between the toes.
The beach is still there, but a little slice of joy has gone.
- The Bounce