As the world's second-favourite team packed the dais to claim their place as the globe's yardstick at the Rose Bowl last year, many were left asking the same question: how?

How was it that a nation of five million people had eclipsed the crème de la crème of a country comprised of 1.4 billion cricket junkies?

How was it that they had managed to compile a champion side when the supposedly simple task of finding 11 capable names had always proved an eternal struggle?

How, the world asked, had a country that had taken 26 years to win a Test and another 13 to claim their first series shaded a crammed stable of thoroughbreds in the race to the post?

From the cynics and the spurned, a collective howl was heard. One decrying New Zealand's rise to the summit as a journey born of luck and smiles from above. Yet, for those with an eye on history's page, even if fortune had ruled over ability, no nation had deserved it more than the men from Aotearoa.

So often an also-ran, even during their blistering days in beige, few were caught off guard when the Blackcaps' growing pains remained palpable while the ilk of Australia, England, India and South Africa reigned supreme across all formats for summers on end. Few, too, paid much attention as the Kiwis began opening their minds and their arms to the future.

Martin Guptill during game one of the One Day International series between Australia and New Zealand at Sydney Cricket Ground on December 4, 2016 in Sydney, Australia.

As the second son of an Aucklander and a Waikato woman, these same growing pains were felt by me and my siblings in our suburban Melbourne home. While just a short flight across the ditch from familiarity, showing pride in the Kiwis' cause required plenty of overtime and alternative sources.

Without the aid of a pay-tv service, consistently refreshed Cricinfo feeds and grainy highlights packages became my portal into summer days at Carisbrook, Eden Park and the Basin. Without the freedom to pay for international shipping, I sat in civies instead of official merchandise, hoping like hope that the likes of Shane Bond, Scott Styris and Chris Harris could get the job done.

Perpetually rewound VHS tapes became my friend, as I studied the form of Sir Richard Hadlee, desperate to see as much movement from my own medium pacers when armed with more than a taped tennis ball.

Sidling in off a short run-up, with a cocked wrist and a lack of a front arm, this finicky action was practised ad nauseam, earning giggles from my pre-teen teammates and acknowledgement from the old-timers.

It confused me that others could pick up what I was putting down. But with ‘Paddles' having paddled the Aussies just a generation prior, Hadlee's sweatbands, moustache and strike power clearly remain scorched into the minds of those that lived through the Hawke administration.

MATAMATA, NEW ZEALAND - MARCH 09: Sir Richard Hadlee during a backyard cricket match, captained by Kiwi cricket greats Sir Richard Hadlee and Stephen Fleming, - under the famed 'party tree' at Hobbiton Movie Set on March 9, 2015 in Matamata, New Zealand. (Photo by Joel Ford/Getty Images for Tourism New Zealand)

Though the curtains would eventually fall on his days at the wicket after collecting 1490 first-class poles, New Zealand's greatest-ever cricketer never came close to touching any team-earned silverware. Hadlee's reward for his sublime deeds with both bat and the ball? A dearth of support from the other end; a license to tread in shark-infested water with an anchor around his ankle.

In July of 1990, Hadlee farewelled the game, bowing out during a 114-run loss to the English at Edgbaston. Though his hosts cruised, led by the blades of Gooch and Atherton, Hadlee, less than a month after his knighting, ambled off into the West Midlands' sunset with figures of 8/140.

The series-ending loss acted as an unceremonious, yet simultaneous, end to John Wright's reign as Test captain. But with the night darkest just before dawn, the catalyst for change was waiting in the wings. Or the slip cordon, to be more specific.

Born into a wider family that produced an All Black, a pair of first-class cricketers and an Oscar winner, Martin Crowe could have been forgiven for feeling the burdensome weight of expectation throughout his formative years. Still, with an almost balletic balance of brains and brawn, not only was a path to captaincy scythed but a place among the game's giants was carved with precision.

Tactically, few could rival Crowe, with his on-field ingenuity reaching its zenith during the 1992 World Cup when he threw off-spinner Dipak Patel the new ball. With the willow in hand, even fewer have surpassed his markers, with 19,608 first-class runs embossed to his name at an average north of 56.

Yet, in a fashion all too familiar to those that strode before him, Crowe was often left to fight a lone hand as the middle and lower orders came and went around him. As Test captain, the cricketing polymath tasted success just twice. And while the tide turned around him when the red ball was traded for white, Crowe's career at the crease closed after commandeering a win rate south of 50.

MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA - MARCH 29: Former New Zealand cricketer Martin Crowe inspects the pitch prior to the 2015 ICC Cricket World Cup final match between Australia and New Zealand at Melbourne Cricket Ground on March 29, 2015 in Melbourne, Australia. (Photo by Cameron Spencer/Getty Images)

Although real strides were made under his watch, the Kiwis' trophy cabinet remained without gleam, a sole semi-final loss the crescendo of Crowe's tenure at the head of the line. Ian Smith, Ken Rutherford and Lee Germon came and went in his wake, with none able to ride the crest to any success.

When delivering the eulogy at Crowe's untimely funeral in 2016, Smith spoke of the fuel to his former skipper's fire, contending that Crowe could be surmised with a single word - passion.

Between retroactively earning full-Test status in 1948 and Crowe's final stand in 1995, the men from the land of the long white cloud had been typecast by their hosts across the globe. Praised as the quintessentially loveable losers, these flightless birds were deemed happy to go along for the sunburned ride and smile as games were driven swiftly out of reach.

While his kitbag had made its way into the attic, Crowe remained keen to place his 'beautiful mind' and bridge the gap between the Blackcaps and their competition. Asking Patel to send his tweakers to a who's who of Botham, Lara and Boon may have been one thing, but the boon of Crowe's cranium was truly on show during his first summer of retirement.

They say a quick game is a good game, and what's quicker than a 10-over innings? They also stress that it's a batter's game, and no more was that on display than during 'Cricket Max' - Crowe's four-stumped brainchild and unofficial precursor to the T20 form.

Though the revolutionary bastardisation would fail to be greenlit by the ICC for global play, New Zealand would ask England, the West Indies and India to humour them between 1997 and 2002, the latter fixture providing Brendon McCullum with his pathway to international acclaim.

And although little more would be heard of 'Max Zones' and 'double-bubble' boundaries, it would be New Zealand that would act as one of two guinea pigs when the powers that be decided three hours was long enough to declare a match run and won.

With its bubble perms, beige revival and Billy Bowden content to upstage all acts, you were granted a mulligan if you sat through the first-ever T20I at Eden Park in 2005 before claiming it would never catch on. Trawl through the scorecard, cast your eye over the team photos, and it is clear that only Ricky Ponting was taking the condensed contest on the confined field seriously.

Yet, in a present world where players' coffers are filled lining up for a litany of franchises, one where the Blackcaps stand on the precipice of another final, those requiring a second stroke will be hoping to make like Michael Campbell at Pinehurst some 17 years ago.

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Crowe's ingenuity eventually rubbed off on Stephen Fleming, a globally praised skipper despite his auspicious beginnings. The baton was then collected and bludgeoned forward by McCullum, as subtle as blunt force trauma even after shearing off his frosted tips. From fledgling roots, the pair led improved squads to all corners, even collecting major silverware in Nairobi, of all places.

Still, despite the emergence of Heath Davis, Adam Parore, Craig McMillan, Jesse Ryder, Darryl Tuffey and Ross Taylor under their watch, whether dressed in black or white, these New Zealand sides still took on a largely caucasian hue.

As Kane Williamson raised the World Test Championship mace into the fading Southhampton sunlight in June of 2021, a new dawn had been raised by a refreshed cast. Scan the scene beside the bearded maestro, and you will find another 14 men in black caps, many of whom have traversed alternative avenues to be standing there.

In Ajaz Patel, BJ Watling, Colin de Grandhomme, Devon Conway and Neil Wagner, a third of this championship collective have international roots, with each originally out of Africa or born in what was then Bombay. In Trent Boult, not only did Williamson have an elite seamer to call on, New Zealand had representation from its First Nations people, with Boult a proud descendent of Tahu Pōtiki.

Moments before the champagne corks hit the dressing room roof, the final brushstrokes of a full-circle scene were completed at centre wicket. Poetically, it would be two of Martin Crowe's most successful mentees that would ring in the new world order, with Taylor clipping the winning runs to cow corner as Williamson grinned reservedly at the other end.

With victory and the adjoining celebration, it became clear that while the All Blacks have often dominated the back page and the water cooler, cricket means something to this multicultural nation. A fact that the Blackcaps have never spruiked as an abnormality at any stage. They are simply a microcosmic representation of their country as a whole. More than a quarter of contemporary Kiwis began life somewhere else, after all.

It has been said that you can't be what you can't see. So for Kiwis of any persuasion, orientation or generation, there is likely someone like you out in the centre these days. Pākehā, Māori or from further afield.

Australia v New Zealand - ICC Men's T20 World Cup
SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA - OCTOBER 22: Glenn Phillips of New Zealand celebrates with team mates after catching Marcus Stoinis of Australia off a delivery by Mitchell Santner of New Zealand during the ICC Men's T20 World Cup match between Australia and New Zealand at Sydney Cricket Ground on October 22, 2022 in Sydney, Australia. (Photo by Mark Kolbe/Getty Images)

Off the back of this generational rise born of open arms and minds, from Whangārei to Invercargill, the foundations of the game have set. In the wake of attendances reaching their acme of late, statistics from last year state that more New Zealanders are donning the pads and playing the game than ever before. This includes a 12 per cent spike in female participation.

Though their last three attempts at global short-form success have ended at the final hurdle - the middle of which severed heartstrings that may never mend - this generation of Kiwi cricketers has enforced true change, all the while tipping their ferned lids to their forefathers.

Having ascended the rankings and bowed without bowing out, these former easybeats have garnered a reputation that a younger version of myself craved. They are respected. If a semi-final loss against Pakistan is to arise on Wednesday, recent history has shown that Williamson's group can shrug off the dismay.

And with interest levels piqued, genuine depth available and the next generation of new-New Zealanders in Glenn Phillips and Mark Chapman already playing a role, the plucky 'good guys' of world cricket are likely to be back now that their pan contains more than just flash. Like Williamson at the crease, the moment no longer appears too large for the Blackcaps. Their mana is clear. Their patience is proven.

Selfishly, as someone that lives just four stops from the MCG, and has done the hard yards from the couch for many a summer, I would love to see mine rewarded with a fairytale. Lord knows the men in black are owed a few more of these.