This one rocked me.
It's taking some time to come to terms with.
Colin Meads was super human. Immortal.
Pinetree.
If Colin Meads can die, then I can too, and that's a sobering thought.
I knew him well. We all did. Like my mother, from the King Country. We grew up watching him. Shared the triumphs. Chests puffed out - nobody can beat the All Blacks!
Images: carrying the ball in one hand, locking the scrum for New Zealand with his brother Stanley, playing a test match with a broken arm.
From then via farming adverts for hay bale twine, and fence posts, he epitomised the ruggedly brawny, quietly spoken, humble, words-are-cheap-deeds-are-dear New Zealand male we aspired to be.
And now, number 583's gone and gone too is some of our youth and our invincibility.
Remember him this way:
No comments:
Post a Comment