See I've already waited too long, and all my hope is gone...

Today, Christopher Lance Cairns plays his final match for New Zealand.
It is truly a sad day for New Zealand, indeed, world cricket.
Ah, Chris.
One of my earliest objects of affection, I remember the days when you were a tall skinny lad playing for Canterbury. Before anyone had ever heard of Vettori, Styris, Fleming, the Marshall twins. Back in the day when the name Jeremy Coney still meant something, when Martin and Jeff Crowe were more famous than their idiot cousin, when Ian Botham was still in the news for being a mulleted drunken twat, and when the great Imran Khan reigned supreme.
How we cheered when you made the New Zealand team, how we giggled when we heard all the gossip about you and certain members of the women's cricket team because let's face it Chris, Christchurch is a small town.
We put on a brave face when you played the English summer for Nottinghamshire, but really we were a little hurt. How we cried with you when your sister died, and how we applauded you for dedicating a kick-arse season to her memory on the Friday night sports show with Clint Brown c1993.
Ah, Chris. The day you got married, a thousand hearts across Aotearoa broke a little bit, and then a year later they were repaired when you got divorced.
We cheered with you when your babies were born, and bought up the delicious fudge you and your father the legendary Excalibur created.
We will always love how you can make Shane Warne your bitch.
We will miss how you smack seven shades of shit out of that wee leather ball, send it out of the park and make lesser men scratch their heads in wonder.
We will always love how you do it with such style and grace, and make us proud.
And most of all, we will never forget how you participated with such gusto, in the valiant campaign to Bring Back the Beige.
You had some big shoes to fill, and you did us proud.

Three cheers.