No Mouthguard: Black versus gold; Martin Crowe or Ross Taylor; and welcome back Tiger

Pre-match entertainment One-day cricket. Australia versus New Zealand. Yellow against Black (or blue, or beige). Big brother against little brother. Baddies against Goodies (depending on your perspective). While we like to chip away at our blowfly buzzed brethren, I suggest we thank them instead. Nothing fires Kiwis up like an Anzac clash, in whatever sport. And Aussies are so hard nosed, so competitive, so downright abrasive, that it actually means something to beat them. And it means something to lose to them as well. For a while even playing cricket against us was beneath them. The first test against Australia across the ditch came within my lifetime. Not long after that, they were so afraid of losing to us at home they bowled underarm. Some Aussie batsmen of that era still have nightmares that Richard Hadlee is coming after them, I’d venture. But look at the Aussies that are household names here - Warne, Lillee, Thomson, Marsh, Border, Waugh, Boon, Clarke, Johnson, Chappell, Gilchrist, Warner, McGrath, Ponting - Bradman and Benaud as well, and they never even played against New Zealand. Could it be that playing the likes of them - or even just seeing them play others on TV - has done more to improve our cricket, than anything else. Certainly our test record has improved since we were deemed worthy of setting foot in the Lucky Country. My average is bigger than yours A sports news desk can be a little like the bar in the TV series Cheers, where debates rage about who was the greatest of all time; so much so that Stuff.co.nz is planning a summer series based on who is the best across a range of sports. What defines greatness? Do statistics tell the whole story? Looking at the cricketing case of Martin Crowe versus Ross Taylor, I’d say absolutely not. Yet could I be wrong, an older sports fan casting a golden glow on a past generation. When our office youngster offered his opinion that Taylor was better than Crowe, he was faced with incredulous stares and tut-tut head-shaking. But look at the test stats - Taylor has played one more test than Crowe, has scored nearly 400 runs more than his mentor, has an average of 46.70 (to Crowe’s 45.36), a top score just nine runs below Crowe’s 299, and just one fewer century (16 to 17). Oldies argued Crowe played on poorer pitches, against better opposition, and was badly hampered by a knee injury toward the end of his career. But there’s extras to add to this scoreboard. Crowe was touted as the best batsman in the world, when in his pomp. Cricket writer Peter Roebuck once said Crowe could "soar like an eagle", while Taylor never has been seen in that light. He's had the label "good, not great" stuck on his bat. In form, Crowe was imperious, elegant, majestic. On defence, he was stubborn, stolid, and gritty. That’s not to say Taylor lacks those qualities, just that Crowe oozed them from every pore. He owned it. A New Zealand fast bowler (Danny Morrison, I recall) once told me he preferred to bowl to Brian Lara than Sachin Tendulkar, as Lara offered you a chance and Tendulkar offered nothing. Both were magnificent batsmen, yet in his view the Indian great was superior to the West Indian version. And while the debate is about batting, surely greatness is more than just willow wielding. Crowe reshaped the way the one-day game was played, when at the 1992 World Cup he had Mark Greatbatch open the batting in belligerent fashion, and spinner Dipak Patel open the bowling with guile and deception. [Photo: PHOTOSPORT] He thought up Cricket Max, which has morphed into Twenty20. Maybe Taylor will earn the mantle of the greatest when he retires, and we have better perspective on his feats. Watching on from cricketing heaven Crowe wouldn’t mind if he did -- he texted his congratulations to Taylor when he last year claimed his record of the highest test score by a Kiwi in a test in Australia. Keep an eye out for the Stuff summer series, and voice your own opinion. It could be those from another era will ask "what about Martin Donnelly?" Take me out to the ball game Now to the third in my songs about sport, with 3rd Base, Dodger Stadium, by ace American slide guitarist and music archivist Ry Cooder. Strictly speaking, it’s not about baseball, but the destruction in 1952 of a Spanish-Mexican community to build a stadium for the LA Dodgers. Cooder tells the story of Chavez Ravine through songs sung in Spanish and English, the woes of 300 poor local families displaced to make way for a wealthy baseball team imported from New York. Descendents of those families refuse to go to Dodger Stadium, saying it would be like "dancing on a grave". Here are some of the lyrics to the beautiful [3rd Base, Dodger Stadium]. 2nd base, right over there. I see grandma in her rocking chair. Watching linens flapping in the breeze, and all the fellows choosing up their teams. Hand over hand on that Louisville. Crowning the top, king of the hill. Mound to home, sixty feet. Baseball been very good to me. And if you want to know where a local boy like me is coming from: 3rd base, Dodger Stadium. 3rd base, Dodger Stadium. If you’d like to know more about Chavez Ravine, [look at this documentary]. Tiger Woods is back prowling the world's best golf courses. Photo: GETTY IMAGES. Tiger is back Here’s hoping Tiger Woods really is back. There was more than a top incisor on show at the [Hero World Challenge]to show he is on the way. For the sake of golf, for the sake of golf fans, let’s hope it’s not a false dawn. He is something special, one of those players who makes things happen, who makes sport exciting, who draws the crowds, who has that special charisma. Even the way Tiger walks has class. His expressions, his cursing, his swing, his clothes. He just oozes "look at me, I’m awesome". And so he was. I for one hope the world No 898 of last week can again be No 1. As well, there’s the matter of race. He’s a success in a rich white man’s world, and a beacon of hope to those not blessed with that privilege. Ok, he’s demonstrated personal flaws. He’s been dumped by women he said he loved, and picked up by cocktail waitresses. Many top sportsmen have a knack of being utterly brilliant at one thing, and not so good at life. Lewis Hamilton is a one man guy, and stuff everyone else. He is also a helmet-wearing Formula 1 promoting machine. Without him there is risk of a charisma chasm. Cricketer Kevin Pietersen, you mightn’t want to live with him, or be in a team with him, but you’d get excited when he came into bat. Jesse Ryder and Brendon McCullum had that certain something, on the field and off it. They made things happen. For every charming Roger Federer you get a fiery John McEnroe. You have a cocky Cristiano Ronaldo, offset by a modest Pele. Naughty and nice. Tiger is the present golf needs for Christmas. All over bar the shouting As mentioned last week, Mr and Ms Honest Norks are glamping the Abel Tasman track this week. Honest Norks doesn’t often do the great outdoors, so wish him luck (or not, depending on you attitude). Unfortunately for Mr and Mrs Honest Norks, sunshine has been a luxury seldom seen this week. Photo: HELEN GOWLAND. Rivers, tides, slippery track, blisters, sunburn allowing, I will be back next Thursday. Enjoy. P.S. Go Joseph Parker. Don't tell them this, but Parker and Andy Ruiz seem too nice to be boxers. After a diet of brash arrogance fed through the decades, my mental radar about what a boxer is supposed to behave like has been knocked askew. Seeing them sitting side by side on Seven Sharp like best buddies was all a bit weird, in that context. Then again what they FIGHT like is the important thing. Did a friend forward this to you? [Sign up to get Honest Norks in your inbox] [Unsubscribe] [Newsletter Settings] [Privacy Policy] [Advertise] [Feedback]