Flogged. The Black Caps got their clock cleaned last night through a combination of Australian magnificence, their own misfortune, self-inflicted wounds, and average application.  

It was a disappointing evening at Eden Park, to say the least. There were periods of joy, the admirable way the Caps dragged the Ockers back after their outstanding start. The way Glenn Phillips attempted to haul his team back from the brink with the bat was laudable. Ben Sears showed huge promise with a lovely touch of barely repressed rage. Lockie Fergusson appeared to be bowling with another ball on a different pitch against another team.   

The rest of it was a mess. Not helped by Conway’s injury and subsequent removal, the batting order was a dog’s breakfast. The Santner Clause being needlessly elevated to waste precious power play deliveries and Boult inserted early to distract from the fact that he bowled like a bloke who only rolls his arm over from time to time for money in sub-optimal T20 festivals. Clown cricket does not prepare anyone for an Australian onslaught.   

The first T20 gave us all hope. The 2nd gave us a brutal reminder that Australian cricket is to us what New Zealand rugby is to them. From time to time there is a glimmer of hope, but for the most part, the Black Caps are Aussies whipping boys, as the Wallabies are to the All Blacks.  

Things may very well turn around tomorrow, but the horse has bolted and now our focus is the test series.   

I hope the application of the Black Caps to what will be an extraordinarily intense examination of their skills is considerably less frantic than the panic-driven chaos of last night.   

The fan in me will always back our men. The realist in me knows that it's going to take something quite miraculous to dislodge the significant mental blockage that has continued to clog any attempts NZ have of reversing the distressing narrative of loss that seemingly knows no end.  

That’ll do.