From Langa to London. From Kevin to Kircubbin. This means more

This means more.

I’ve said and written that a few times over the last couple of weeks. This means more. A Liverpool catchphrase that has become a personal mantra and, judging by the Liverpool beanie Shukri Conrad was wearing in England, that of the Proteas.

For Conrad, Temba Bavuma, Aiden Markram, Kagiso Rabada and crew this meant more. More than just a title, more than a message to the Greedy Three and the International Care-Less Council that it’s not the size of the dog in the fight that counts, but the size of the fight in the dog – this was a validation of themselves as cricketers, people and South Africans, reward for belief, development, perseverance and staying true to the course.

Rabada put it best: “You look at the standout performances and there have been a number of them throughout the entire season. But it’s not only about that. It’s a fairly inexperienced team that got put together about a year ago. We haven’t even been playing with each other for a long time and we produce this – I don’t think that’s normal.”

It wasn’t normal. How is it normal to call South Africa a “smaller” cricket nation? What is that based on? Finances? Lack of Test cricket? Pulling power at international matches (Lord’s put paid to that nonsense)? Or is it purely just that ICC tournament record? The only thing small about this team is Bavuma’s height, but his and his team’s stature is Carlton Centre tall.

It wasn’t an abnormal performance, but it was a peculiarly South African way of winning. Underdogs, written off, “chokers”, a batting collapse, Lungi Ngidi’s redemption in the second Australian dig, Bavuma’s hobbling and his refusal to retire hurt, Wiaan Mulder’s vital and overlooked 27 in that second innings, that deviant and benign beige pitch and, then, as always, Rabada.

It remains one of the great shames and disgraces in international cricket that Rabada may not, in all likelihood, get the chance to notch up 500 wickets. South Africa play too few Tests, none for the rest of this year nor in the summer. If Cricket South Africa wanted to create one of the greatest marketing and sporting moments of all time, they should look to shoehorn in a Test match against someone – not just anyone, mind – at the Wanderers or Newlands so South Africans could properly celebrate this side in the manner they deserve. It won’t happen, sadly, but, still, we can dream.

Mike Atherton took the time to visit Langa on a visit to South Africa, walking from the Langa Cricket Club to the crossroads where Bavuma learnt how to play cricket and dream. “In Langa we had a four-way street,” he told Don McRae in the Guardian. “On the right-hand side of the street the tar wasn’t done so nicely and we used to call it Karachi because the ball would bounce funny. The other side was the MCG [Melbourne Cricket Ground] but my favourite section of the street was clean, and done up nicely, and we called it Lord’s because it just looked better. So, as a kid of 10, I already had that dream of playing at Lord’s.”

I dreamt of playing football for Northern Ireland as a kid on the streets outside our house in Newtownards and at the house of my Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Kieran McCarthy in Kircubbin. Kathleen was my late mother’s older sister, one of nine children. A large part of my childhood was spent in LoughEdge, their house on the shore of the Strangford Lough with my late brothers Brian and Barry, and our cousin Seán. It was the village where my mother was born.

Kathleen was very like my mum, Mary. She was straight up and down. Mostly down with a flat hand if you messed up. She was strong, Kieran’s rock for 58 years, 42 of those spent as a member of parliament. I loved those visits to Kircubbin. My memories of those days are vivid, the vest of times. On Saturday evening, after South Africa had dared to dream and we had dared to catch our breath, the news came through that Kathleen had passed on. It hit hard, but it put the day into context, how sport, so seemingly so trivial, can give us moments of light in uncertain, dark and troubling times.

I have spent this week going through old pictures and memories of my childhood. Remembering Kathleen made me smile for she had not lived a normal life, but a life less ordinary with an extraordinary legacy of love and moments of joy. So, too, has Bavuma, Conrad, Markram and Rabada.

From Langa to London, from Kevin to Kircubbin.

This means more.