The brightly coloured beacon stood out in a sea of black darkness.
It roared with a sense of anticipation, nervousness, and excitement. It sat there, shining as the centre of attention for 57million people.
Eden Park, the huge New Zealand stadium, was playing host to two great cricket teams in the ODI Cricket World Cup semifinal.
The two New Zealand batsmen, Grant Elliot and Daniel Vettori, stood huddled out in the middle of the stadium.
The war-hardened pitch beneath their feet told a thousand stories of the already nerve-racking encounter between the two countries.
Now came the best but also worst part - the final over.
The end of the game had somehow snuck up on them, and needing 11 runs, they knew it wouldn't be easy.
The two batsmen walked to either end of the worn pitch, ready to face the 11 nervous but confident South Africans that made up their chosen army.
He walked to the other end of the pitch, away from where the bowler would launch his attack.
Sweat rushed down his face as if someone on top of his head had just opened the floodgates.
It all came down to this, the last over.
And for Grant, not being at the other end meant he might not get a chance to win the game for his country.
His heart smashed at his chest, beating like a well-oiled machine, his mind raced around thinking about the many different scenario possibilities.
He closed it down, forcing out the huge exciting atmosphere that the international tourists brought to the table, and focused on one thing - getting back on strike.
Grant watched as the fuming pace bowler Dale Steyn came tearing down the pitch, a look of unmistakable determination written on his face.
Spit flew out of his mouth as he jumped and fired the ball out of his left arm.
It was at Daniel in a matter of seconds and he quickly glanced the ball off his bat into a gap.
‘‘Yes!''
Vettori's voice was instantly drowned out by the ever present shouting of the crowd, but Grant knew what he said. He ran faster than ever before, feet thumping on the pitch.
He was at the other end and Vettori called for a second, without thinking he ran it, back to the safety, yet somewhat jail, of the non-striking end.
He was starting to feel more and more uncertain about the whole thing.
His mind was like a broken record. It kept replaying the same message again and again, how could they win this thing?Now needing nine runs, Steyn flew down the pitch again with a sense of urgency.
The ball shot out of his gun-like arm, and found itself right at Vettori's feet. The perfect yorker.
Daniel blocked the ball pushing it back along the ground, right down the throat of the red-hot fury of the bowler.
Grant's uncertainty grew. Steyn came down the pitch again, now with more confidence than before; he pushed the ball down, away from Vettori.
Daniel reacted fast, he put his bat to the ball and using the pace of the bowler, Vettori had found a gap and beaten a fielder for four.
Grant felt hope surge through his veins. It could be done.
The next ball went down, Vettori left it and took off down the pitch.
Grant tore off towards him, diving as the crease-line of expectation and freedom came near. He looked down the pitch to see that Daniel had also made it.
They had a chance.
Grant breathed in and out, and although he tried to keep his breathing slow, the nervous feeling overtook him and he huffed and puffed like a freight train.
This is it, he told himself. Do or die.
He lined his feet up. Each scratching the worn line of middle stump.
He straightened himself, and looked down the pitch at the distorted picture of a fuming, sprinting South African.
The ball whipped down and suddenly the world froze.
There he was, staring at a ball that could be pummelled for six or pushed away for four.
However if he hit the four he would still need to score another run on the last ball.
His mind raced, as he thought of the consequences of his next actions.
I either lose or I win for my country. If I hit the four and then miss the next ball, then it's game over. However, if I hit a six, we are through to the final of the World Cup and I won't need another ball. But I could get caught out doing that.
The decision was obvious. He swung the mighty bat back and brought it forcefully on to the ball, sending it flying into the stadium for six.
A huge tingling sensation ran through his body as he ran forward and reached his arms into the air.
‘‘Superman!'' the commentators screamed into the microphone, and he sure felt like it.
-By Hunter Dale - Year 11, Taieri College
