Then that fateful night before the fifth Test at The Oval, when Steve Waugh called Slats into his room to give him the news: he wouldn’t be playing. For one night, the elevation of Justin Langer seemed a specious way of keeping a favoured apostle in the side. He’d become that most ephemeral of cricketing creatures: the makeshift opener. At the end of the next day, Matthew Hayden had that partner he could “feed off”.

It was the last piece of the puzzle, so obvious in retrospect, as this team’s numbers suddenly jumped into sequence. Martyn stayed and Langer was back. Shunned, then exalted, then shelved, he’d been reconstituted. His 102 shouldn’t have surprised. On a few notable occasions as number three, he took block soon after the start of the innings and handled the new ball with authority. His retirement, hurt, shouldn’t have surprised, either. He gets hit so often no matter where he is on the field that he’s even been permanently removed from the bat-pad position. “A couple of hits have been pretty traumatic.” he says. “But hopefully my reflexes at the crease are pretty good. The more you ask me about it, the more nervous I’m getting!” I know our pluckiest cricketer is kidding.

He’s been battered, never bowed.

Five Tests later, the phrase “Langer and Hayden” evoked dread. They’d joyously plundered the best England, New Zealand and South Africa had to offer. As though they’d been acquainted from birth, they understood each other implicitly. More platitudes-to-live-by were consigned to disuse: take the shine off the ball. Stay in. Score with care. Lay foundations. Protect your team mates; they have no idea of the new ball’s vagaries. Rather it was the uncomplicated spirit of George Hedley which prevailed, who said, “I cannot accept that an opening batsman should not be a shot-player. The new ball goes to the fence much easier.”

When he scored 123 off 121 balls at Bellerive, against the Kiwis in 2001-2, racing to 50 while Hayden was still on one, it was our first “what the…?” experience of the man who’d also been stereotyped: “never to dominate an attack.”

So quickly has this pair established itself as one of the greats, it would be fair to assume it’s all downhill from here. That seems okay with them. Their security doesn’t depend on the might of their individual parts, but their ability to operate as a sum. Hayden is now officially the world’s number one batsman, but believes he wouldn’t be there if not for Langer. “Our partnership has taken my own game to a different level, because we love batting together; we love being successful together. We thrive on each other’s company out in the middle. It’s been the most successful period in both our careers, let’s face it.” Independently of their partnership, it’s true that their batting has been outstanding. Langer has scored a fifty and a hundred without Hayden close by, and given his team numerous fast starts. Hayden has gone on to get four hundreds and three fifties after his mate has departed. Their averages since they’ve come together have greatly exceeded their career averages (Hayden: 2236 runs 104.47. Career: 58.8. Langer: 1113 runs at 53.70. Career: 43.11)

To neither, though, does “success” mean “runs”, because their equation includes more than cricket. Their mutual fascination with the world beyond enriches their understanding at the wicket and their relationships with colleagues and fans. Hayden became renowned during the Indian tour for arising before his team mates to take in the daybreak rituals of the locals.