What a fantastic tournament - and what a few minutes we endured together at the end. Every one of us feeling like we were out there on the pitch; making every ball carry, feeling every hit, and willing them on, praying for the final whistle.
I don't know if it was prayer, preparation or Richie that got us there in the end, but it doesn't matter. Job done, ghosts laid to rest ... and champions of the rugby world. The World Cup's grand finale gave us more than a few grey hairs, although now it's over, that worry has given way to a peculiar mixture of delight, satisfaction, relief and maybe a little sadness that it's all over.
Above all, perhaps, pride. Set the result aside for a moment. The success of the Rugby World Cup, of any major international sporting event, comes down to the ability not only to host the event with good logistics and organisation but also to celebrate the occasion with genuine passion - to revel in it and to welcome all-comers to their homeland to join the party.
We've had a tough year in New Zealand but, when it came down to the tournament, we delivered on all fronts. Despite the tragedies of Christchurch and Pike River, we faced and welcomed the world together.
No silly North vs South nonsense, no bitching about the team or coach. One country, my country, fronting up the way only Kiwis can. It was bloody wonderful.
As for the final, those who say France were the better team on the night are a bit off-beam. But I'd agree they were a completely different outfit to the team that took the field against Tonga.
Why were we surprised? Above all others, the French blow hot and cold to an alarming, enchanting degree. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked which French team would be turning up, I'd have made a few bob. But we should have known they'd bring their A game for the final.
We should have known they'd come at us like Gallic banshees up front and try to stretch us out wide. Their kicking to the corners was great and they ran intelligent lines.
That said, both sides had excellent defences and I think that was what ruled during the match. Both tries were scored when each team made a rare defensive error but pretty much the whole game seemed to be played in the middle third of the pitch, neither side having the attacking incisiveness to break through solid, defensive lines. It was less firework display, more trench warfare, but it was compelling to watch.
In the end, it was a storyline none of us really considered - fourth-choice Stephen Donald stepping up to make the kick that delivered the fairytale ending. It was a great game, first-class theatre and, boy, was I glad when it was over.
Four years ago, we lost to France. This time round, perhaps under even more pressure, we closed them out. The difference? Mental strength, born of belief and faith. As a coach or a group of players, you can't just develop those things. You have to work hard over years to nurture them, to ingrain them into your team identity, so that when the moment comes, you can call on them. The long, hard campaign over the intervening four years saw the All Blacks learn some hard lessons and develop a mental strength.
As to the future, I think we have to retain Graham Henry in some way. He is too valuable to lose. I note he is saying he would at least talk to the RFU about helping England, so we need to move to secure his services. He is heading to the Northern Hemisphere soon with the Barbarians and we need to make sure he doesn't get his head turned with big promises from up there. Throughout the last four years, and in the last six weeks in particular, Henry has shown himself to be world-class.
So now that I've got my heart rate back to normal and we've got the trophy in the cabinet, it seems to me that this All Black team, for those six glorious weeks, became the perfect manifestation of all that is good with New Zealand. It showed the same character and dignity as the people it represents. It showed the power of togetherness. In adversity, it dug deep. It showed how one small country can take on the world. And above all, it showed, brilliantly, that oldest of Kiwi traits - fronting up and winning. Bloody wonderful.