Richie McCaw bowed out of rugby this week with a remark that was as poignant as anything he has said or done in his long tenure of leadership.
He said that after the final whistle at Twickenham three weeks ago he took a long time to take his jersey off. When it came to the point, he did not want to do it.
Suddenly we all understood why he prevaricated about retirement when asked immediately after the World Cup final. It made for an anticlimax, if such a word can be applied to those euphoric hours after the match.
All rugby followers were poised for Richie's farewell along with five fellow veterans of the champion team.
We had spent much of the season farewelling him. Christchurch turned out for what had been billed as his final home game for the Crusaders.
The Eden Park crowd hailed his final appearance for the All Blacks on New Zealand soil. Each time Richie had acknowledged the gestures with what looked like a resigned wave. Could he really be having second thoughts when the moment arrived?
No. He was suffering just the withdrawal that anyone can experience when something so good has to end. Who would want to peel that black jersey off for the last time?
There were probably six men sitting around in their sweaty gear for a long time that night. They knew once they took it off they would never put it on again, not for fun or even in a private moment. It would not be right.
Respect for the jersey is a phrase All Blacks often use and rugby fans understand it. Many of them could not comfortably wear a replica jersey for the same reason. You have to deserve that garment.
Those who do are given a lifetime badge of honour ranking higher in the eyes of New Zealand than any royal order or title that Richie is still not sure he will accept.
To farewell two of the greatest in this exalted company this week is bittersweet. Jonah Lomu's early death deprives us of the most well-known New Zealander in the world.
No All Black is ever said to be greater than the team but, in many parts of the world, Jonah was probably better known. His image sold sportswear to people who scarcely knew the game he played.
Wherever rugby is played, they knew he was big in every way. He was feted at all the game's great occasions, most recently at the opening of the World Cup. Yet like all our greatest, like Richie, his fame left him unaffected.
We call them role models but they are more like our connection to high achievement. The fact they are so normal, natural and approachable gives us the vicarious thrill of being up there. It is hard to come down.