Storytellers are very special people, for they have the power to create images in the minds of those they are telling their stories to.
It's not like watching a film or a cartoon story because they deliver the images how they want to deliver the images so you don't get to create the characters yourself.
As a kid, when wrapped up in bed on a Sunday morning in winter, I and my siblings would listen to the children's hour where all sorts of tales from Little Flick the Fire Engine through to Sparky the Train and a couple of cowboy adventures would be rolled out.
There were no pictures, but we formed images of them in our heads.
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Books did emerge in time of course, and they presented such characters, but they weren't the pictures we'd decided upon so that was that.
Nowadays the shows are rolled out colourfully and spectacularly for the kids, and that's fine ... but I always liked the "see it in your mind" concept.
I'd tell our kids little stories every night and make up characters, and they would sometimes draw them, the way they figured they would look.
And so it came to pass that the other night I decided to listen to storytellers as I was tired, it was late and I figured that if they were getting paid to deliver tales delivered by radio waves then they must be pretty okay at it.
The All Blacks were set to take on Ireland and whoever won would stay for another fortnight of sushi and Sapporo and the loser would board an aircraft for home ... and as it transpired in this case to the land of four leaf clovers and Guinness.
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The match, like the Japan and South Africa clash quarter-final "you're in and you're out" round, was being played at a very late time for us here Down Under.
It kind of came down to a case of maybe getting up to watch the one-hour delayed coverage if I happened to be wake at that kick-off time.
In the end it came down to the "maybe" angle.
For I did emerge into consciousness and looked at the clock and thought "it's kick-off in three minutes".
So yes, I would catch the game, but not via satellite pictures and things. I fumbled for the tranny ... for when one is 800 years old (which is how it feels some mornings when the task of putting socks on arrives) it is far more agreeable to just lie there and listen to a couple of storytellers.
You can make up the images for yourself.
Like it was back around '64 or '65 when we'd stumble up to hall a couple of hours after midnight to the kitchen where Dad had the radio on to listen to the All Blacks playing in a very far away park.
He would wake us up gently with the words "rugby's about to start" and we'd wipe the crusts from our very young eyes.
And we would sit there with glasses of warm cocoa and listen to the occasionally wavering and scratching coverage and the voice of the commentator excitedly telling us that the All Blacks were delivering the goods.
"We've got the Poms by the short and curlies," Dad would cheerfully shout as he slapped the table with joy.
"What's a short and curly?" my brother would whisper to me.
"A little koala bear I think," was all my 9-year-old mind could come up with.
I have a very slight memory of hearing the voice of the legendary commentary chap Winston McCarthy when I was barely 5.
"Listen ... it's a goal."
So, with all that practice of listening to a test match rather than watching it, I took in the words of the commentating crew way up there in Tokyo ... as I had earlier when the ever-so-slightly biased English crew told the story of England versus Australia.
I could hear the crowd and with eyes closed could see them.
I was listening to a story about a challenge and I was strangely comfortable with that, despite knowing that it was being delivered with visuals available.
All I want to hear next weekend when we take on the pride of England in the semi is one of the crew taking respectful inspiration from Winston and declaring "listen ... it's a goal" after Richie Mo'Unga slots one.
And if that were to occur just on fulltime and puts us two points ahead then that's well worth turning the radio on for.
One can then roll over and sleep ever-so well.