Everyone knows the legend of Sir Colin Meads. His uncompromising toughness; the way he ran with the ball in one hand well before any other big man could. Not everyone, though, knows he knitted, or was once startled by the sight of blood.
Death tends to elevate those who pass to higher standing. There is, clearly, no need for that with Meads. Instead, his funeral in many ways humanised a figure that long commanded god-like status.
The legend of Meads, New Zealand rugby's player of the century, will only continue to grow now he has been laid to rest.
But on Monday in Te Kuiti, he was remembered fondly in his hometown as a simple farming man who achieved great things, on and off the field.
Meads never tried to be something he was not. He was no frills; rough around the edges. He had no time for ego and loved a beer. He said things that weren't politically correct but nobody expected him to change.
For those reasons and much more, over 2000 people filled the Les Munro Centre and surrounding marquee to farewell Pinetree in a two-hour service. As the tributes and memories flowed so, too, did goosebumps, emotions and warm laughter from dignitaries in suits through to kids in Swanndri and gumboots. They came from far and wide to share in this occasion.
Meads locked the All Blacks scrum 11 times with brother Stan, and his second-row mate did a fine job of revealing a contrasting side to his stoic elder sibling.
Bed-ridden for two months with a bout of rheumatic fever, Stan said Colin took to knitting; crafting a scarf and balaclava to pass time before the doctor finally allowed him to stand tall again.
Meads also fainted at the sight of blood until the age of 15.
"He thought 'if I play rugby like this I'm not going to get picked for much' so he got his act together."
From fencing to shearing to claiming lineout ball, Meads was ferociously competitive in everything he did. He loved his dogs and was stubborn - Stan never could win an argument. But he had a big heart, and always retained his sense of humour.
Near the end Stan visited Colin at home and asked him how he was doing.
Meads replied: "Well, Snow, I've got pancreatic cancer, I've got spots on my liver, I've got spots on my lungs, I've got diabetes but apart from that I'm bloody good."
Meads harked back to a different era; a time when hydration was all about post-match.
"We didn't have to wait until we'd had half a gallon of water," Sir Brian Lochore, Meads' captain, said. "That only made beer a little bit weaker. We enjoyed ourselves late into the night and Sundays were not good but we put ourselves through hell to get ready for a test."
Meads and Lochore first went to the gym 1995 on an All Blacks tour where they were both managers.
"There was that much Lycra it was unbelievable. We realised we should have been there 40 years ago."
Meads was superstitious. He would get up early before every test and devour a steak. He would then take a double at the TAB; have mashed potatoes and poached eggs for lunch and always, when not captain, run out last on to the field.
When Meads was wrongly, as Lochore put it, sent off in a test against Scotland at Murrayfield in 1967, Bill Davis had gone back into the shed to get something and, therefore, emerged after Meads.
Lochore, a Wairarapa Bush legend in his own right, recognised Meads as a shining light for Heartland rugby, and what can be achieved from small towns. In his view, no one has done more for the game.
"I've lost a friend and New Zealand has lost an icon."
With each speaker came different perspective, and insight. Shelley Mitchell, youngest daughter and one of Meads' five children, remains baffled that her father hitchhiked to an All Blacks test at Eden Park in 1968 alongside Earle Kirton.
Meads and wife Verna, married for 59 years, also have 14 grandchildren. Meads would leave Werther's Originals out as treats. He once rang a radio station and told them simply it was Pinetree to win his granddaughters Justin Bieber tickets.
The Meads family grew accustomed to sharing him with the world.
"He was always in a hurry. He had to get his jobs done fast because he had a commitment to get to," Mitchell said. "The outpouring of emotion that has come back shows he has touched so many hearts."
Nat King Cole's Unforgettable seemed a fitting tune as a photo tribute of Meads concluded the final goodbye to the great man.
It ended with a message from Meads: "Righto... I'm off."