New Zealand's Devon Conway celebrates scoring a century during the first day of the Test match between England and New Zealand at Lord's. Photo / AP
New Zealand's Devon Conway celebrates scoring a century during the first day of the Test match between England and New Zealand at Lord's. Photo / AP
How did New Zealand lure him?
How did South Africa not see what was right in front of them?
How did a debutant make batting on the first morning of his first test look so familiar?
How did he never once give the impression he was the junior partner whilebatting with experienced campaigners like Tom Latham, Kane Williamson, Ross Taylor and Henry Nicholls?
How did he breeze through the 90s when more established players before him have gone weak-kneed at the prospect of getting on the Lord's honours board?
How did he resist the temptation, once he flicked regally behind square to bring up three figures, to embark on one of the fist-pumping, badge-kissing celebrations that so often mark the milestone?
Some questions are easier to answer than others but the bald facts are these: Devon Conway took to test cricket in the way all New Zealand fans dreamed and maybe even suspected he would, scoring 136 not out on the first day of the first test at Lord's.
New Zealand's Devon Conway plays a shot off the bowling of England's Stuart Broad during the first day of the Test match between England and New Zealand at Lord's. Photo / AP
He did it with a well-oiled technique allied to a demeanour that stated quietly but confidently, "I belong".
He did it also with an array of shots to most points on the ground. He scored evenly in front of square and behind. He scored evenly on the on and off sides.
Plenty of others have scored centuries on debut and have, once their strengths and weaknesses had been analysed and disseminated among the best bowlers in the world, found the going that much harder.
Conway, however, looks built to last. At 29 years old and with more than 100 first-class matches under his belt, he knows his game and, more importantly, trusts it.
His introduction to international white-ball cricket over the New Zealand summer was spectacular, but somehow this was better.
The surrounds, the occasion and the quality of the attack could have combined to have a claustrophobic effect but from the moment he drove Stuart Broad through the covers off the eighth ball he faced, he looked free of all burdens.
There was freedom, too, in 11-ball jaunt through the 90s, which ended with perhaps his most extravagant shot of the day: a wrist-snapping flick behind square that raced the boundary before the camera could find it.
The way he celebrated, straight out of the Williamson school of cool detachment, suggested a man who had done nothing out of the ordinary.
If that is indeed what he was thinking, it would have been one of the few things he got wrong all day.
