KEY POINTS:
If Irene van Dyk was an American basketballer of the male variety, she'd also be in the movies.
She'd drive a Buick when she felt like leaving a fleet of Chevs and Pontiacs in the driveway. And her name wouldn't just be on everyone's lips. It would also
be on everyone's shoes.
There would be Irene dolls and Irene would be a good $100 million away from the dole.
Irene would be big. Real big.
Netball star van Dyk is big news in this country, don't get me wrong.
But not as big as she could and should be.
Not since the days of cricket genius Richard Hadlee has one player stood so tall over a national team. The Silver Ferns' chances in this week's world championships rest heavily on her lofty shoulder.
With her, New Zealand are a decent chance. Without, and already you begin to hear Advance Australia Fair.
I'll admit here to having been in the rather small anti-van Dyk squad when the former South African netball star arrived in this country and became a Silver Fern.
Nothing against van Dyk, you understand, although it was also easy to understand why there were critics in her former homeland.
Instead, I disliked a system which casually allowed the pivotal player of one netball nation to become the pivotal player of another. If netball wanted to get real about being an international game, this sort of manoeuvre shouldn't be allowed.
But the older you get the more you realise that it's healthy to get over these things. Move on, fella, let it go.
And an about-face has been a doddle because it is easy to become fascinated and enchanted by this sportswoman from a unique mould who has really made New Zealand home.
A colleague sidled up the other day and announced that his two favourite sports stars in the country were Irene van Dyk and Warrior Steve Price.
Why? Because they got on with their job in a most uncomplicated and successful way, were most approachable, and never appeared to have a bad word to say about anybody.
It takes all sorts to make sport and, yes, for every Willie Mason you need an Irene van Dyk.
Who knows what makes this woman tick but whatever it is, it comes from a most unusual factory.
Her training regime is legendary and the results are plain to see. Yet while van Dyk shoots like a mercenary, she plays with a heart of gold.
At 190cm, van Dyk is hard to miss, and well worth the watch. And not only inside the white lines.
There's a good chance she will be the last player to make it on court because she's been chatting to someone on the sidelines.
As Malawi warmed up against New Zealand this week, van Dyk even trotted over to say hello to their players.
After being rested midway against Wales, she happily chatted to a woman holding a baby in the stands behind the Silver Ferns' bench, then quickly turned to cheer and urge her teammates on.
If she makes a mistake on court, arguably the world's greatest player may cringe like a humble schoolgirl, as if to say, "How stupid am I?" or, "How funny was that?"
She's the biggest target, quite literally, in world netball, yet she forever turns the other cheek. Players may elbow her, spit in her ear, call her names, and all she'll feel like saying is, "Hello, how are you?"
There's a rather charming innocence to Irene van Dyk which is all the more fascinating because you simply can't do what she does in sport unless you also have a ruthless streak.
The toughest defenders get no change when they search for an emotional weakness. Yet van Dyk burst into tears when talking with Herald netball writer Suzanne McFadden this week about how long it had been since she had been able to see her mother.
Van Dyk also happily shoulders the pressure that comes her way, while warning opponents that she's a long way from being a spent force.
When her game appeared to be on the slide this year, she calmly sought advice and simply went about fixing it up. There are no tantrums or sob stories, excuses or blame.
The good news for the Silver Ferns is that van Dyk appears at ease with her game. There are whispers that she might shoot from longer distances, but the world championships are hardly the place to tamper with a gem.
It will get tougher for van Dyk this week because she is sure to be double teamed in the big games.
With opponents sniffing blood, she has had to work harder to find her favourite shooting position right under the hoop.
Pressuring van Dyk is the obvious move, especially as the Silver Ferns have struggled to find support to match her prowess. It will be game on in the "stop van Dyk" campaign.
Time will tell if the likes of Jamaica and Australia can disrupt her. But upset van Dyk? No chance.
Cricket academy useless
Here is a nomination for the most useless institution of any sort in this country - the national cricket academy at Lincoln.
As for Ric Charlesworth, it's all very well for this Aussie to trundle around the world notching up power points on his CV, but he might have hung around a little longer than two years to check whether his schemes bore any fruit.
To be fair to Charlesworth, it was always clear he had no intention of making his role as New Zealand cricket's high performance manager his life's work. Which begs the question: should he have been employed in the first place? Not for my money.
But what kind of high performance person nips off with the job barely started? High performance is about courage, commitment, dedication - not about the next main chance. Some example he set.
No doubt Charlesworth will spend a couple of years revamping Indian hockey, before sorting out Russian rugby league or Nepalese snooker.
That's enough about Charlesworth.
What of the academy concept? It has been a long time since New Zealand cricket has been in such a disastrous state.
If the Aussies were about to tour, there would be a case for calling the games off to save cricket's reputation. Bangladesh loom as an interesting contest this season, while England will wipe us out at the current rate.
The Black Caps' bowling looks bad enough, especially with Shane Bond off to the casualty ward again. But the batting is an outrageous disaster.
Like a lot of NZ sports these days - and Graham Henry's World Cup All Black flops are in the vanguard here - there is too much thinking and not enough action.
We're a land of grand sporting schemes and degrading results.
Cricket academies are regarded with great scepticism around the world, so maybe we could provide the lead and put a bulldozer through ours, although no doubt we'd need five or six reports and a 12-day think-tank first.
Scrap the national cricket academy, I say, and let our budding cricketers learn their trade the hard and effective way, out in the middle. No hand holding. No backstops. No fanciful theories.
The real story of New Zealand cricket for now is the queue of supposedly talented rookies who turn out to be duds. It is a constantly recurring theme apart from the very odd exception.
All players need guidance and confidants but they are best served finding the mentors that suit them and thriving off unique relationships rather than believing in a national loony brigade.
Hard graft and self-help - that sorts out the men from the boys.
