When I went to sleep yesterday I was the man who would lead the South African national team into the semi-finals of the 2015 Cricket World Cup.
But when I woke up this morning I was in Steve Hofmeyr’s trailer, buried under a family-sized sack of blondes.
My name is AB de Villiers. I was – I am – the captain of the Proteas. This is my story
I don’t expect you to believe me. To you I’m ‘just’ AB the Christian rock star: five SAMA awards, four US tours, three platinum albums, two dead band members and one medieval hangover that I’m just coming to terms with now.
But I need you to understand, none of this feels real to me. I don’t remember a single one of the rock stadiums I’ve supposedly played at, but I can tell you what the grass smells like at Centurion.
I don’t know how to get my life back, but if there’s one man who might know what’s going on, if there’s one person who can help me, it’s the man leading the team – my team – instead of me. So I make the call.
It takes forever for him to pick up the phone. Each ring is a wave crashing slowly on a distant shore. I want to marshal my anger but my head might explode and cover the prone blondes with my alcohol-soaked brains. Finally, his voice across the surf: “Yup?”
“Kevin”, I croak. “We need to meet.”
TO BE CONTINUED