As Eoin Morgan lifted the World Cup to an explosion of fireworks and ticker tape, the sense of achievement finally hit home. Lord’s was still packed to the rafters, the party in full flow. Up on the podium, I was glowing with a mix of pride and relief – and crying with laughter, thanks to my old mate Mark Wood.
Woody was standing next to Jason Roy in the lineup – I was behind them – and for some reason grabbed a fistful of JRoy’s shirt at the big moment, pulling it up while we jumped around like lunatics. And so at the very pinnacle of his career, having helped reignite our entire campaign, JRoy was battling to stop his gut from hanging out. Not that anyone really knew what they were doing.
Everything was a blur from the moment Jos [Buttler] wiped out the stumps and we went haring around the outfield. I know we briefly returned to the dressing room before the trophy lift – a bottle of beer pretty much deleted in seconds – and I distinctly remember going back through the pavilion. It was absolute carnage in there, one of the poshest and most reserved places in world cricket transformed into a bit of a moshpit.
I remember seeing at least a couple of grown men in tears at what they’d just witnessed: England, world champions for the very first time. The players weren’t the only ones who’d been pushed through an emotional meat-grinder that day. Lord’s was still in warm sunshine, and while the stage was being prepared, we mingled with the New Zealand players on the outfield and watched the various other medals and awards get dished out.
Genuinely, I’m not sure there’s another team in world cricket – ourselves included – who would have been as sound as they were that day. They were flat, clearly, left pondering an obscure bit of small print and their second successive set of runners-up medals after losing to the Aussies in 2015. But Kane Williamson seemed to have a presence about him in the moment and his players were the same, offering their congratulations, sharing their pride at having been part of such a historic game, and at no point putting a dampener on our celebrations.
The World Cup trophy itself is a beauty and I had spent four years dreaming of getting my hands on it. Everyone got their chance in the end, with the lads embarking on a lap of honour with it after Morgs himself had hoisted it skywards, and one by one doing the same in front of our supporters. It was a flurry of selfies, champagne spray and lads jumping on each other – just perfect little moments that were totally spontaneous and will live for ever.
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