Goodbye to the international summer of 2019... no one could tell a story quite like you

SAM MORSHEAD: This summer has lasted forever and passed in an instant, a furious collision of storylines and personalities creating in its fallout more public interest in our sport than this country has seen in a generation

Goodbye, then, international summer of 2019. 

Farewell, you rascal, as you slip off into the sunset, a picturebook of memories under one arm, the emotions of millions strapped to your back; the life-loving stranger with whom we bonded during our crazy summer holiday, gone now and never to be seen again.

Gone, sure, but never forgotten. 

Because we’ll always have that time together, those barmy jinks from Malahide to Manchester, those four-and-a-half months of mayhem.

In years to come we’ll talk about you in lucid and lustful ways. We’ll recount your every feature and flaw, and the stories you told, and the way in which you told them.

No one could spin a yarn quite like you - that mad mix of magic and poetry, the plot twists no one else would dare write, the relentlessness of it all, day after day after day. Where did you get the energy? Where did you find the will to go on?

^{Ben Stokes celebrates England's World Cup win}

This summer has lasted forever and passed in an instant, a furious collision of storylines and personalities creating in its fallout more public interest in our sport than this country has seen in a generation.

Cricket must realise that, and not risk all of what it knows on one turn of pitch and toss - or even 100 turns - as it tries to flip a single summer’s sentiments into tangible legacy. But that is a conversation for another day.

Because today, finally, provides an opportunity to draw breath, and take stock, and spend time with loved ones from whom the game has taken us over recent months.

It is a chance to make up for what we have missed in pursuit of cricketing euphoria.

Those dinners delayed by events at Lord’s and in Leeds; the hours of DIY lost to the batting gymnastics of Eoin Morgan and Jason Roy; the conversations interrupted by every Steven Smith milestone; and the groceries forgotten because of the urge to refresh the Headingley scorecard.

There have been friends who have come along for the ride, and expected us to explain to them the intricacies of a game, and watched in bemusement as we frantically shouted ‘Super Over’ at each other with absolutely no idea what it meant, like chickens in a burning hutch.

There have been estranged fans enticed back for one more sip of the kool aid.

There have been children left to believe that is just what happens in a World Cup final.

^{Jofra Archer after the World Cup final}

And then there was the rest of us - goggle-eyed and giddy, digesting every moment of brilliance and absurdity our cricketers have served up.

In truth, the English summer has been a story of individual heroics over collective dominance, and history has been rewritten along the way.

Smith gave us a glimpse into what it must have been like to watch the Don - a baffling genius operating uninhibited - and Ben Stokes allowed us all to move on from the nostalgic funk of Headingley ‘81.

Global cricket was introduced to the generational talent of Jofra Archer, whose arrival - far from splitting the England dressing room - brought a diverse squad closer together. And, whatever some might say, that diversity was, is and will always be integral to the success, profile and importance of this team; not just as sportsmen but as role models in society.

This has been a special summer, and to be close to its every undulation has been the privilege of a lifetime - a heartracing, dream-making, copy-changing, life-defining, sleep-sapping, jaw-dropping, euphoric, hypnotic, no-logic marathon of madness.

Go well, 2019. And don’t forget us.