Every love story has a beginning, and so does every rivalry. But what if both are born at the same time, in the same place, on the same turf, and in front of the same witnesses? Now, that’s a tale for the ages—one that echoes through generations, intensifies over decades, and becomes a battle of pride, skill, and legacy.
So, let’s rewind to the very beginning. It was the Australian summer of 1985, the same year Bryan Adams released a song about another summer that would go on to become an anthem of nostalgia. Indian cricket, too, was transitioning—from the era of transistors and short-wave static to the vibrancy of color television. The world suddenly seemed as colorful as the title of a Hrishikesh Mukherjee film released just a few months prior.
The occasion? The World Championship of Cricket, a grand tournament featuring the seven biggest teams, held in the iconic venues of the Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG) and the Sydney Cricket Ground (SCG). The tournament wasn’t just about cricket; it was a spectacle—where Indians, for the first time, saw their heroes donning sky-blue jerseys, battling under floodlights, and wielding white cricket balls.
For Indian fans, it was their first glimpse of the Men in Blue, playing on picturesque grounds adorned with flocks of seagulls and serenaded by the crisp commentary of Richie Benaud. But the colored clothing, the white balls, and the enthralling TV visuals weren’t the only things that made this tournament special. Something else—something far more enduring—was taking shape.
To the astonishment of the cricketing world, India, a team still basking in the afterglow of their 1983 World Cup triumph, emerged as the Wizards of Oz. Every morning, back in India, fans woke up to see their bowlers—often considered workhorses rather than magicians—decimating opponents with clinical precision. Kapil Dev, Roger Binny, and Madan Lal—the same Madan Lal whom Sir Vivian Richards once joked about, saying he had never seen a spinner with such a long run-up—were ruling the roost.
Pakistan was bundled out for 183. England crumbled for 149. Australia, the hosts, collapsed for 163. Indian bowlers were doing to batting line-ups what Mike Tyson, in his prime, was doing to his opponents in the boxing ring—knocking them out before they even realized what hit them.
Then came the semifinals.
A NEW RIVALRY TAKES BIRTH
While India was flying high, New Zealand had been operating under the radar, in a manner befitting their understated but deadly nature. The Kiwis had quietly made their way into the semifinals, and they weren’t there to be mere spectators. Unlike the other teams that had been steamrolled by India’s pace battery, New Zealand stood their ground.
Batting first, they became the only team to cross the 200-run mark against India in the tournament, showing that they weren’t intimidated. They didn’t just survive; they thrived, playing out the full 50 overs, a feat no other team had managed against India. Then, when India came out to bat, the Kiwis struck early, reducing them to 46/1 by the 20th over, forcing the defending champions into a corner.
Kapil Dev’s brilliance bailed India out, and they eventually won the match—and later, the championship—but something had changed. A seed had been sown. A rivalry had been born, one that would haunt India on the biggest stages for decades to come.
THE CAIRNS CONNECTION
The 1985 semi-final demands a closer look for two key reasons. First, John Reid—a name we’ll return to later. Second, Lance Cairns, whose story proves that revenge can sometimes be a family affair.
One of the defining images of that game was the ball flying off Lance Cairns’ bat as he tried to single-handedly rescue New Zealand. K. Srikkanth, the man who would later open India’s innings in the final, dropped him twice before finally holding onto a catch on the penultimate ball of the innings. Cairns had blasted a quick 39 off just 29 balls, nearly scripting a late heist, but it wasn’t enough. New Zealand fell short, and Cairns walked off the field, defeated but unbowed.
Fifteen years later, in the 2000 Champions Trophy final, his son, Chris Cairns, would finish what his father couldn’t. Facing India, New Zealand found themselves on the brink once again. This time, Chris stood firm, scoring a match-winning century and snatching victory from India’s grasp. The Cairns family had settled the score.
A NEMESIS IN ICC TOURNAMENTS
Since that fateful day in 1985, New Zealand has emerged as one of India’s greatest adversaries on the world stage—arguably a more consistent thorn in the side than even Pakistan, England, or South Africa.
They have beaten India in a World Cup semi-final (2019), a Champions Trophy final (2000), and, most heartbreakingly, in the final of the inaugural World Test Championship. In ODI World Cups, the head-to-head record stands at 5-5. In T20 World Cups, India has managed to defeat them only once. In Test Championships, India has beaten them just once.
While India might see Pakistan as their traditional rivals, when it comes to ICC events, it’s the Men in Black who have often played the role of the ultimate roadblock.
THE SECRET BEHIND NEW ZEALAND'S SUCCESS
New Zealand is a nation of just 5.2 million people. Cricket isn’t even its primary sport—rugby holds that honor. They don’t have a lucrative premier league to hone their talent. Until 2002, their cricketers weren’t even full-time professionals. And yet, they have consistently produced world-class players who have defied the odds.
It’s a tradition that began with John Reid—though not the 1985 version. Long before John F. Reid scored a valiant 55 against India, another John R. Reid had already etched his name in cricket’s history books.
John Richard Reid, who played in the 1950s and 60s, was a true all-rounder—a batsman with devastating strokeplay, a bowler with lethal off-breaks and bouncers, and even an occasional wicketkeeper. Off the cricket field, he was a champion swimmer and track athlete, as well as a formidable rugby player. When he became New Zealand’s captain, he single-handedly led them to their first three Test victories, laying the foundation for a team that would always punch above its weight.
From then on, the tradition of New Zealand cricket has been simple—one man’s brilliance would always be another team’s nightmare. Richard Hadlee, Martin Crowe, Stephen Fleming, Shane Bond, Daniel Vettori, Ross Taylor, Brendon McCullum, and Kane Williamson have all carried that legacy forward, shaping New Zealand into a cricketing powerhouse.
THE KIWI WAY
New Zealand doesn’t just play cricket; they redefine it.
In the 1992 World Cup, captain Martin Crowe revolutionized one-day cricket with his bold strategies—sending Mark Greatbatch to attack in the first ten overs and using a spinner, Dipak Patel, to open the bowling. The strategy stunned opponents, and when Australia fell to them in the group stages, Allan Border famously called it "a bolt from the blue."
Much later, the world would hail "Bazball" as a new approach to Test cricket. But long before Brendon McCullum’s philosophy gained a name, New Zealand had been playing aggressive, fearless cricket.
To borrow from Winston Churchill:
And every time they do, India knows—this is a rivalry like no other.
