Brendon McCullum will have missed the opening 54 matches of the County Championship—43% of the first-class season—by the time he finally sets foot in England. 
Is anyone still talking about Brendon McCullum? You know, Baz. It was a phenomenon. Politicians uttered “Bazball” in Parliament. It likely made its way into the dictionary as one of those zeitgeist-tinged terms, like “rofl.” Distinctive features? A hat, a jawline, a certain stance, and sports socks provocatively draped over a fancy balcony. But never mind all that—has anyone actually laid eyes on him lately?
If you’re in England or Wales, the answer is probably no. McCullum is currently not in the country. He won’t return until May 24, despite being the head coach of an England cricket team that just suffered a crushing Ashes defeat, and despite the fact that the English cricket season is now underway.
Instead, McCullum has chosen this exact moment to be absent, skipping the first 54 County Championship matches—nearly half the first-class season. He’ll only return for a brief stint in Loughborough before the first Test against New Zealand in June.
By now, we’re so accustomed to cool guys doing cool things that this seems fine, normal, even admirable. Slack has been internalized; it almost feels like a point of pride. We’re all no-socks, gentleman-amateur alpha dogs now. But let’s not kid ourselves. This is still jaw-dropping behavior.
On the surface, it’s outrageously negligent. International sport is about energizing a system. Leadership is real. A £2-million-a-year salary is real. In almost any other job, you’d be fired for this. Skipping nearly half the season? No, Thomas Tuchel, that’s not the deal.
Yet, somehow, this is utterly gripping—even weirdly cool. In an era of mediocrity and compromise, you have to admire the sheer audacity of McCullum’s no-show. This is the ultimate sporting “screw you all.”
My own view of McCullum has come full circle. 
I adored him at first, like everyone did. His team did outrageous things on flat pitches. Best of all, this wasn’t achieved through boring details, but through magic and mind tricks—some indefinable quality of possessing an indefinable quality.
McCullum seemed like a vanishing breed—a Man of Destiny. He sat silently on balconies, brooded in a vest. You never saw him doing the dishes or organizing his receipts. That’s because he was a Man of Destiny chasing a vision—perhaps not clear, perhaps not easily defined, but definitely a vision.
Then came the fall. Declining results. Poor planning. A lack of detail. The England team is routinely described as “improved,” but almost everything that matters has gotten worse. That’s fine. We’ll always have the great times. Sport is about cycles. What we have here is a charismatic big-picture guy with one idea.
And now he’s back, baby! McCullum 3.0 already feels like something new. This guy is incredible. He’s like water—you just can’t lay a glove on him. Refusing to be in the country while the team struggles? That’s straight out of *Seinfeld*—George Costanza’s playbook: look annoyed, and everyone thinks you’re essential.