The cameras flash incessantly, as he sits in the jacuzzi. Speechless. Quietly reflecting on yet another win. Four out of five. Eighty percent. It's not even half way through the year. Maybe someone could have stopped him. There were definite shades of resistance. If Parko had pinned that giant off-the-top in the semis? Or perhaps if he'd landed that punt? If only. If only. But it was not to be.

Mick might have done it. If he hadn't come unstuck on five of his eight rides in the final. If he'd brought his vertical attack to the game, got straight up, where he belongs: ten degrees past vertical. Just like he'd been doing the whole event. But the Lightning seemed unnerved, tentative. Sure, he'd had an extra half hour in the water. Long paddles were the order of the morning and it wasn't easy staying in position with the ceaseless cross-chop. One can only imagine the mental stress that was pushing him even closer to fatigue. The world champ had a lot on his shoulders. He's won here twice before and everyone was looking to him to put an end to Kelly's run and throw an over-sized spanner in the damn works.

But you can't fall off if you're looking to beat Slater. Especially when he's been casting his spells, invoking the eight-pointers in anything from ruler-straight six-footers to the disfigured Halflings that plagued the heats from mid-morning onward. Kelly made them look good; better than good. And Mick just wasn't up to speed. Literally.

Later, standing on the podium with a handsomely carved bust of Nelson Mandela under his arm, Kelly was asked how he felt about being compared to Michael Jordan, Lance Armstrong, and the rest of the sporting phenomena. Forever humble, he replied: "If someone compares you to those guys, well there's no greater honor than that. To even be considered in that category is just huge; I don't even know what to say."

And who does know what to say? It's all eyes on the top 5 to make a statement in Indo.