Basketball On The Internet.

IT'S close to impossible to understand what it must be like to be a giant among men, yet still walk among men on a daily basis.

Our Boomers might only be the giants of Oceania - and they were magnificent in proving that last night - and still relative midgets on a grander international scale, but that is merely in a basketball context.

And while basketball takes up so much of their lives, they still live life among the rest of us mere mortals, dealing with many of life's same issues.

Except one.

We don't get gawked at. We don't get recognised.

No-one wants a selfie with a plumber, a maths teacher or a dentist.

No-one wants an autograph from a travel agent, postman or a waitress.

Or tells a taxi driver he needs more arc on his jumpshot.

No-one asks an insurance broker: "What's the weather like up there?" or tells a gardener "Wow, you're tall" as if it's some sort of revelation.

Welcome to the world of Andrew Bogut, or Luc Longley or David Andersen.

There wasn't anyone in Wellington Airport today taking them to "that place" where even what's normal for them - and us - is unusual for any observer who thinks 188cm is bordering on gargantuan.

It was an interesting exercise blending in with the confusion of passengers - I'm using "confusion" here as in, you know, "school" of fish or "herd" of  buffalo," "gaggle" of geese" - so, I'm blending with the confused as the Boomers file past.

They're in their self-contained world but sometimes that's more by necessity than design. They're big. People watch. It's eye-opening.

They're at the check-through point, filling out their New Zealand departure cards like everyone else; like every other mortal.

Chris Goulding has to ditch "a $6 smoothie" he just bought, his options a prolonged and painful brain freeze or being left behind.

There's no "leave no-one behind" here. It's "keep up" or be wondered about later.

Bogey takes the startled elderly 5ft2in attendant's head-to-toe view of him in his usual casual stride. He's wearing a backpack and there's no evidence of the severe back pains which sorely tested, though never waivered, his resolve.

But he has the flight to come. It's in Melbourne he'll be feeling it again.

Patty Mills is binning his drink, Brad Newley is filling out his form, Adam Gibson is filling his face. Nathan Jawai is trying to look inconspicuous.

Yeah. Right. Epic fail.

But it's through no fault of his.

I wonder how hard it must be to retain your good nature, day-in, day-out when confronted so regularly by this same-old same-old, getting so old, so old.

Yet in this world of fast-food social media, where a sarcastic retort, selfie refusal or autograph denial risks the wrath of the self-entitled - and a zillion hits on youtube - retaining your good nature is a prerequisite of the job.

"Hey, they're getting paid squillions," some of you may say. "This is the price they pay."

Frankly, it's not a fair exchange. It's not a fair price for entertaining you, if not also emotionally moving you.

Ryan Broekhoff, Cam Gliddon and Brock Motum go through together, Australia's Under-17 Oceania gold medallist kids filing on either side of them, learning by osmosis how to carry themselves.

Luc Longley is the abject lesson. Always a personable person, he only laughs and agrees when the attendant tells him how useful he would be changing a light bulb at her house.

Pretty safe bet he's heard that one before. To her, it's a gold-plated original.

To him, it's part of the process of walking among the giants. For me, watching them file past, it only makes me proud they are fellow Australians.