I was waiting in the queue at a supermarket yesterday afternoon when I looked down at my phone and saw the news. Phillip Hughes had died.
I did not know him, not in any sense, but my reaction was visceral. I called my husband immediately to pass on the terrible news. His reaction matched mine: it just can’t be true. But it was and it is.
I returned to my car and listened to various radio reports discussing this young man. 25 years old, 63 forever not out. As I sat in traffic I looked across and saw my own expression reflected back in the cars beside me– faces were washed with disbelief and sadness.
Over dinner last night we talked about how and why the impact of this rising star’s death felt so profound. Even to us, people who merely knew of him, the sadness felt suffocating. Imagine how those who knew and loved him felt?
There are many reasons Phillip Hughes’ passing has captured and struck the hearts of not just the cricketing community but communities this country over. It’s extremely rare that a life is lost so unexpectedly, so quickly and so publicly. For those reasons the loss of Phillip Hughes is destined to remain a permanent reminder of our infallibility.
But the outpouring of grief and emotion that this young man has evoked illustrates the force of something bigger than that and that force is sport. On Wednesday morning The Australian‘s Peter Lalor wrote this:
“At 2.23pm yesterday, in the 49th over of a Sheffield Shield match, the young opener’s bid to return to Test cricket became profoundly irrelevant. The only thing that mattered in the long minutes that followed was his next breath.”
Hughes died playing cricket. One minute hitting a ball was the most important thing to him and to those gathered watching the game. The next minute, that pursuit was rendered entirely irrelevant. How can we reconcile that? Compared to the fragility of life, hitting a ball with a bat suddenly seems supremely and profoundly futile. But, of course, it’s not. Because cricket is no more about hitting a ball, or catching a wicket, than it is about life itself.
The reaction to Phillip Hughes’ passing illustrates this. On the one hand, it’s merely a game, but on the other hand, it’s a game that unites, inspires and gives meaning to legions of Australians. It’s more than a game. It’s a game that occupies kids and adults alike, it fills our backyards, it gives us something to talk about, it gives us a reason to connect with those around us. It’s not just cricket.
The power of sport for individuals, for families and for communities can’t be understated. Throwing a ball might not be heroic but what it can teach, encourage and arouse along the way, really is. It inspires, it bonds, it pushes, it unites, it enthuses and, by god, doesn’t it foster friendship?
If there is one great legacy that emerges from Phillip Hughes’ passing let it be the incredible display of emotion and friendship from the men who played alongside and against him. The men who loved him.
Let men like Michael Clarke show younger generations of men another mould of man. Men who are worth emulating not just for their skills on the cricket pitch but for the people and friends they are off the field. Men and friends who are able to love one another, to hold each other’s hands and to show the world how much they care.
My thoughts, condolences and deepest sympathies are with Phillip Hughes’ family and friends and with Sean Abbott. If there is one person who will need the very type of fine friendship cricketers have displayed this week, it is him.
Vale Phillip Hughes.