Vale Phillip Hughes - 1988 - 2014

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sherb said:
Surreal is the perfect word my friend.

I am still trying to digest it all. I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that it isn't just a bad dream.

Well known people die often and sadly, like Phil, some do so far too early.

But to me, this is different. Deeper. More personal.

Not because I knew Phil Hughes, or idolized him.

I think it's because I've had a lifelong love affair with cricket. Followed it for 45 years and played it for over 25. It's allured me, and frustrated me, teased me and tested me. It's brought out both the best in me and (sadly) the worst in me.

I've had tremendous highs both playing and following this game and the associated lows as well.

But now I've seen someone lose their life at the crease. Someone young, someone talented (although the talent level is irrelevant to me to be honest) and someone with so much ahead of him.

I'm not used to cricket claiming a life. I'm struggling to deal with it and process it. It doesn't seem real, it doesn't seem possible.

For heaven's sake, cricket doesn't kill people.

The real pain is being felt by those close to Phil Hughes. His family, his friends. Those who loved him and deeply cared about him.

So it's not about me. I have only written the above to try to explain what a strange, sad and confusing place this has thrown me into. Somewhere I can't recall being before in my life.

I'm really struggling to be interested in the game at present. Or discussion about the game. Or even discussion about Phil's passing or its ramifications.

I don't know if I can view the game of cricket in quite the same way ever again.
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I feel the same and I've never played (except in the backyard). It's not easy to digest the fact that the game you love has killed someone. This feeling must be magnified 100 times for the players.
 
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LicoriceAllsorts said:
Don't think I can hate the Kiwi's ever again
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Nah, it's possible...!

My uncle died in late 1996, and was a mad Bombers fan. He was living in Tassie, but when Essendon found about his dying wish, they had his ashes flown over to Melbourne, and they were scattered at Windy Hill with a guard of honour formed by players. Can't help but like our hated enemy for that one...

Back to normal these days though...!
 

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JP Sauce said:
I don't know what I was expecting really. It's McCullum after all, he was hardly going to push singles. :p

63* will be reached by an Aussie soon enough. We'll see what happens then.
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It actually didn't cross my mind until I saw no fielders than and it went for four.
 
sherb said:
Surreal is the perfect word my friend.

I am still trying to digest it all. I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that it isn't just a bad dream.

Well known people die often and sadly, like Phil, some do so far too early.

But to me, this is different. Deeper. More personal.

Not because I knew Phil Hughes, or idolized him.

I think it's because I've had a lifelong love affair with cricket. Followed it for 45 years and played it for over 25. It's allured me, and frustrated me, teased me and tested me. It's brought out both the best in me and (sadly) the worst in me.

I've had tremendous highs both playing and following this game and the associated lows as well.

But now I've seen someone lose their life at the crease. Someone young, someone talented (although the talent level is irrelevant to me to be honest) and someone with so much ahead of him.

I'm not used to cricket claiming a life. I'm struggling to deal with it and process it. It doesn't seem real, it doesn't seem possible.

For heaven's sake, cricket doesn't kill people.

The real pain is being felt by those close to Phil Hughes. His family, his friends. Those who loved him and deeply cared about him.

So it's not about me. I have only written the above to try to explain what a strange, sad and confusing place this has thrown me into. Somewhere I can't recall being before in my life.

I'm really struggling to be interested in the game at present. Or discussion about the game. Or even discussion about Phil's passing or its ramifications.

I don't know if I can view the game of cricket in quite the same way ever again.
Click to expand...
Could not have said it better, hats off to you sir, a great post that has me tearing up again
 
A brilliant, brilliant poem by Adam Burnett:

It’s a tragedy of circumstance that’s left our game in tatters,
A happening that makes us ask just how much cricket matters.
A young man lost so suddenly without a rhyme or reason,
How does one accept that Phillip Hughes has played his final season?

But with the grief and sadness there’s also cause for celebration,
For a life that scaled lofty heights and charmed this sports-mad nation.
For a gift that burned so brightly, that was raw and hard to tame,
For that cheeky grin, ubiquitous with mention of his name.

From early doors they pinned him as a legend in the making,
Macksville locals soon lost count of records he was breaking.
The whispers grew, the rumours flew, the tales did the rounds,
Of a cacky-handed run machine whose talent knew no bounds,

A homespun style, an eagle eye, a focus few could rival,
The simple traits that paved the way for this country boy’s arrival.
Because despite the rural passion that defined him til his last,
For Phillip Hughes the path was clear, his cricket die was cast.

To Sydney with a bullet he flew straight down the Pacific,
Within in a blink, while still a teen, his numbers were prolific.
Here was a kid, a prodigy, who had to make his mark,
The youngest man in baggy blue since a certain Michael Clarke.

The youngest gun to make a ton in a final of the Shield,
A bush technique honed on the land found gaps in any field.
And as the hundreds piled up, we knew greater things awaited,
Sure enough, to Africa, where a champion was created.

The story now is folklore in the history of the game,
With a pair of tons in Durban, Phillip Hughes had made his name.
Cutting, slicing, arrowing, he took South Africa apart,
He was 20, he was brilliant, he was playing from the heart.

But what goes up, it must come down, a fact each player knows,
With the glory and the triumphs come the failures and the lows.
Four times he lost his place in his beloved Test match side,
Four times he vowed to fight again, and he wouldn’t be denied.

Until that fateful day when he would play his final innings,
A knock that promised greater things, suggested new beginnings.
We were clueless to the scale as the accident unfurled,
Had no idea this tragedy would rock the cricket world.

But in our darkest moments we cling to things that make life brighter,
And the sport has been united by the memory of a fighter.
And while the flashy blade and diamond studs could well have fooled a few,
There was never any argument, he was country through and through.

Because beyond the adulation, past the thrill of Test match battle,
There remained a constant yearning, for his home, for Angus cattle.
For the undivided love he knew from father and from mother,
For that familial connection to one’s sister and their brother.

So raise a glass for Phillip Hughes, put out your bat with pride,
Let’s salute a little character who took life’s hurdles in his stride.
The nation mourns, the cricket stops, but never be in doubt,
That somewhere far above us, he’s still sixty-three not out.
 
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