On the way there I had got to talk to Clarke at last. He was keeping a long vigil at the hospital and was doing all he could to support Hughes’s family. He sounded nervous and tired. There was no change to Hughes’s condition. I didn’t say as much to Clarke, but I was worried that the surgeon had said nothing encouraging. One might expect ‘Phillip is stable’ or, better still, ‘Surgery was successful’, but there was nothing positive. In fact, there was nothing.
Throughout the afternoon, 30 people must have asked me about him and I had no idea what to say. ‘He’ll be right,’ they said. ‘Yes, I hope so,’ I replied. My golf was off-the-chart bad. The pro in our group was Richard Green, who liked his cricket. Hughes remained the topic of conversation.
27 November
Up early again. It was a cool, grey morning. I was on the tee at 7 am to see McIlroy hit off with Geoff Ogilvy. Rory looked as tired as I felt. He had won the Race to Dubai on Sunday, flown to Australia on Monday, played the course for the first time on Tuesday, spoken at the dinner, headlined the pro-am on Wednesday and all the while barely slept because of the time change.
At the turn, the drizzle began and I was cold. I ducked into the coffee shop and stayed there until eleven o’clock before venturing out again to see him play the last three holes for a two-under-par score of 69. Not much to report, really. The weather took the occasion out of the golf. His ball-striking was magnificent but his putter was as cold as the rest of us. The spectators were mute, the course difficult; 69 was a good effort, if not the effort we came to see.
At 2 pm I switched on the telly, hit the sofa and nodded off. The last thing I remember is Scott missing a putt to go to four over par.
Sometimes you have no idea why you have woken up. A noise probably or a niggling concern. Channel 7 had interrupted its coverage of the golf with a newsflash . . . The life support had been turned off.
Phillip Hughes was dead.
This what I wrote for Cricinfo in the moments that followed.
Cap 408 has moved on. There was no chance to say goodbye. Phillip Hughes won his Baggy Green in 2009 at the age of twenty. The cap is a symbol for Australia, made famous by Trumper and Bradman, but worn with equal pride by all who have followed them. Not least among those is Hughes.
These past 48 hours, the game had gathered around him at St Vincent’s Hospital in Sydney. They had flown from across the vast southern land, sensing danger. Their loss has no explanation. Their grief has no boundary. Their mortality is set before them.
Cricket is proven to be brutal. Men have wilted before men. The strength of one is the weakness of another. There are bullies, there are heroes. The game sorts them all out. And it takes care of its own. The cricket family was suspended in fear. The cricketers who came to Phillip’s bedside wanted to take care of their own. When the dreadful news came, the opportunity had been taken from their hands.
The photographs of him tell his story. Gifted, cheeky, kind, honest and humble are words that reflect the images. Others might be ‘generous of spirit’, ‘self-effacing in reflection’, ‘unconventional in play’. His batting was an adventure. From it, came 26 first-class hundreds and the certainty of many more. Maybe he was to return to Australian colours next week at the Gabba, maybe not. But he would have done so soon, for he had a quite unique talent. It was a matter of time. But he ran out of time.
The blow to his head might happen to any cricketer, any day. A regulation ball—not too slow, not too fast—that he went at too early, by just a fraction. That fraction meant the end of his life. It really is that thin a line. The brutal game.
Helmets became a regular part of cricket in the late 1970s. So fast and aggressive was the bowling in WSC that Kerry Packer wanted his batsmen protected. Tony Greig, who had previously borne the brunt of Dennis Lillee and Jeff Thomson in a cloth cap, was among the first to wear the white, motorbike-style crash helmet. Lillee hit him on it as if to make a point. Greig mimicked the buckling of his legs. Phillip Hughes was not mimicking. The ball missed his helmet by enough to strike what we now know to be a weak area. So weak there was no way back.
Australia is devastated. That is not an exaggeration. Cricketers are an important part of the country’s history and of its culture. Cricket is more than the national sport or the summer game. It is a way of life. The game is the soundtrack of summer, its players the orchestra. Around the land, as families rejoice in sunshine, warmth, light and space, cricket continues to resonate. Children play and imitate. Adults do the same or collect around barbecues, drink beer and select teams.
Many thought Hughes should be back in the team. Others disagreed. Everyone had a view. Whatever that view may have been, people liked Hughes. There was something infectious there, something quite thrilling in the expectation of him. The loss of that expectation has shaken the country to its core.
What people saw was a hunger for cricket and a respect for life. This is not a combination that every player has found, though the lesson is clear. From it has come unilateral support and national distress. He was, as Andrew Flintoff said in a tweet, ‘a cracking lad’. Flintoff roughed him up in Test matches, and the way one man reacts to another in such a situation reveals a great deal.
Just before Flintoff got to him in the English summer of 2009, he played two innings in Durban that were extraordinary. The South African pace attack was the best going around and the splendid little fella flayed them. In the first he made 115, hitting 19 fours and two sixes. In the second, he made 160, with a further 15 fours and three sixes.
It is difficult to paint the picture of these performances, because that is what they were. Unusual and uncomplicated, compelling and irresistible, Hughes left a brushstroke on the canvas of the game. It was a different, almost brave new world that he created in that match with his prize fighter’s approach set before an artist’s flourish. The sadness was that it was brief. Soon, Flintoff exposed a flaw and the selectors responded with a lack of faith. The will-he, won’t-he story had begun.
Now it is over. The death of the man, Phillip Joel Hughes, is a tragedy that will live with us forever. He was not yet 26, for goodness’ sake. Not yet in his prime. We pray he had some idea of the joy he brought to so many.
I wrote this while the various television networks devoted every minute to the tragedy. Mainly, I shivered a little.
The game I have loved all through my life had killed a man.
19 November
Clarke made an official comment to the media. He spoke about his friend and the loss that he, along with the whole team, was feeling. He appeared beyond pain, frequently breaking down or stopping to suck in huge gulps of air. He had been at the side of the family, so had suffered their grief as well as his own. He spoke for all Australian cricketers about the many merits of their friend. It was agony to watch. I imagined he would give a tribute at the funeral on Wednesday, so he had more of this to come. His most recent text to me said, ‘Mate, I only wish I could have done more to save my little bro. So sad, bud. I have to do media again tomorrow as captain. Going to be so tough. Not sure I have it in me.’ Well, he did have. Clarke’s stock was rising. His leadership qualities had never been more relevant.
THE HUGHES LEGACY
3 December 2014
‘Is this what we call the spirit of cricket?’ asked Michael Clarke. And indisputably the answer was yes. In a concise, brave and hugely pertinent tribute to Phillip Hughes, the Australian captain opened the eyes of the game. The spirit of cricket is in its people, in their respect for one another and in their respect for the game. Clarke recognised this and found the words to say so.
Since the appalling news that Hughes’s fight had been lost, a beautiful thing had emerged. Cricket had united through a cascade of love and compassion. The town of Macksville led the way with its dignity and strength. From Macksville to Mumbai and on to Manchester, people had grieved for the passing of one so gifted and for the scar left upon the game. Now the players could heal that scar and, again, Clarke said as much: ‘P
hillip’s spirit, which is now a part of our game forever, will act as a custodian of the sport we love.’ Clarke paused, drew breath, held his nerve and added, ‘We must listen to it, we must cherish it, we must learn from it, we must dig in and get through to tea. And we must play on.’
With those words, Clarke threw down the gauntlet. Stop the rancour, stop the sledging, play the game and ignite the friendships that make it so special. Sledging is not ‘a part of the game’, as is so loosely proposed. Playing ‘tough’ cricket does mean playing ugly cricket. Witness Hutton, Benaud, the Nawab of Pataudi and Sobers, and the standards they set that have long since become extinct.
Instead, applaud your opponent for his skill and his courage, for without these there is no game. Do not be ashamed of kindness because the energy that comes from it is the energy of life. Cricket deserves more than had come its way of late. Now it was a game at the crossroads, and where we took it from there would define its future forever. None of these ideals can bring Phillip back, but they can begin the path of his legacy.
A remarkable service was held in Macksville that day. Through excruciating pain, messages of love, faith, family and belief were driven home to the thousands present and the tens of thousands more who watched on television and listened on radio. The Youth Group cover of ‘Forever Young’, a gloriously simple hymn of popular music by the band Alphaville, opened the occasion, and Elton John’s ‘Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me’ closed it. Phillip’s father, Greg, carried the coffin front left, and etched upon his face was the terrible truth: he was saying goodbye.
As the funeral cortege made its way through the streets of a typically loyal and united Australian country town, people lined the pavements with bats and hats and stumps and balls, and signs emblazoned with the words that best described one of their own. A young one and a good one had been ripped from their grasp, and their ashen faces told you they knew not why. Even the people of the church struggle with that one. No one knows why. But some can find a reason and can see hope.
Lessons must be learnt. This shocking accident was not such a one-off. David Richardson, chief executive of the ICC, told me how South African businessman Michael Meeser and his wife lost their eleven-year-old son, Daniel, in an eerily similar incident in 2009. Daniel was practising at the Daryll Cullinan Cricket Academy in South Africa and, though wearing a helmet, was struck just behind his left ear attempting a sweep shot. He remained standing for a while before collapsing, much as Hughes did at the Sydney Cricket Ground. The neurosurgeon operated to remove some of the skull in order to relieve pressure on the brain from the bleeding, but Daniel never regained consciousness. Three days later, he died.
Many years ago, the father of a close friend of mine died from almost exactly the same blow in an English club game. Nick Kemp was playing for Kent against Middlesex in a Sunday League match when told that his father, John, had been rushed to hospital and was undergoing brain surgery. John Kemp spent three months in a coma and did not recover. This was before helmets, of course, but the point is that this area of the neck and skull is weak, and an urgent modification of the helmet was now required to provide protection.
The reactionary call for a limit on short-pitched bowling made little sense. The same argument might recommend that tackles be taken out of rugby; obstacles removed from the British jump racing season; and tight and potentially dangerous surges ruled off limits for Formula One drivers. The very nature of sport demands courage and instinct. From this comes much of its appeal. The hook and pull strokes that made batsmen such as Viv Richards and Ricky Ponting so admired came from bowling that was pitched short. Many of cricket’s most thrilling moments have come from brilliant and dramatic exploitation of the short ball. What is needed is strong, intelligent umpiring and a sensible understanding of a late-order batsman’s ability.
Around the time of the funeral, Shane Warne showed me a picture of New Zealand players in Sharjah he had seen on Twitter. The words and stats on it read: ‘NZ bowled 1135 balls in the 3rd Test match, not even a single bouncer. Took all 20 wickets, didn’t even celebrate a single wicket. Williamson didn’t celebrate his 50, 100 and 150. McCullum didn’t celebrate his 100, 150, 200. McCullum dedicated his double ton to Hughes, played with jersey written “PH” on it. This team has won a million hearts as well as the Test match.’ Now that is the spirit of the game. Of course, it is not the only way to do it—and the absence of bouncers sure works best on the pitches in the Middle East—but it is an attitude and an option worthy of review.
There is a banter to cricket that should never be disregarded, and an effervescence in personality that can be encouraged in myriad guises. We don’t want soft cricket. Or a game without emotion or reaction. Even anger has its place, especially when funnelled into performance. Cricket is a game for all people, of all temperaments, in all moods. It has long run parallel to life—and we live in an impatient and contrary age—but it need not reflect the lowest common denominators of that life. As Martin Crowe wisely wrote in the pages of Cricinfo, we need to move ‘Towards a kinder, gentler game’.
Before leaving Macksville I came face to face with Greg, Phillip’s father, whom I had not previously met. I told him how much I admired his son. He replied that he was immensely proud of both Phil and his siblings, Jason and Megan, who had spoken so well. And then he gave me a great big, teary hug.
Many of the very best to have played the game were in town to honour and celebrate a young life that had been cut down after just 26 years. Yes, he had more, much more to give. But if Clarke was right, if the spirit and the energy that were Phillip Hughes can live on, the game and its future will be safer, richer, brighter.
THE SPIRIT OF CRICKET
In addition to being responsible for the laws of the game, the MCC has long believed that cricket should be played in accordance with its traditional ‘spirit’. In the late 1990s, I was asked on to a small subcommittee, originated by Lord Cowdrey and chaired by Ted Dexter, with the brief to enshrine the ‘spirit of cricket’ in the game’s laws. At first I hesitated because of the risk of it sounding pompous, imperial. In the end, I accepted because I felt the need for a reference to the spirit of the game that was clear and direct and hoped to help find it. Anyway, Dexter, who had taken on the role after Colin Cowdrey died, is anything but pompous.
The task was not as easy as it may sound. Everywhere, and everybody it seemed, had a different interpretation of the spirit of the game. We therefore ended up with something vague, not by intention but of necessity. In England, for example, young cricketers have been expected to ‘walk’. But at the first Cowdrey Lecture in 2000, Richie Benaud said that as a boy he was taught to wait for the umpire’s decision and then to accept it without rancour.
Tony Greig was astonished to find that English county cricketers walked, but then came to understand the value of such self-policing in a game where every player and umpire knew each other well and soon rooted out the good from the bad. Greig told his England players that he respected their right to walk in county cricket but that he wanted them to stand their ground in Test cricket, given the obvious advantage it gave to the opposition if they didn’t.
Wasim Akram says that no one told him of similar rules and tradition as he grew up. He says he just sort of learnt along the way. Clearly, the child brought up in the streets and markets of Lahore or Karachi will see the world very differently from one educated at an English private school. In Pakistan, every fielder appeals for lbw, and they may ask why not? In other parts of the world, it is frowned upon to appeal unless you are the bowler, wicketkeeper or first slip.
Such issues are open to wide interpretation, which is why we have laws. Adam Gilchrist and Brian Lara were walkers but the modern game has not seen many others. Television has proved that catches claimed have not carried. Equally, television has proved imperfect and ruled that many others have not carried when they almost surely have. This humiliates a fielder and exposes technology as flawed and therefore misleading.
; The preamble to the laws that we came up with says, ‘Cricket is a game that owes much of its unique appeal to the fact that it should be played not only within its laws but also within the Spirit of the Game. Any action which abuses this spirit causes injury to the game itself.’ We went on to outline the various areas of concern and interest—responsibility of the captains, players’ conduct, fair and unfair play, authorisation of umpires to intervene—and then to list a few examples of actions that we considered, without argument, to be against the spirit of the game, such as disputing an umpire’s decision or abusing an opponent or umpire with foul language or violence.
We also included the word that seemed most relevant to me—‘respect’—and applied it in such contexts as respect for your opponent, for your captain, for the umpires and for the game’s traditional values. As I related earlier, I myself had been wildly guilty of abusing the spirit of the game when Hampshire played Pakistan in 1992. I hope I was able to apply some of what I learnt that day to my brief time on this committee.
I know that many current and former first-class players doubt the value of the preamble, thinking it idealistic and unworkable. I don’t agree. I believe a guideline is necessary and I hope it will be an inspiration to schoolchildren who presently too often see unpleasant behaviour when watching cricket on television and consider it the norm. I don’t say we got the guideline absolutely right and should add that I completely understand the need for different interpretations. The fact is that the Spirit of Cricket is not a law and therefore does not dictate what is permitted or otherwise. It is an appeal to keep certain values in mind and, as such, offers a broader context than the laws themselves.
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