The boy from Macksville, a small town between Sydney and Brisbane, has developed a habit. With each century scored, he collected the match ball, scribbled the date and scored through the seam. They filled the baskets. His father – a banana farmer who installed the bowling machine, drove him everywhere and did everything love asked of him – estimated that he hit 68 or 70 cents before leaving home at age 17.
The endless races made him an almost mythical creature, a whisper that traveled through the villages and into the city. At the age of 12, he shared the player of the competition title with a 37-year-old.
Phillip Hughes’ biography, lovingly written by Australian journalists Malcolm Knox and Peter Lalor, is the source of these stories and more. I spent the last week going through it, remembering what Hughes was: a prodigy.
Related: Phillip Hughes funeral: full transcript of Michael Clarke’s tribute
At 19, Hughes was the youngest person to score a hundred in a Sheffield Shield final. At 20 came a Test cap. A few days later, the youngest to score two hundreds in a Test match, in Durban against a pace attack that needs no name: Steyn, Morkel, Ntini and Kallis.
A few years later, Hughes became the first Australian to reach a century on his one-day international debut. A year and a half later, he became the first in the country to reach the List A double-hundred. He did it his way, with technique that would make prudes pale, a high backlift to accompany a punch cut for snappers, punctuated with a movement of the hands.
Despite his obvious talent, when Hughes came out to bat in a first-class match at the Sydney Cricket Ground 10 years ago this month, he found himself left out of Australia’s red-ball team. He had been dropped several times, a victim of an older style of selection. Time and a little confidence would have unlocked an international hitter similar to Travis Head, his younger teammate in South Australia. When he was batting at the SCG, he was pushing again for another shot in Test cricket, a series against India that lingered nearby.
This is where the story ends tragically. Undefeated on 63 against his former state team New South Wales, a bouncer struck Hughes in the neck, the injuries leading to his death two days later, three days shy of what would have been his 26th birthday.
It is unlike any other moment cricket has experienced, a tragedy amplified by the innocence of the event. Hughes was batting, as he had done all his life, playing the same game we all play: whether in the yard, on the Maidan, or on the village field. Those who didn’t know him were distressed by posting photos of their bats, left out for Hughes, one of those rare moments when social media offers genuine warmth.
Brendon McCullum’s New Zealand were in the middle of a Test against Pakistan in Sharjah when they learned of Hughes’ death. He told his tearful players that nothing they did during the match would be judged and there would be no consequences for failure. None of that really mattered after what happened. They would end up scoring 690 by almost five runs, winning by an innings, changing the way McCullum approached the match.
Hughes’ funeral was broadcast and attended by revered names including Virat Kohli and Brian Lara. Michael Clarke, his captain and close friend, spoke fondly of Hughes’ spirit: “I hope he never leaves. »
Then, somehow, the game started again. A few days later came a Test match in Adelaide where Mitchell Johnson, who had terrorized England a year earlier, felt ill after hitting Kohli on the helmet. “Michael Clarke caught me and brought me back to my swing, tried to make me think about the next ball.” Johnson wrote in his autobiography. “He said it’s just part of the game, keep going. I think it was also a difficult time for him.
Hughes also remained at the forefront of minds as Australia secured victory, with players celebrating Nathan Lyon’s final wicket by sprinting towards the outfield emblazoned 408, their late teammate’s selection number.
Has the game changed since then? The question comes up almost every November. Helmet safety has evolved with the use of neck protectors and increasing attention has been paid to the dangers of concussion, highlighted by the introduction of injury substitutes.
The bouncer and its place in the game has sparked some discussion. In 2021, the MCC launched a “global consultation” to see if the short ball laws needed to be adjusted, but the response, revealed a year later, was to maintain the status quo. “The results of the consultation show that short-pitch bowling, within the laws, is an important part of the make-up of the sport and that in fact changing it would significantly change the game,” said Jamie Cox, then secretary club assistant. .
But Hughes always comes to mind whenever someone’s helmet takes a hit. Those who were there at Lord’s in 2019, when Steve Smith fell to the ground after feeling the force of Jofra Archer, will remember the horrible, brief silence that accompanied it, the fright that only disappeared when Smith got back on his feet. This threat will never go away.
There will be many tributes for Hughes in the coming days, recalling not only his talent but also the universal love he generated from his teammates, the alternative point of view he offered on the pitch. As Clarke recalled a decade ago: “Things were always put into perspective when Hughesy would say, ‘Where would you rather be, boys, than playing cricket for your country?’ »
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