Mumbai, November 27 – My dear Hughesy,
I’m fortunate to be among the ones who witnessed your artwork with the willow when Australia toured India in 2013. Being new in the field of journalism, meeting a cricketer – that too a mighty Australian – in the lobby of MA Chidambaram Stadium (Chepauk, Chennai) left me awestruck. Honestly, I did not want to meet you at first. You were not a Shane Watson or a David Warner and Indian fans (even journalists to an extent) believe in interacting with the big guns. But today, I can fathom the significance of the short session.
It took you two Tests to settle down in the series but your technique held you in good stead. When half of your side succumbed to the ferocious Indian spinners on the tailor-made pitches, your agenda of spending time in the middle revealed your strength. In Chennai, you could not do that, Ravichandran Ashwin and Ravindra Jadeja cut-short your stay. But the cricket fraternity had already started comparing you to the likes of Michael Bevan and Darren Lehmann. In the remaining Tests, you did not disappoint them with scores of 69 (Mohali) and 45 (New Delhi).
On Thursday, here in the newsroom, when news channels are flashing your tragic end, when social media is abuzz with tweets from celebrities around the globe, I remember the first few words you told me when we met. “Mate, I like your curly hair, how do you maintain it?” – I was stunned. I’d long mane with proper curls and you kept admiring it. I was like “did he just talk about my hair in a series where his whole team is making a fool of themselves?” That’s Hughesy for you. Calm and always under control.
Yes, we did end up talking about grassroots cricket in Australia and how it makes successful players for the future but I could not take you out for the ghee roast dosa you wanted to have.
Every word you said, still rings in my ears. I knew you were a tough guy, your tales of rugby surprised me. Also, remember the waiter in the food and beverage area who mistook you to be Michael Clarke?
When the clock struck 10 in the morning, my friend woke me up and said, “Phill Hughes passed away,” and a shiver ran down my spine. “Damn, I met the guy. I saw him bat,” I told myself. The fact that the bouncer from Sean Abbott - your neighbour from New South Wales - ended your life is even more terrible. Hughesy, you were a champion, with five years of international experience, such an accident in a Sheffield Shield match shocked us.
Co-incidentally, I’d also watched your debut Test at Johannesburg (on television) where you scored 75 in the second innings. Though it seemed difficult to place a new bloke in Matthew Hayden – Adam Gilchrist frame, but, your shots reflected the old school Test charisma. Less of risks, spending time at the crease and waiting for the loose balls.
You announced the revival of Australian dominance, in the same series, with twin centuries in Durban (115 and 160). You bossed around lethal pacers like Makhaya Ntini and Dale Steyn.
Wish the world could see more of your class. As of now, let’s raise a toast to the little chemistry we shared in the posh antechamber. I haven’t met a cricketer more down to earth. Wherever you are, I’m sure you are practising the cover drive. You said you wanted to perfect it when you tour India next.
— A sports journalist who once met you
