We've all been hit

We've all been hit. Test cricketers or clubbies, junior or senior, young or old, accomplished or hopeless.

A cricket ball does not discriminate, remaining more uncompromising from first ball to last than the hardest, most aggressive of players.

I felt the ball strike my skull a few years back during a club semi-final. It was a freak event - not a bouncer but a flat return from the outfield that evaded my senses until I heard and felt the crack against the side of my head. My club cap offered no protection.

It hit just above my left ear. I fell to the ground in more shock than pain, my batting partner asking if I was ok. The opposition had said a few choice words to me this day, but there was no chirping as they helped me to my feet and off the field.

Dazed and retired hurt, I sat with the rest of my team and pondered the contact. Bad as I felt, it could have been worse a few centimetres either side. I imagined if it had been a bouncer, or even a throw by a stronger arm. It didn't bear thinking about, yet sitting there, I had to. Never again did I bat in a cap.

Now, cricketers of all teams, countries and skill levels are pondering similarly uncomfortable questions. That blow they shrugged off at training, or the glancing hit that might have been more direct had the head not tilted slightly. Even those balls that whistle past the eyes, close enough to see the Kookaburra logo or the seam itself.

For most, these moments are troubling but fleeting. They draw a nervous laugh or whistle. Or if contact is made in another pivotal but well protected spot there may be mirth from all sides. The danger is noted, but everyone moves on.

The threat of it can be influential of course. Mitchell Johnson left England's players fearful and fragile with his overt physical threat last summer. Michael Clarke spoke of broken arms, David Warner of scared eyes. The aggression was anticipated, celebrated.

But since 2.23pm on Tuesday at the SCG, there has been little cause for chest-thumping. Something else - mortal dread - has lingered. Lingered through the sight of Phillip Hughes on the ground. Lingered through the arrival of the ambulances and the chopper. Lingered through the medical updates, the well wishes, the ashen faces. And lingered through the fact that in the last week of November we should all be eagerly awaiting a confrontation between bat and ball, instead of dreading it.

Protection has been debated but it is a red herring - not a helmet yet designed would have covered the spot where Hughes was hit. Technique may be more relevant - all anecdotal evidence suggests that fewer players were struck before helmets gave them a stronger sense of safety and a dulled instinct for self-preservation.

But then thoughts return to the SCG. Hughes was not ducking or weaving. He did not lose the ball. It was not too quick for him - he was through his shot. He just missed it, and who hasn't done that? The image lingers.

There is a randomness to it that leaves everyone uneasy. Earlier this month, Ben Rohrer was struck a similar blow by Chris Tremain at the MCG. Rohrer was concussed and has not played since, but now feels unreasonably lucky. So too does Ahmed Shehzad, he of the broken cheekbone courtesy a ball that was not that quick, just awkwardly placed. Even a broken bone now seems a fortunate escape.

One former Australian first-class cricketer summed up the feeling that now hangs in the air, instead of passing with a laugh and the next ball. "So many near misses or hits that have luckily not done damage," he said. "The reassuring thought that serious damage never really occurs is no longer there..."

Going out to play cricket today with such thoughts in mind would have been near enough to impossible. Even doing so next week in the nets and at the Gabba for the first Test will be difficult. We've all been hit.