One of our own

When Michael Clarke, in his heart-stirring tribute at Phillip Hughes' funeral spoke of the global nature of the grief felt at the young cricketer's untimely passing, he articulated to a T the feelings of the entire cricket universe. His particular reference to the "little girl at Karachi" tugged at millions of Pakistani heartstrings. Cricketing aficionados and those with little interest in the game beyond the mandatory India-Pakistan encounter were in unison at the grief felt in this almost mindless tragedy.

There has always been earnestness about Phillip Hughes as the antithesis of the modern Australian Player. He wasn't muscular or tall like their fast bowlers, or a battering ram of a unit like Matthew Hayden. Hell, even the (relatively) shorter Australians like Ricky Ponting or David Warner always exude the "tough as old boots" persona. Hughes was slight of build, unorthodox, to the point that his offside play beggared belief. Even after witnessing the styles and techniques of quirky players for a good part of 15 years, (the Ijaz Ahmed axe-man stance, the Brian Lara expansive backlift to quote but two examples), I've always felt Hughes was one player who could actually a cut a ball outside the leg stump by giving himself sufficient room and play the stroke with nonchalance. To stay clear of clichés there was little bluster, little bravado, little bulls**t about him, just a steely determination to succeed.

His exploits against Pakistan, weren't exactly the stuff of legend. I recall Mohammad Sami getting him out in the nightmare-inducing Sydney Test of 2010, where Kamran Akmal's keeping and Mohammad Yousuf's captaincy joined forces to leave every Pakistani supporter distraught. More recently, Hughes played the T20 match against Pakistan in the UAE and got out cheaply.

Yet his cricketing feats and his failures matter little. It is how his death, has remarkably and unwittingly, united every cricket follower on the planet. From the #putoutyourbats campaign to reams and reams of tributes and eulogies all over the world, the loss is primal, personal and just impossible to shake off.

And the reason for that may be because it has occurred on the cricket field. Not as a result of a brawl at the pub or a road accident, but right in the middle of those 22 yards, where the game is played, where the battle lines are drawn and numerous victories and failures are witnessed each day.

The second day of the third Test in Sharjah between Pakistan and New Zealand , which coincided with Hughes' death affirmed the sense of melancholy and disconnect among the players. No wickets celebrated, despair in the air, and even a standard Pakistani collapse ceased to matter. It was all too sombre, joyless and ultimately meaningless.

At the end, lets celebrate the life of Phillip Hughes. As a catharsis, I've put on a Youtube loop, his belligerent twin centuries in Durban against South Africa and shed a tear at his spontaneous celebration upon achievement of the first one, with an ecstatic Ricky Ponting, beaming from the pavilion. I choose to keep this as my abiding memory of Hughes.

So rest in peace, Phillip Joel Hughes. May your wicket in the heavens be even paced, the boundaries short (especially on the off side for you), and the sky always blue. You were one of our own.