One year ago I played against Kevin Pietersen.

I first found out I was playing against KP (I'll call him that from now because we're mates, although he doesn't know that) when it was announced that as a warm-up for his stint at Melbourne Stars last summer, he would play a game for Monash Tigers in the Victorian Premier Cricket competition. KP playing club cricket in the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne: it's a ludicrous notion that came to fruition - I think via Cameron White, whose home club is Tigers.

I logged on to the league website and went to their drop-down menu to check the fixture for that weekend. "Monash Tigers vs St Kilda Cricket Club, Saturday December 13," it read. My heart skipped a beat.

From there I visited his ESPNcricinfo page. More than 8000 Test runs at an average of 47. I was averaging in the teens for St Kilda in club cricket.

It was a weird lead-up to the game, which was a T20 to be played at Monash's home ground in Springvale. We regained Michael Beer from Western Australia duties as he prepared for the Big Bash - as a team-mate of KP's at Stars. On this sunny Saturday, though, Beer would be on my team and KP the enemy.

Where would KP bat? Where would he field? Would he bowl? Would he even care? These were all questions I asked myself on the way to the ground with my friend and team-mate Will and his mum, Sharon. I recall secretly hoping that KP would make a ton off very few balls but we would still win. That was the dream scenario, Will and I agreed en route to the ground.

We batted first and all I really remember about our innings was an incredible square drive for six from our captain and former state cricketer Graeme Rummans. His slice over backward point was reminiscent of Sanath Jayasuriya - another nostalgic figure from my cricket-enriched late-'90s childhood.

The crowd built steadily as our innings progressed. So many eyes, probably just over 1000 - all watching KP roam the cover boundary as kids clambered for autographs.

He did very little in the field and generally looked quite relaxed. Why wouldn't he be? He was playing against schoolteachers, university students, carpenters and, well, me - slightly better than a social cricketer but never any chance to reach the top level.

Every time he fielded the ball and hurled it back with his side-arm fling, the crowd cheered. It was like Ryan Giggs in his last game for Manchester United - this match was about the person, not the game or even the result.

Where would KP bat? Where would he field? Would he bowl? Would he even care? These were all questions I asked myself on the way to the ground

We managed 139 for 5 off 20 overs. The keeper - me - traditionally bats at No. 7, but I'd been relegated to eight late in the innings in the hope we could reach 150. We didn't, but the score was competitive nonetheless, and I didn't mind. T20 is as much my game as Australian football is KP's.

At the change of innings it became apparent KP was going to open the batting, alongside Will Sheridan. "We might lose in the first six overs, with just two men out!" I said in half-jest.

I put my slightly ragged keeping gloves on and assumed position behind the pegs. Unlike KP, I paid for my cricket equipment, every last bit of it. His bat was huge. Not just thick but also long - like a plank of firewood, covered with prominent sponsors' stickers.

He took the first ball of the innings. Brave, I thought, him fronting up first up against bowlers he had never seen or heard of before.

The innings began with three dots, including one play and miss accompanied by predictable oohs and aahs. Something had to give.

The crowd was clapping our opening bowler in like it was Boxing Day at the MCG. On the fourth delivery, KP shuffled across his stumps and slashed so fiercely it was as if he wanted it to hit the deep-point fence and bounce all the way back. It went like a rocket. There would be no anti-climactic duck.

He and Sheridan moved the score along swiftly for the first few overs. We missed a couple of tough chances - one that flew high over mid-on's head and landed safely and another that would have hit second slip in the teeth (only, we didn't have one; I stood motionless as the white Kookaburra flew between myself and Beer, who was situated at a "floating" slip).

It was his bat speed that almost blew me away. You'd think he was late on a delivery, and the next thing you know, it was racing away for four. His incredible wrist speed close up was something to behold.

By now he was on 20 or so and seeing it pretty well. I could tell because I might as well not have been there at all. He was hitting everything, and hard. His physical presence was enough to intimidate us, let alone his pure skill and sweet timing. If I had been fielding in the ring, I would have been well within my rights to fear for my safety. Luckily, with gloves and pads on behind the stumps, I was relatively assured.

Eventually he made an error and guided a delivery straight to Beer in the slip cordon. YES!

Oh no. Beer, despite being a terrific bloke and a quality bowler, dropped a soda, a lollipop, a dolly. Sorry mate, it really was.

The crowd loved it and while I made sure I looked annoyed, I must admit it was a façade. I was secretly enjoying the KP show.

Sheridan was dismissed for 28 (caught by yours truly) and it was then that KP stepped it up a gear. Beer came on to bowl his left-arm orthodox and I moved up to the stumps. Standing next to KP, I felt like a midget - an insignificant fly on the decorated wall of his career.

He turned around while Beer was organising his field and muttered in a hybrid type English-South African accent: "Jeez, it's hot, isn't it?" I was caught in the moment. What do I say to make myself sound cool or at least not like a fanboy? I regret my reply to this day: "Yeah, it's warm."

With that, my chance to befriend KP was gone. An over later, he chased a wide one off our left-arm seamer Jak Jowett, who was only playing his second 1st XI game, and hit it straight to Matt Chasemore at cover. Out. Gone for 41 off 31 balls, including seven glorious boundaries - all before I had a chance to strike up another conversation with him. The crowd moaned and so did I, but then again, we still had a game to try and win.

His innings lasted 37 minutes, but it was 37 minutes I will always remember. I vividly recall watching KP, whose hairstyle resembled a wild skunk at the time, carve up Gillespie, McGrath, Lee, Kasprowicz, Tait and even Warne in the greatest Test series ever played - the 2005 Ashes. I was 14 at the time and would never have dreamt I'd play against him one day.

For what it's worth, the match ended in a tie. They needed two runs off the last ball and could only squirt a single out to Will at cover.

As soon as we were allowed to, Will and I ventured into Monash's newly refurbished rooms after the game to get a photo with KP. He was warm and friendly, not aloof and difficult as the papers had suggested the previous summer. He knew this day was about him and he was happy to accommodate far less talented sportsmen like me, despite the fact that I had rapidly morphed from an opponent into a groupie.

KP has had his fair share of controversy, but in my mind there is no debate. He is a star. This was an afternoon I'll never forget.