Phillip Hughes 1988-2014

When Phillip Hughes was suddenly drafted into the Australian cricket team, they must have got him to pop in to Channel 9 so they could film his little video portrait. When they mention a player or when he comes in to bat, they play this clip of them slowly turning around, lifting their head and giving you a look, you know, like you have just asked to dance with their girlfriend.

Phillip however jerked around as though someone had just dropped a fully laden tea tray.

I am joking around because his death is too sad and incomprehensible for me to address any other way. There have been many beautiful, thoughtful and heartfelt pieces written and I will not even try to match them.

It is a small mercy that of all the world's cricket grounds he was at the SCG. For his family and friends it meant they could be with him and all together over the next two days and hold a vigil for him. If he had been in Mohali or even Perth it would have felt quite different. Michael Clarke has been outstanding and is an ever more impressive leader, who has some more challenging times ahead, maybe the most difficult of his career.

I was fickle in my support for Phillip Hughes. After thrilling to his brilliant start and then despairing of his chances to ever lock down a spot in the team, I was too easily convinced by those who said he was a Shield run machine that just didn't have the technique to make the next level.

His innings that has been warming the cockles of my heart was not a spectacular one. It was full of maturity, and a sense that time was not against him, time was in fact ripening up and rounding out his talents. He batted with Ashton Agar on debut, in that extraordinary partnership at Trent Bridge that dragged Australia back into the match. He talked the young bloke through it and it was so impressive in a low-key way. There is a beautiful recap of it by Anthony Sharwood here.

Rest in peace Phillip Hughes, 1988-2014.

 Pic: Laurence Griffiths/Getty Images

8% "special time"

About 2.30am I was thinking about the ridiculous hours I have been keeping through this World Cup. Of course you console yourself that its' only every 4 years. But then I did the sums - it's one month every 4 years. That's 1/48th of the time. A bit more than 2% of my life has consisted of World Cups. Similarly, the summer Olympics take about a month, every 4 years - another 2% (too many of the winter Olympic events fall into the categories of "sports where you score points for costumes" and "sports that are simply sliding downhill"). The AFL finals take 4 weeks every year, but they are only on weekends - say 8 days of the year. That's another 2%. Then there are Ashes tests played in England. That's 5 tests of 5 days each, every four years. Throw in the occasional one-day match and you might as well call that another 2%.

So that's about 8% of my life so far that I have treated as a special case, when you can bend the rules, sleep in, be obsessive, draw up little tables in the back of notebooks, and never be short of conversation with complete strangers. Hey mate - did you see that bloke from Equatorial Guinea in the 1500m freestyle - wasn't he something?

Sports Day 2009

The school oval was leveled and topdressed (whatever that is) in the holidays, and the new grass was not ready for the SPorts Day yesterday. So the school bussed all the kids to the Domain, and used the grown-up Athletics Centre. This meant I couldn't drop in as I usually do, so the following report is based on hearsay.

Michael had given indications in the morning that he would dodge his athletic responsibilities, but Mrs Howearth managed to get him well and truly involved. He picked up four ribbons, one first, two seconds and a third. He won the Monkey Race (for which he's been unwittingly training most of his life) and came second in the flat 50 metre dash.

Marcus of course was out of bed and sprinting up and down the living room, before dawn. His preparation paid off, and he won his 50 metre dash, and came second in his other three events. They both had a good time and earned a lot of points for their house, Derwent. Some of the final events had to be postponed, so the crucial question of whether Derwent or Wellington won the day, hangs in the air as we go to press.

I think to build up the rivalry they should think about renaming one of the houses. Instead of Derwent and Wellington, Napoleon and Wellington. Now we're talking. If anyone asks, just say it's named after that street in Battery Point.

BMX in Beijing

There is SO much I want to write about the Olympics. It is the most massive regular event on earth (except perhaps the Jagganath hindu festival in India - must look that up) and so always turns up all the extremes of human behaviour;

• a man running 100 metres in 10.69 seconds
• Georgian and Russian athletes embracing while their armies pound each other at home
• Officials using their short moment in the spotlight to advertise their mind-numbing stupidity
• China refusing to issue ANY permits to protest in their specially set-up Protest Parks

More on all that later. I just wanted to quote the Coodabeen Champions who on ABC Radio last night reflected on the inclusion of BMX riding in the Games (the synchronised swimmers must be enjoying some respite from ridicule).

Billy: Well, with BMX riding in the Games they'll have to include Graffiti next.
Ian: How about just Hanging Round the Shops as an event?