He would definitely be calling me a sook right now. I am humbled to be in the presence of you, his family, his friends, and his community. He was so proud of Macksville and it’s easy to see why today.
Taken from [us all] at the age of 25, he left a mark on our game that leaves no embellishment. I don’t know about you, but I keep looking for him. I know it’s crazy, but I expect any minute to take a call from him or see his face pop around the corner.
Is this what we call the spirit? If so, then his spirit is still with me and I hope it never leaves. I walked out into the middle of the SCG on Thursday night, those same blades of grass beneath my feet, where he and I and so many of his mates here today have built partnerships, taken chances and lived out the dreams we painted in our heads as boys.
The same stands where the crowds rose to their feet to cheer him on, and the same fence he sent the ball to time and time again.
It’s now forever the place where he fell. I stood at the wicket and knelt down to touch the grass and I swear he was with me, picking me up off my feet to check if I was OK, telling me we just needed to dig in, and get through to tea. Telling me off for that loose shot I had played, chatting about what movie we would watch that night, and then passing on a useless fact about cows.
I could see him swagger back to the other end, grin at the bowler, then call me through for a run with such a booming voice a bloke in the car park could hear it.
The heart of a man who lived his life for this wonderful game we play, whose soul enriched not just our sport, but all of our lives.
Is this what indigenous Australians believe about a person’s spirit being connected to the land upon which they walk? If so, I know they are right about the SCG.
His spirit has touched it, and it will forever be a sacred ground for me. I can feel his presence there, and I can see how he has touched so many people around the world.
The tributes to him from cricket lovers across the globe have kept me going. The photos, the words and the sense of communion in this sense of loss has shown me his spirit is in action. It has sustained me and overwhelmed me in equal measure, and the love of my band of Baggy Green and Gold brothers and sisters have held me upright when I felt I could not proceed.
His spirit has brought us closer together, something I know must be him at work because it is so consistent with how he played and lived. He always wanted to bring people together, always wanted to celebrate his love for the game and its people.
Is this what we call the spirit of cricket? From the little girl in Karachi holding a candle-light tribute, to masters of the game like Tendulkar, Warne and Lara showing their grief to the world, the spirit of cricket binds us all together.
We feel it in the thrill of a cover-drive, or the taking of a screamer in gully, whether by a 12-year-old boy in Worcester or by Brendon McCullum in Dubai.
It is in the brilliant hundred and five-wicket haul, just as significant to the players in a western suburbs club game, as it is in a Test match.
The bonds that lead to cricketers around the world leaving their bats out, that saw people who didn’t even know Phillip leave flowers at the gates of Lord’s, and that brought every cricketing nation on earth to make its own heartfelt tribute.
The bonds that saw players old and new rush to his bedside, from wherever they heard the news to say their prayers and farewells.
This is what makes our game the greatest in the world.
Phillip’s spirit, which is now part of our game forever, will act as a custodian of the sport we all love. We must listen to it, we must cherish it, we must learn from it, we must dig in... dig in, and get through to tea. And we must play on.
So rest in peace, my little brother. I’ll see you out in the middle.
