A moment of contemplation ...
Nov. 28th, 2014 08:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dizzojayI don't know why, but the passing of Australian cricketer Phil Hughes has affected me quite profoundly. I'm not a sobbing wreck or anything, but I'm definitely a little subdued - just in a bit of a contemplative and reflective mood, I guess.
Perhaps it's because I like cricket; I grew up with the game and I still follow it closely and so I'm familiar with the personalities involved. Perhaps it's because he was an Aussie and I feel a particular kinship with our antipodean friends, being blessed in having both friends and family in Australia and New Zealand.
Whatever it is, the death of any 25 year old man, regardless of the circumstances is a tragedy. When his death is so freakishly flukey, with odds against it that resemble a telephone number, it's just horrific beyond words.
My thoughts and sympathy are also with Sean Abbott, the bowler who delivered the fatefull ball which ended Hughes' life. A ball, which on any other day would have simply been any other harmless delivery; the same as countless thousands that Hughes would have faced in his career.
I've always argued that cricket is not the boring and innocuous game that a lot of people think it is; it's a subtly dangerous game requiring razor sharp reflexes, infinite patience and a bloody high pain barrier. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I'm a person who loves being proved right, but I would have given anything in the world not to have my argument proven in such a heartbreaking manner.
I've loved the 'Bats out' tribute that's going viral across the world; cricket lovers everywhere putting their bats on display and photographing it as a show of respect. That's lovely; it's simple and poignant without being mawkish; so very fitting.
But what I haven't loved is watching this Black Friday idiocy that seems to have erupted here in the UK for the first time ever. Let's get some perspective here; a 25 year old man is dead; another young guy's life is in tatters, and these morons are fighting over a fucking TV ...
Really???
I can't even muster the energy to hate them. That's how much contempt I have for them, and I'm certainly not going to dwell on them; I'm refusing to switch the TV on tonight because I can't even bear to watch them.
Earlier this evening, Mr D and I added our own little tribute to Phil Hughes to the masses already out there; it's standing out on our doorstep as I write, and will remain there for the weekend:
It's our tribute, Aussie-style - a bat, a hat and a beer. It's not exactly the fabled Baggy Green, but Bazza's Lightwater Cricket Club cap is the best we can do.
Rest in Peace Phil Hughes, Baggy Green 408.
63 not out forever.
Perhaps it's because I like cricket; I grew up with the game and I still follow it closely and so I'm familiar with the personalities involved. Perhaps it's because he was an Aussie and I feel a particular kinship with our antipodean friends, being blessed in having both friends and family in Australia and New Zealand.
Whatever it is, the death of any 25 year old man, regardless of the circumstances is a tragedy. When his death is so freakishly flukey, with odds against it that resemble a telephone number, it's just horrific beyond words.
My thoughts and sympathy are also with Sean Abbott, the bowler who delivered the fatefull ball which ended Hughes' life. A ball, which on any other day would have simply been any other harmless delivery; the same as countless thousands that Hughes would have faced in his career.
I've always argued that cricket is not the boring and innocuous game that a lot of people think it is; it's a subtly dangerous game requiring razor sharp reflexes, infinite patience and a bloody high pain barrier. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I'm a person who loves being proved right, but I would have given anything in the world not to have my argument proven in such a heartbreaking manner.
I've loved the 'Bats out' tribute that's going viral across the world; cricket lovers everywhere putting their bats on display and photographing it as a show of respect. That's lovely; it's simple and poignant without being mawkish; so very fitting.
But what I haven't loved is watching this Black Friday idiocy that seems to have erupted here in the UK for the first time ever. Let's get some perspective here; a 25 year old man is dead; another young guy's life is in tatters, and these morons are fighting over a fucking TV ...
Really???
I can't even muster the energy to hate them. That's how much contempt I have for them, and I'm certainly not going to dwell on them; I'm refusing to switch the TV on tonight because I can't even bear to watch them.
Earlier this evening, Mr D and I added our own little tribute to Phil Hughes to the masses already out there; it's standing out on our doorstep as I write, and will remain there for the weekend:
It's our tribute, Aussie-style - a bat, a hat and a beer. It's not exactly the fabled Baggy Green, but Bazza's Lightwater Cricket Club cap is the best we can do.
Rest in Peace Phil Hughes, Baggy Green 408.
63 not out forever.
