Ian Chappell reflects on his life in cricket and how fragile it can be
WHEN a freak accident occurs like the one that felled Phil Hughes at the SCG, you realise just how fragile life is.
It's also a sharp reminder of a major difference between being a player and an ex-player.
As a batsman I didn't think about being hit. It's like asking a formula one driver if he thinks about being killed during a race; he doesn't, because like a batsman, he pushes the thought from his mind and when it makes an unwanted appearance he counters with; "It could happen, but not to me."
However, since Hughes suffered his fatal injury I've thought of nothing else. I've thought about all those years facing fast bowling without a helmet, all the guys I've seen hit, the sickening crack as a ball hits a batsman in the head and the overriding thought is "we're fortunate there haven't been more serious injuries."
Along with a heavy heart, it's hard not to be mindful of how unlucky Hughes was to be so cruelly denied the second chance so many before him have enjoyed.
And I've thought about Hughes' family and how traumatic it must be for them. I've especially thought about his poor mother and sister who actually saw events unfold. There can't be anything worse for the person who brings you into the world.
Once again, I didn't think about it when I played but long after I'd retired I asked my mother, Jeanne; "Did you ever worry about your sons being hit on the cricket field?".
Her answer was a simple; "No."
Jeanne's answer was especially surprising because she sat through numerous games watching her three sons play at all levels and as an 11-year-old girl she witnessed her father negotiate the fiery bowling of Douglas Jardine's team in the infamous 1932-33 Bodyline series. Maybe she also just pushed the thought from her mind.
She saw me hit once, as a 15-year-old playing in a second grade match for my school. The bowler was only medium pace and I suffered little; only four stitches in an eyebrow and the ignominy of falling on my stumps [been there, done that, thankfully no stitches though.].
My father Martin, who was a tough but fair club cricketer, told me the best medicine was to bat the following Tuesday in a house match. I did, with a Band-Aid constantly reminding me of the blow, as I hooked at every bouncer the boarding house fast bowlers sent down.
It was the right decision to play again so quickly and the current players will probably find the same principle applies. At least if they're on the field or in the nets it'll momentarily take their mind off the horrific events at the SCG.
The blow I received to the head was a good lesson; it didn't happen again. From then on I moved inside the line of the delivery so if I missed an attempted hook shot the ball missed me. It doesn't pay to rely on the missile miraculously avoiding your skull.
This is where helmets have made a big difference. With all the modern protective equipment, players tend to play more off the front foot. This makes it almost impossible for a batsman to sway inside the line of a bouncer. If the ball's well-directed, the batsman is then relying on making contact in order to either score runs or to protect himself.
That way it's much harder to play a hook shot to the ball coming straight at you because it's natural to turn the head side-on before completing the shot. It was such a move that proved fatal in Phil Hughes' case.
I've long theorised that fewer players were hit in the head before helmets because of those reasons; the hook was mainly played off the backfoot from inside the line of the delivery and to make contact you had to watch the ball closely.
There will be much clammer about cutting down on the number of bouncers and improving the standard of helmets in the wake of the Hughes calamity. However, the best answer may be to simply improve the coaching and playing of the hook shot.
It's unfair on bowlers to demand they eradicate the bouncer from their armoury. It's a fair and reasonable way for a bowler to put doubt in a batsman?s mind. If a batsman doesn't want to get hurt then don't walk onto the field.
Any sensible fast bowler directs his bouncer at the batsman. He wants the batsman to either have to fend off the delivery, duck, or play a shot. If a specialist batsman is being honest, he'll admit that if he gets hit it?s his fault and not the bowler's.
Because the best bowlers better direct their bouncer, they occasionally experience the trauma of hitting a batsman. It must be a sickening feeling.
The first time Dennis Lillee hit a batsman while he was under my captaincy, the batsman went down in some difficulty. Lillee rushed to his aid, as did the nearby fielders but I told Dennis; "Go back to your mark, we'll look after the batsman."
He was angry and argued but I insisted and told him I'd explain after play.
The batsman recovered and Lillee understood once I'd explained. I told Dennis; "We'll relay the message to you on his well being and I'd be extremely disappointed if you didn't check on the batsman after play, but if you see him hurt or bleeding out in the middle, it will adversely affect your performance."
This may sound harsh but players on both sides understand.
It's highly competitive on the field but as we saw at the SCG, when something bad happens, players from both sides rush to the aid of the stricken player. The bowler Sean Abbott was there to try and help Hughes and now it'll be him who needs a lot of assistance. It's impossible to imagine what he?s going through but despite all the well-meaning help, it'll be him who eventually has to find a way to cope.
During my playing days I saw players hit in the head; among them Terry Jenner in that infamous 1970-71 incident at the SCG and the West Indies' Roy Fredericks on debut. But by far the worst was Lawrence Rowe in Antigua.
Rowe was batting for the West Indies and he was wearing a helmet with ear pieces rather than a grill. A lifting delivery hit him on the earpiece protecting his temple.
He went straight down and by the time we reached him he was clutching his head and muttering; "Oh the pain, oh the pain."
It was a gut wrenching experience and Lawrence was quickly taken from the field. Back in the slips it was difficult to return my mind to field placings and bowling changes and my brother Greg didn?t help by constantly referring to Rowe?s injury.
In the end I told him to "shut up". He responded by saying I was a "heartless b@stard" and I explained that I couldn't afford to think about Rowe's injury on the field because it would adversely affect me both as a captain and batsman.
In the wake of the Hughes's catastrophe, there'll be mothers suggesting to kids that maybe they should play another game. There'll be wives telling husbands maybe it's time to retire and there'll be the odd player questioning his desire to continue in the game. In the end, bouncers will continue to be bowled and those kids who have the dream and desire to play at the highest level will endure.
Players have always accepted there might be an accident on the field and someone might get hurt but they never thought anyone would be killed. In part, the unprecedented grieving for Phil Hughes is so widespread because this time, tragically someone did die.
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