Phillip Hughes had a smile to warm the soul Phil Hughes with the author, David Sygall. Even in a world of boundless complexity and confusion, our loss of Phillip Hughes still seems implausible. Yes, tragedy is all around us. It happens every day. So much so, that it is impossible to allow it all into the soul. There is too much pain in the world, too much injustice, too much sadness. We need to build walls to survive, lest we cave in to the whole darn thing and leave our loved ones to fend for themselves. But occasionally there can be no denying the hurt. We must let it in, sit with it, tolerate it. Somehow. And, we must support those who need our comfort, however bereft or bewildered we feel. Naturally, many of us feel bereft amid this most unnatural, inexplicable, and just plain, stinking tragedy. For the man we begrudgingly surrender to our national pastime was not just another sportsman. For those who did not personally know Phillip, let there be no mistaking we have lost a sweet, sensitive, softly spoken country boy with a glint in his eye. The kind of young Australian all would be proud to call their friend, teammate, brother, son. Someone who might have been a cattle farmer, if not for a rare blessing of cricket talent and profound grit, that took him to far lands but left him yearning for the solitude and safety of his family base up the coast. A simple and eminently likeable kid who refused to give up trying to find his place in the turbulent and often wicked world of professional cricket, with all its sniping and betrayals and allegiances and politics. What a pointless charade that seems now. There are many people to feel for at this time. Among them is Phillip's long-time coach and friend Neil D'Costa, who said to me about an hour before the unthinkable became fact on Thursday: "There is no manual for this stuff. There is no right or wrong way to deal with it. It just is. D'Costa, who had nurtured Michael Clarke to Test level, put countless hours into helping Phillip realise his dream of playing for Australia. The pair forged an instant rapport when the broad-shouldered, one-time rugby league prodigy arrived in Sydney in 2007 to further his cricketing prospects after an Australia under-19s tour to England . In D'Costa he found a guardian and mentor away from his beloved dad, Greg, who, hauntingly now, recounted to me in late 2008 that, as a nine-year-old playing for the North Coast under-12s rep side, "They threw him in as an opener - a parent's nightmare." To which he added, proudly, "But he would block them out, accumulate a few runs and, bingo, he'd done his job." Greg said he gave his blessing for his youngest son to leave sleepy Macksville for the big smoke because "Neil was very genuine about working with Phil and we knew Phil wanted to do it." Phillip repaid his father's faith by putting his nose to the grindstone, stunning D'Costa with not only his remarkable work ethic but salt-of-the-earth humility. As he had done with Clarke - and numerous others - D'Costa filled Phillip with belief. "In a few years Matthew Hayden is going to retire," he told the impressionable youngster. And you should make that position yours. Phillip did. And, like Sinatra, he did it his way, pleasing and sometimes confounding millions with a fast, attacking and innovative approach to batting, aptly marking his standing as the first Australian Test batsman of the Twenty20 generation. "I just want to enjoy cricket and travel around," Phillip said at our first meeting, in September 2007, two months before the half-century in his first-class debut. I don't really look up to anyone or base my game on anyone. I try to be myself and work at developing. I want to get tips from people and listen, but I don't want to be like anyone else. Phillip fulfilled his wish to be unique, but the outpouring of grief since Thursday suggests there were elements in him many of us deep down could relate to. Sitting with Phillip at lunch - or in the car, at the ground, by the nets, at the bar - a sense of innocence would always hover above. His face would appear stern, so intently would he listen to your stories, questions and opinions before offering his, awash with a charming mix of shyness and sincerity. There was never arrogance, just cheek, like the captivating insolence of a two-year-old testing his parents' boundaries. And a smile worth waiting for, from the heart, looking out at a world of opportunity. A smile to warm the soul. The same soul we try to protect from the perpetual pain around us.