There has been a spike in interest in the Sheffield Shield this spring – queues snaking around the MCG concourse, world-class lineups and genuine rivalries taking shape, and a lift in media coverage. Much of the intrigue has centred on the Test opening spot – a mix of the anointed, the speculative and the maligned. As helpful as ever, David Warner spruiked his wares. It landed like a shot put. “This is a drive-by shooting from a bloke in a clown car,” veteran cricket journalist Peter Lalor called it.
The contenders will audition again at the hallowed Great Barrier Reef Arena in Mackay. Nathan McSweeney will captain Australia A against India A, in another sign that he is being groomed as a future leader. But McSweeney has never averaged more than 35 in a Shield season, and there are still doubts on whether he has the technique of a Test opener. Sam Konstas is preternaturally talented, but only just turned 19.
Related: U-turn on David Warner’s ban closes one chapter of ball tampering saga but questions remain | Martin Pegan
With Usman Khawaja about to turn 38 and Warner phoning in from his clown car, the vacant spot could have been Will Pucovski’s. It could have been his summer. Pucovski’s solitary Test left us wanting so much more. In the middle of a pandemic, with rain delays, the stern examination of Jasprit Bumrah and the spin of Ravichandran Ashwin, the then 22-year-old met every challenge. It wasn’t a chanceless knock. And he looked vulnerable to the (surprisingly rare) short ball. But he did well. He told the Grade Cricketer podcast that he felt like he was in a PlayStation game.
In the modern-day landscape, it’s easy to lose track of a cricketer. So many of them became franchisees. We almost never see them in club games. We get a glimpse of them, maybe even the slightest sense of pride and ownership in them, and then they’re adrift. They’re off in Mumbai, or Seattle or Saudi Arabia – hoiking sixes, collecting cheques, and swirling in the system.
Pucovski was always different. He was playing first XI cricket in a strong school competition in year eight. He made a century for Melbourne’s second XI not long after he’d turned 15. He made four tons in the national Under-19 championships, went back to district cricket and immediately made two more. His was a trajectory from a simpler time – the schoolboy prodigy, the word of mouth, the sound temperament. He made big scores, he was a red-ball player and it was only a matter of time before he played for Australia. He was a proper opener, a serious cricketer and seemingly a sure thing.
But we worried about him. His first concussion came from a knee on the football field. Another came from a stray ball in the nets. He hit his head on a door at home. He was sconed by a volleyball in a warm-up. He fell over running between wickets. Just walking around the block made him ill. The worse the hits got, and the more his mental health frayed, the greater the sense of unease watching him. As with footballers, there was sometimes a sense of shame in watching him, of complicity, of wishing someone would make the decision for him.
Those in his corner – the selectors, his family, even his mindfulness coach, always insisted he still had time, that the concussions could be managed and were not career-ending. He appeared far more content last summer. He was out of form but enjoying himself, relishing the problem solving and the new challenges. But a savage blow from a Riley Meredith short ball put an end to that. As he crumpled on the pitch, there was no doubt now. There was no way he could keep doing this.
Still, there have been confusing and conflicting reports about his future in recent months. It has been complicated by the legal implications, the levels of liability between Cricket Victoria and Cricket Australia, and by the fact that he’s being represented by Peter Gordon, who has been working with the AFL on litigation cases. There are a lot of former footballers who resent that Gordon is suddenly in a player’s corner.
When we talk about sporting careers, we can sometimes end up sounding like we’re presenting at one of those straight-line-to-wealth seminars – do this, invest here, avoid that, sacrifice lots and retire to the Bahamas. In cricket, it’s often a case of “work your way through the pathways, seize your chance and emerge in the land of runs and plenty”.
But it’s never that simple. The language around Konstas right now would be very familiar to Pucovski. There are similar pathways, similar appetites for big scores, and similar levels of hope invested in them. Pucovski’s path was seemingly preordained, occasionally hopeful and ultimately thwarted. It’s no tragedy. The upcoming 10-year anniversary of Phil Hughes’ death drums that home. But it’s a reminder that sport is never fair, and that nothing is guaranteed. It’s a reminder of how fleeting and precarious a sporting career can be, and how cruelly and easily it can be taken away.
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