It was a Z-standard cricket match on Edinburgh's Leith Links in the late 1980s.

A gangly fast bowler, who has been spraying the ball all over the place, suddenly produced a rip-snorting brute of a delivery which crashed into the (unhelmeted) face of our batsman Bill Montgomery. He screamed, collapsed to the ground, blood streaming from his injury, and was subsequently rushed to hospital. Everybody on the pitch felt sick. The bowler was distraught and nobody had the stomach to carry on. Instead, we headed to A & E.

Thankfully, that story had a happy ending - Bill's wounds were largely superficial - but there has been no similar outcome in the case of Phillip Hughes, the talented Australian who has died at the age of just 25, after being struck by a short-pitched ball during a Sheffield Shield match on Tuesday.

Ever since the incident occurred, there was a terrible sense of inevitability about how it would conclude. The Australian authorities cancelled all their fixtures and there were regular announcements about how Hughes had suffered a vertebral artery dissection, which had caused a "massive bleed" on his brain, leaving him in a coma.

Former cricketers urged us not to blame the 22-year-old bowler, Sean Abbott, who despairingly cradled the stricken Hughes while medical staff rushed on to the pitch.

Their efforts were to no avail. But when the news was confirmed of the player's demise, it sparked a rarely witnessed show of solidarity throughout a sport which, too often recently, has been associated with corruption, controversy and conflict.

India and Pakistan's teams immediately issued heartfelt tributes, as did the rest of the cricketing world. These painted a picture of a fine young fellow who had impressed and charmed supporters, colleagues and opponents alike, whether in his homeland, or during his spells at Middlesex and Worcestershire.

The ICC's chief executive Dave Richardson embodied the mood when he declared: "All those who play, have played, or are in any way connected to this great game are devastated by this tragedy."

No words will console Hughes' family as they grapple with grief, but one can be pretty sure they would resist any attempt to introduce knee-jerk responses to the loss of their son.

Back in 1988, when the West Indian batsman Phil Simmons nearly suffered the same fate, there were calls for bouncers to be banned, which were mercifully resisted. Since then, helmet design has been revolutionised, but there is nothing on the market which offers 100% guarantee of safety and there probably never will be.

Cast your mind back to the summer when Stuart Broad was forced to undergo surgery in the aftermath of a short delivery from India's Varun Aaron smashing through his helmet's protective grille and breaking his nose.

Cricket is tough. It's not a pursuit for timorous types, especially at the highest level. But, at its best, it is there to be cherished with a passion. Hughes glittered when he rose to prominence and was rightly feted for his achievement in scoring two centuries in the same Test in South Africa at the age of 20. He later struggled as rivals discovered he had a weakness outside his off stump, but he was young enough, ambitious enough and gifted enough to believe he could regain his place in the Australian side. To that extent, he was doing the thing he loved the most on Tuesday - as indeed was Abbott - and that has to offer some comfort amid the tears.

He was still dreaming until the end, pushing himself on in the quest for fresh conquests.

It was the same when I spoke to participants at the Isle of Man TT about what motivated them to risk their lives by travelling at such ferocious speeds throughout the festival. Steve Hislop, the tough little Scot, who won plenty of these events, looked as if he didn't even understand the question. "When you're out there and things are going well, it's the greatest feeling in the world," said the Hawick man, who survived myriad prangs only to be killed in a helicopter crash in the Borders in 2003. "And remember, nobody makes us get on the bike. It's our choice. We know what can happen. But we still do it anyway."

Some may respond that cricket is a far cry from motor racing. But sport in general evokes an innocence among those who compete against fast bowlers or in the fast lane. Perhaps that is why death seems so doubly horrific on the rare occasions it happens on stage, so to speak, whether to Ayrton Senna or Dan Wheldon, Phil O'Donnell or the three jockeys, Carly-Mae Pye, Caitlin Forrest and Juan Saez, who perished in the space of a few days just last month. We feel the loss of these people deeply and Hughes' passing has had a particular resonance for millions who never met him because he so clearly revelled in his vocation. There were no sulks or moans, no carapace of cynicism.

So it's right that the game has taken a brief pause to salute Hughes and lament the sheer bloody unfairness of how he has been snatched away. But he won't be forgotten by the same people who will march back to the crease on Saturday morning wearing black armbands. In time, we'll remember the lustre of those Hughes hundreds.

First the sadness has to subside.