I'm writing this, Phillip, in an attempt to make people smile because that's what you always did, mate. Your lovable, infectious character (yeah big words for us, I know) really is something that has touched the world. As you sit up there Googling your name for hour upon hour and trying to read the many articles, tributes and Tweets . . . and asking whoever is closest to you what does this word mean' 'n 'what's that word mean. "Give me a break, Bruz," I can here you saying it now. " I wasn't big on school, I was big on scoring runs." He had a point and that summed Phillip up. Simple things were what you loved and no, I'm not taking the piss out of you. It's true. You were street smart. So street bloody smart that after moving to Sydney and, upon becoming my little brother, it took me 18 months to realise how street smart you were. Half way through one of our lord-knows-how-many nights out after I'd shouted a round BANG, I caught you, your sneaky little hand grabbing the coins meant for the barmaid from off the tip tray. "What are you doing, Bra?" I said. He looked at me half cheekily and grinned with the glint in his eye, the other half a youngster who'd just been busted . . . sprung . . . with his hand in the cookie jar.

He quickly replied to me: "Sorry, but that's milk and bread." We laughed and carried on. A drink or 10 later he says to me. "Bruz, I know you take me out, you pay for my drinks and my taxis but I also make $50-$60 out of you on a night out." It didn't worry me one little bit, Phillip. What's mine is yours. I told him: "You relax, work hard and enjoy because I'd always help where I can and would always look after you." Your cricket abilities and achievements don't need mentioning, you know how proud I am of you. What I'm even more proud of is how you changed from a young, baby-faced country boy to the man you became.

Your father Greg and mother Virginia raised a champion of a person. Smart, respectful, funny and someone who never ever forgot where he came from. Your heart was on the farm with the family. To your brother Jason and sister Megan I wish I could say how to cope with this terrible tragedy. I could say you'll watch over them, you'll keep an eye out for them, but they don't need for me to say that . . . they'd know it in their hearts. Instead I'll say I share their sense of loss and hurt . . . a deep and terrible hurt . . . which, like our love for you Brus will unite us forever. You were known by many names: Hughey, Hubert, Bro, Bras, Brax, Fax, Dev, Champa, Brus but Phillip……you will be with me forever. I'm going to miss you like you have no idea. I know one day we'll meet again and have a few drinks but be forewarned, it will be my turn to steal your tips because you'll be the one looking after me. Thank you for being in my life, even if only for a short time. You allowed me to create a lifetime of good times and memories of you. My playing days are over but as a coach I know you will be there with me every single day. And Phillip, you will always be my first Australian wicketkeeping student!

Our final words…. Me: "Good luck, Champa." You: "Don't need luck Champa, they will never get me out." You were right . . . unconquered on 63 . . . they didn't and they never will. I'm going to miss you, brother.

Rest in Peace Phillip Joel Hughes Australian Test cricket player #408 and my friend for eternity. I love you. Daniel Smith is a former NSW wicketkeeper and close friend of Phillip Hughes