I am in tears.
I grew up in the post WSC days when World Series Cup and Scanlens sticker books and the 12th Man ruled Australian summers.
So many hours spent listening to his observations, his sly witticisms (looks like there was some sweating under the covers...FLMAO!) and sharp and accurate, yet humble and sporting memories of his playing days. Never a "look at me, look at me" commentator, who preferred to let the game do the talking, he would add to the spectacle, the moment...and give space for silence.
For almost 40 years I have loved and watched cricket. I adored the commentary team warts and all, possibly due to the 12th Man's pi$$takes over the years. He was there while I watched Kim Hughes, Allan Border, Mark Taylor, Steve Waugh, Adam Gilchrist, Ricky Ponting and Michael Clarke lead our band of cricketing sons against all comers.
We all knew this day would come, but right now, I feel emptier than a batsman being run out for a duck at the non-striker's end off the first ball of the first day of the first Ashes test for the summer.
I can't quite believe it is over. But it is.
Sorry, but I don't often get too emotional and this hurts.