On the afternoon of October 15, 1991, I fell in love for the first time.I was six years old and sitting cross-legged on the coarse, carpeted floor of my aunts living room in suburban Melbourne, watching - live and free to air - a 50-over FAI Cup match between New South Wales and Victoria at North Sydney Oval.Two brothers, twins alike in ball-striking ability, were laying waste to a Victorian attack featuring five former, current or future international bowlers and, erm, Paul Jackson, a left-arm orthodox spinner who was keeping a young fella named Shane Warne out of the Victorian side.One brother wielded his bat like a paintbrush. The other wielded his bat like a butchers cleaver. Yet, for reasons that remain a mystery (even to me), it was the latter I fell for. Perhaps it was because, even through the minuscule convex TV screen, I could see the steely glint in his eye, for which he would later become famous. Or maybe I just liked the fact that he appeared to be as fond of playing the cut as I went on to be.His name was Stephen Rodger Waugh.He bludgeoned 126 runs off 133 balls that day. (Twin brother Mark made 112 off 123.) From that day forth, Steve Waugh, as everyone seemed to call him, became my favourite cricketer.In October 1991, he wasnt yet one of Australias National Living Treasures. He wasnt even in the Australian Test XI. He had been dropped the previous summer after a five-year, 42-Test match run in the team as an allrounder batting mainly at six yielded just three hundreds and a batting average of 38.24.He was widely seen, to paraphrase Fitzgerald, as a cricketer who had had advantages at the selection table that others hadnt, and failed to make the most of them.When, through sheer weight of first-class run-scoring, he won a recall to the Australian Test XI the following summer, it was as a No. 3 and the opponents were the cricketing demi-gods of the Calypso Empire that was still in its pomp.His scores in the first two Tests read: 10, 20, 38 and 1.His Test career hung by a thread. Then, over the course of four and a half painstaking hours at the SCG, he ground out an even hundred against a West Indian attack featuring Curtly Ambrose, Courtney Walsh and Ian Bishop. As a Test batsman, he never looked back, averaging 56.60 in his next 121 Tests, after just 37.14 in his first 47.Earlier that summer another great Australian cricketer had emerged onto the world stage, and it was to him - Melbourne-born and bred - that so many of my fellow Melbournians gravitated. The cherubic legspinner seamlessly assumed the mantle of Great Victorian Hero relinquished by Dean Jones to the era-defining chants of Waarr-nee, Waaaaaar-nee that rang around the G. I respected and admired Shane Warne the bowler, but he wasnt the cricketing hero for me.Warne loved being the centre of attention. He was comfortable there in the spotlight, courting public affection as naturally as a bee gathers pollen; a born showman with a million-dollar smile. He looked as open and at ease with a person hed just met, as he did with his best mate - a trait to admire, but one I knew I could never share.Waugh, on the other hand, seemed quiet, private, studious, thoughtful and impeccably rational. Soon I would receive detailed, written confirmation of my youthful impressions gleaned from afar in a form that is, sadly, now almost alien in this Twitter age: a book, by which I mean a real, self-written work, not the ghost-written copy hurriedly dashed off to the publishers just in time for the holiday season that nowadays passes for a cricketers work. In 1993, Waugh wrote his first book, Steve Waughs Ashes Diary. It sold so well that he authored another ten tour diaries, one book of photographs, and a 720-page, 1.9 kilogram autobiography.The early tour diaries were the best. With no formal leadership responsibilities, Waugh was free to observe, think, wander, explore, photograph and write. As a writer, he was no Ray Robinson, but he wrote lucidly, perceptively, and honestly about the big issues both on and off the field, his approach to the game, tactics, his relationships with team-mates and administrators, and his philosophy towards life in general. Perhaps most importantly of all, unlike so many of the anodyne offerings churned out by professional sportsmen nowadays, he never hesitated to offer an opinion about an important issue, no matter how controversial.It was often the little things that stood out, like his reflection on his first encounter with a local - who said, Hello, Mr Wog. Very well played in 1987, all the best for 96 - upon arriving in India for the 1996 World Cup:Its amazing how one comment can put everything into perspective, and this one did just that for me. Sometimes you forget how much this game can affect people. You take things for granted. But when you realise a guy like this remembers how you performed nine years ago and wants you to do well, even though youre part of a v