JUSTIN LANGER: Damien Martyn was a quiet achiever who shunned the limelight

Damien Martyn, my friend, former teammate, and one of the world’s great cricket talents, felt a bit off on Boxing Day.

Next thing, he is in a coma in intensive care.

Thank goodness an ambulance was called straight away and the paramedics were able to administer the correct antibiotics early.

Their actions may have saved his life as the drugs took up a fight with the meningitis that had invaded his body and brain.

Initially the updates were frightening. More questions than answers.

His partner Amanda, parents Dick and Gayle, twin sisters Melissa and Vanessa, and son Ryder were all in shock.

As were all his mates.

Having spent all my cricket career with “Marto”, it was hard to believe he had found himself in such a predicament.

A freakish cricket talent and a man who has always done things his way, the last two weeks reminded me of the impact he has had on my life.

In a way we were rivals in the early years of our careers.

He was the enigmatic prodigy who rocked up to our first WA training session with long hair and earrings.

With a bat in his hand he could do things that, frankly, made me jealous. He made it look so easy.

On the other hand, I was the youngster who protected my wicket like my life depended on it, ran laps, did push-ups and sit-ups, and hit a million balls.

How can such a fit, middle-aged friend, who was celebrating Christmas and enjoying life, find himself with a bug in his system that is trying to destroy him?

Marto was the rock star, the lead singer. I felt like one of the roadies just trying to get a foot on the stage. My younger mate had the swagger; I was just trying to keep up.

To this day, he is in the top five most talented players I have ever seen with Sachin Tendulkar, Brian Lara, Ricky Ponting and Virat Kohli. I loved watching him bat, envious as I was of his almighty natural ability.

Through him I had a fellow West Australian who pushed me to get better as we climbed the ladder. He played Sheffield Shield cricket before me, as he did Test cricket. I felt like I was always chasing him.

Looking back, this brotherly, competitive rivalry was a gift.

Ironically, a freakish eye injury to my mate opened the door for my Test debut. A silly mishap in a fielding drill rendered Marto unfit to play. I was his replacement.

From there our journeys followed very similar paths.

After our Test debuts we spent five years in the wilderness of international cricket, plying our trades for WA. In that time, we both wondered if we would ever represent our country again.

These were testing, but important times in resilience and improvement for the both of us.

And so we worked together.

He transformed his body through hard work and discipline. At the back end of his career, he was as fit as any player in world cricket.

His transformation was inspirational, and he was rewarded with a wonderful international career.

The work he put into his body and game helped him shine in the biggest of games. Under pressure, he would excel. He was tough, uncompromising and stood tall when Australia needed him the most.

In contrast, but through him, I learned to put away the stodgy defence and build my array of shots. He provided the light for me to achieve this by simply daring me to let go and have the courage to back myself in the middle.

This wasn’t something we really talked about; I just wanted to bat more like him. He was a star.

Our competitive but friendly rivalry was good for both of us, and while I can’t talk for him, I am certain our relationship worked wonders for the both of us. It certainly did for me.

When he retired from Test cricket, we were all shocked. One moment we were all celebrating together in the Adelaide Oval changing rooms, the next he was gone.

Having just beaten England in a miracle victory in 2006, we were partying like we always did after a big win.

The next morning we were flying to Perth for the third Ashes Test but Damien wasn’t on the plane. A hangover we surmised. Slept in, missed his alarm? Unusual, but an honest mistake maybe?

But by the time we had settled into Perth, news was out that our mate — who we had been with us in the wee hours of the night before — had announced his retirement through a media statement.

There were no warnings or media conferences, just a statement.

At the time we were all bemused, but as time’s gone by his departure was no surprise.

When he was young, he was the rock star strutting his stuff on the world stage, but the real Damien Martyn shunned the media and the attention that comes with stardom.

He hated it.

In his perfect world he would wield the willow, be with his mates and live in the shadows.

This was reflected just three Test matches after he retired when Shane Warne, Glenn McGrath and I pulled up stumps at the SCG. To much fanfare, we walked away, having won the Ashes 5-0. This was the Cinderella farewell story.

Marto deserved to be a part of that celebration with us. He chose not to, but we would have loved for him to have walked off the ground with us.

The common narrative is that great Australian team lost three players in the summer of 2006-07. But the truth is, there were four of us, and the superbly gifted right-hander from Perth was one of them.

Before this last Test match in Sydney, former captain Michael Clarke said he felt it took Australian cricket at least a decade to recover from that combined exodus. He hoped this current team would learn and manage through a potentially similar fate over the next 12 to 18 months so the transition can be smooth.

Post playing, Damien has lived a life that reflected his transition out of professional sport.

Rarely in the public eye, he goes about his business in a quiet, simple fashion.

At times he is harder to get hold of than a winning Lotto ticket, but when we do speak or catch up it is with the same affection and respect as two brothers.

He has been shocked by the attention accompanying his frightening fight with meningitis, but his experience has provided a time to reflect.

How can such a fit, middle-aged friend, who was celebrating Christmas and enjoying life, find himself with a bug in his system that is trying to destroy him?

Life can be so fickle.

It also reminded me of how lucky we are to live in a country where world-class medical care is available.

Not everyone has this luxury. We can complain about things, but when it comes to medical support, we can count ourselves as some of the luckiest people on the planet.

Thanks to this level of care, Marto has left hospital and is now recovering and will soon be back to his cheekiest best.

Ask him and his family and they will tell you that the doctors, nurses and initial paramedics — along with the outpouring of love and support — made a world of difference.

Combine love, support and care and it is inspiring how these can help lift those in the direst of circumstances.

He may not have left the playing field to the accolades he deserved, but the level of interest in his condition over Christmas is a testament to the mark he left on so many people.