Brilliant, blond and a bit bonkers: sports world mourns fallen Hunter

IN A snooker world in which most of the characters have retired to the commentary booth, Paul Hunter stood out like the pink in a rack full of reds.

His blond mane of hair, often wrenched back into a pony tail, braided or held by a hair-slide, helped. So did his mischievous smile, his down-to-earth Yorkshire demeanour and his nicknames which ranged from ‘Beckham of the Baize’ to ‘Snooker Spice’ to ‘The Man with the Golden Cue’.

Hunter had just about everything, the looks, the fame, the money, a beautiful family and a talent which many believed would have brought him the world title in the near future.

As the tributes poured in for Hunter, who died tragically young at 27 after a painful battle with cancer, they told of a “bright and bubbly character”, “a fantastic player who was magnanimous in defeat“, and “a champion who played with a smile on his face”.

As devastated as they must feel, his family should take comfort from the obvious warmth and affection with which he was viewed by colleagues, opponents and fans alike.

No, he will not go down in snooker history as one of its greatest champions, mostly because of the absence of that world title and the shortness of his career. He was not a Stephen Hendry or a Steve Davis, men whose sublime talent was rewarded with the most prestigious silverware almost before they were shaving regularly.

Nor was he a Ronnie O’Sullivan, whose natural talent Hunter admired but whose dark and depressive nature was a constant source of mystery.

Yet Hunter did win three Masters titles at Wembley, a British Open in 2004 and reached the semi-final of the world championship at Sheffield in 2003, when he led Ken Doherty 15-9 before the Irishman fought back to win 17-16.

In time, however, he will not be recalled for his potting. He will be remembered for his personality. And mostly for the moment which made his name in 2001. He was 6-2 down to Fergal O’Brien at the interval in his first major final, the Masters.

He and his then-girlfriend, soon to be wife, Lindsey Fell, retired to their hotel room. Hunter recalled: “Sex was the last thing on my mind. I just wasn’t in the mood. But I had to do something to break the tension. It was a quick session — around 10 minutes or so — but I felt great afterwards. She jumped in the bath, I had a kip and then played like a dream. I reeled off four centuries in six frames. I won easily.”

He later referred to the tactic as ‘Plan B’ – B for ‘Bonk’ – and the story saw him splashed across the front page of tabloids. For the man who once said he would play in the nude if it brought interest to a sport which was falling into a robotic rut it was “job done”.

An insight into Hunter’s thoughtful nature, however, was that he asked permission from Lindsey’s parents before revealing the story to the press.

Somehow you could not see that crossing the mind of O’Sullivan or Jimmy White, the only other snooker stars with a bigger following than Hunter. It was no surprise, however, that White was Hunter’s icon as a child or that they practised together, sometimes with a beer or three in the company of Rod Stewart and Ronnie Wood.

Hunter’s ability, like White’s, was more to do with natural ability than hard graft. He won 37 out of his first 38 matches as a teenage professional and won his first tournament at 19. But in a world in which so many sportsmen’s heads are turned by vast wealth and easy fame, Hunter’s greatest legacy perhaps was one of perspective.

“I’m just a normal lad from a council estate in Leeds,” he once said.

“I’m dead ordinary. Maybe I do want to be world champion but I’m just as interested in having a drink, a smoke and, yeah, even some sex every now and then. It’s no big deal.”

That was the essence of Hunter — an ordinary man blessed with an extraordinary talent.