Even towards the bitter end, his cyclonic spirit remained to the fore, writes
GERRY MORIARTY
YOU'D OCCASIONALLY see Alex Higgins in the area around The Irish Timesoffice in south Belfast, which is close to loyalist Sandy Row, where the Hurricane saw out his final days.
He died alone, in sad circumstances, broke, weak, emaciated by a long battle with throat cancer, but even in the worst of times over that final period of his tempestuous life you could sense the cyclonic spirit that powered him to be the most exciting, most wonderful, most daring snooker player of all time.
And even when he was down to six or seven stone there was no mistaking Alex, although the teller in the bank close to our office did mistake him. She asked him for ID, which Higgins handed over without demur.
The young world champion of 1972 who inspired many a schoolboy to mis-spend just a little of their youth in Irish snooker halls, and the even greater world champion of 1982 – how could you not know Alex Hurricane Higgins? Even in the worst of times Higgins radiated his special energy.
In for a punt in the local bookies for Cheltenham, Aintree or Ascot, you might meet Alex, doing a little bounce on his feet, studying the form and placing his bets, his trademark nervous energy somehow making you nervous too.
As down on his luck as he latterly was, he always carried a sense of style. He might not have been wearing his three-piece Louis Copeland suits because they no longer fitted him, but he was dapper. A pro to the last, he kept his black leather shoes shining bright.
It’s strange that two of the great Irish or, if you wish, Northern Irish sporting heroes – Higgins and George Best – who both originated from working-class loyalist areas, were infected by some form of self-damaging virus.
It was a sad way to go, but that was Alex. It was never going to be any other way. He was a sort of self-destructive Sid Vicious of the snooker world, although unlike poor Sid he had real genius.
People he loved he fell out with; loyal one minute, he’d let them down the next. People who gathered near his flat in Sandy Row yesterday acknowledged the complexity of his character, but they also told of how they admired and cherished him – of how his Belfastness made him that extra bit special to them.
There was always something of the rogue and hustler about Higgins, allied to charm and mischief. He was truly like the Paul Newman character in the film The Hustlerabout the pool player Fast Eddie Felson.
Steve Davis was generous and probably correct when he once described Higgins as “the only true genius snooker ever had”.
He developed his fearless snooker style of speed, verve and rapid thinking in the snooker halls in and around the Sandy Row area from the age of 11. For a short period he tried to make it as a jockey, but snooker was his business, winning Irish amateur championships in the late 1960s and early 1970s, turning pro in 1971, and a year later at the age of 23 taking the world championship against John Spencer.
It is reckoned that, not unlike Best, he blew his fortune of about £4 million on drink, drugs and gambling. He and his late mate Oliver Reed were well matched. He had two very stormy marriages and other similar relationships. He rolled with the wild tabloid image that he created or was created for him.
He frequently fell foul of the snooker authorities, was fined thousands of pounds, banned several times, earning his worst censure for threatening to have that other world champion Dennis Taylor shot by some of his loyalist friends. Taylor forgave him, although others in the sport couldn’t tolerate his misdeeds. He divided opinion within the sport, but most of the snooker public loved him.
His friends in the snooker world like Jimmy White often rallied to his cause when he was on his uppers, which became a feature of his life since the late 1990s, his throat cancer in particular devastating him.
He could and should have won more big snooker titles, but his lifestyle prevented that. But he made snooker. Without Higgins it could never have become so popular. He defeated Ray Reardon in 1982, but it was his semi-final against Jimmy White – the “Whirlwind” versus the “Hurricane” – that was the greatest game of snooker ever. Several times White had him on the ropes, several times White should have taken him.
Higgins will be missed in the snooker world, and by his family and friends.
Say what you like about Alex Higgins, there is no challenging that he was, as he so characteristically and immodestly proclaimed, the “People’s Champion”.