All Paul Hunter always wished to do was play snooker.
A competitive passion, developed at the tender age of three with the help of a miniature snooker set on his parents' coffee table in Leeds, would culminate in a professional career that saw him claim half a dozen major wins in a six-year span.
Now marks two decades since the adored Hunter succumbed to cancer, just days before to his twenty-eighth birthday.
But despite the loss of a generational talent that went beyond the sport he adored, his legacy and impact on the game and those who followed his career persist as vibrant now.
"We could not have predicted in a million years Paul would become a professional snooker player," Hunter's mum recalls.
"But he just was passionate about it."
His dad recalls how his son "showed no interest in anything else" except for snooker as a young boy.
"His dedication was constant," he notes. "He competed every night after school."
After successfully badgering his dad to take him to a nearby hall to play on regulation tables at the age of eight, the budding player made the leap from miniature games with remarkable ease.
His mercurial talent would be developed by the former world title holder Joe Johnson, from nearby Bradford, at a now defunct club in the Leeds district of Yeadon.
With his parents' pleas to do his homework regularly going unheeded as training came first, his parents took the "chance" of taking Hunter out of school at the mid-teens to fully focus on forging a career in the game.
It proved a masterstroke. Within half a decade, their young son had won his maior professional trophy, the Welsh Open of 1998.
Considered one of snooker's toughest events to win because of the involvement of exclusively the best, Hunter was victorious three times, in the early 2000s.
But for all his success on the table, away from the game Hunter's humble charm never deserted him.
"He had a great temperament did Paul," Alan says. "He connected with everybody."
"If you met him you'd like him," Kristina adds. "He brought joy. He'd make you relaxed."
Hunter's widow Lindsey, with whom he had a daughter, describes him as an "incredible, lively, and kind spirit" who was "humorous, caring" and "typically the final guest at the party".
With his effortless appeal, boyish good looks and honest interview style, not to mention his considerable talent, Hunter quickly became snooker's leading figure for the modern era.
No wonder then, that he was christened 'A Sporting Icon'.
In the mid-2000s, a year that should have marked the peak of his powers, Hunter was told he had cancer and would later undergo chemotherapy.
Multiple stories from across the sporting world highlight the man's extraordinary commitment to keep promises to public appearances and promotional work, all while undergoing treatment.
Despite difficult symptoms, Hunter played on through the illness and received a rapturous applause at The Crucible Theatre when he competed in the World Championships that year.
When he passed away in the mid-2000s, snooker's close-knit fraternity lost one of its cherished personalities.
"It is tragic," Kristina says. "I wouldn't wish any mum and dad to go through that pain."
Hunter's true contribution would be felt not in royal circles but in snooker halls and clubs across the UK.
The charity in his name, set up before his death, would provide no-cost coaching to youths all over the country.
The scheme was so successful that, according to reports, local youth crime rates in some areas dropped significantly.
"The aim remained for a program to help provide a positive outlet," one official said.
The Foundation helped lay the groundwork for a huge coaching programme, which has provided playing opportunities to children all over the world.
"It would have thrilled him what we've done with the sport and where it is today," a chairman in the sport stated.
Classic footage of their son's matches via the internet help his parents stay "connected to him".
"I can watch it and I can watch Paul anytime," Kristina says. "It's wonderful!"
"We like to reminisce about Paul," she concludes. "Before it would be tears, but I'd rather somebody mention him than him not be recalled."
Even though he never won the World Championship, the widespread belief that Hunter would have eventually won snooker's ultimate trophy is ingrained in the sport's folklore.
The Masters, the competition with which he is most synonymous, begins later this month. The winner will lift the trophy named in his honor.
But for all his achievements, a generation after his death it is Paul Hunter's spirit, as much his dazzling snooker ability, that will ensure he is never forgotten.
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