There’s bound to be a gathering in the heavens, filled with conversations about square drives and square cuts, outswingers and inswingers. Laughter will echo from past battles and camaraderie from long nights spent together. Memories of five friends who fought the same fight and illuminated the stages they graced with their talents will fuel the celebration. While their personalities may differ, they shared a common spirit and essence. It promises to be an unforgettable occasion, with the dust settling only by dawn.
Malcolm Marshall, Martin Crowe, Shane Warne, and Mike Procter have already joined the ranks; now Robin Smith has come in.
Crowe will encourage Smith to play with softer hands, while Procter advises him to send the spinners soaring into the distance. Warne will chime in, “I told you, Judge, you’re better than him, just go for it.” Marshall will say, “Judgie, we’re in this together.” With Marshall, it was always about partnership.
I share this story because it seems uncharacteristic of the kind, special man who passed away 48 hours ago. One moment doesn’t define him, nor does his powerful square cut, which was merely a guardian against bowlers. He was deeply remorseful for losing his temper, a reaction that shocked him. Macko would say it was the only option, and Robin was just a moment quicker.
“Was it sudden?” my brother inquired about his passing. To which I replied, yes, but not surprising. The cricket brotherhood, whom he cherished, had witnessed him during the Perth Test. He participated in an emotional Q&A on mental health during the match that brought a standing ovation. Over a Hampshire breakfast the next day, Robin, concerned about his openness, still made time to share laughter and stories of yore.
Barry reminisced about the coaching book from 53 years ago featuring Robin as the ideal pupil at just nine years old. His talent was apparent from a young age; he could execute every shot, with grace and balance. When breakfast concluded, we embraced, knowing it was the final farewell.
