All Paul Hunter truly desired to do was compete on the baize.
A competitive passion, caught at the age of three with the help of a miniature snooker set on his home's central table in Leeds, would lead to a professional career that saw him win six major trophies in half a dozen years.
Now marks 20 years since the beloved Hunter succumbed to cancer, just days before to his twenty-eighth birthday.
But despite the loss of a generational talent that transcended the game he loved, his influence and memory on snooker and those who were close to him persist as powerful today.
"We'd never have known in a million years our son would become a professional snooker player," his mother recalls.
"But he just adored it."
Hunter's father recalls how his son "wasn't bothered about anything else" besides snooker as a youth.
"He was relentless," he notes. "He would play every night after school."
After successfully badgering his dad to take him to a local club to play on full-size tables at the age of eight, the young Hunter made the transition from miniature games with remarkable ease.
His natural ability would be developed by the snooker legend Joe Johnson, from neighbouring Bradford, at a now former establishment in the Leeds district of Yeadon.
With his mother and father's requests to do his homework often being ignored as the game dominated, his parents took the "gamble" of taking Hunter out of school at the fourteen years old to fully concentrate on carving out a career in the game.
It proved a masterstroke. Within five years, their adolescent had won his initial major win, the 1998 Welsh Open.
Considered one of snooker's hardest tournaments to win because of the presence of exclusively the best, Hunter triumphed three times, in 2001, 2002 and 2004.
But for all his success on the table, away from the game Hunter's approachable nature never deserted him.
"He had a great temperament did Paul," Alan says. "He connected with everybody."
"When encountering him you'd like him," Kristina adds. "He brought joy. He'd make you comfortable."
Hunter's partner Lindsey, with whom he had a child, describes him as an "incredible, lively, and kind spirit" who was "witty, generous" and "typically the final guest at the party".
With his easy charm, boyish good looks and candid way with the press, not to mention his prodigious ability, Hunter quickly became snooker's pin-up for the new 21st Century.
No wonder then, that he was dubbed 'The Beckham of the Baize'.
In the mid-2000s, a year that should have signaled the height of his career, Hunter was told he had cancer and would later undergo cancer therapy.
Multiple accounts from across the professional tour attest to the man's extraordinary dedication to honor obligations to public appearances and promotional work, all while enduring treatment.
Despite gruelling side effects, Hunter played on through the illness and received a rapturous applause at The Crucible Theatre when he turned out for the World Championships that year.
When he passed away in October 2006, snooker's tight community lost one of its best-loved members.
"The pain is immense," Kristina says. "It is a terrible thing for any mum and dad to go through that pain."
Hunter's true impact would be felt not in palaces and castles but in snooker halls and clubs across the UK.
The charity in his name, set up before his death, would provide free snooker sessions to young people all over the country.
The initiative was so successful that, according to reports, issues with young people in some areas dropped significantly.
"The aim remained for a platform to help get kids off the street," one organizer said.
The Foundation helped establish the basis for a significant 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 senior official in the sport stated.
Classic footage of their son's matches online help his parents stay "connected to him".
"I can bring it up and I can watch Paul whenever I wish," Kristina says. "It's a comfort!"
"We like to reminisce about Paul," she adds. "Initially it was painful, but I'd rather somebody talk than him not be spoken of."
Even though he never won the World Championship, the common opinion that Hunter would have secured snooker's top honor is a part of the sport's legend.
The Masters, the competition with which he is forever linked, begins later this month. The winner will lift the memorial cup.
But for all his successes, 20 years after his death it is Paul Hunter's spirit, as much his spectacular skill with a cue, that will ensure he is forever celebrated.
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