Thank you Thorpey x

He was a special sportsman in my life, and for many of my friends

Be positive, not reckless, but not too defensive either. Nudge, nurdle, accumulate. Put in the work, then flow, play, flourish, prosper.

It’s pretty much my approach to life, borrowed from cricket. And maybe it explains why Graham Thorpe was one of my two favourite batsmen. It was all so uncomplicated when the small but perfectly formed left-hander was in the middle, it all made so much sense to me.

Graham died this week aged 55. It’s hit us hard. What a simple privilege and a pleasure that my years watching Surrey were the years he enchanted us with his batting.

We knew he’d been unwell, we knew he’d had problems. This made the news of his death no less devastating. Watching his long time team mates and friends Butcher, Cork and Atherton failing to hold back tears on Sky was almost unbearable. We knew the cricketer, they knew the man.

Some deaths of people we don’t know in person can really hit you. Thorpey’s passing was about more than this exceptional cricketer, it felt like it represents other things. An era with less complications.

I grew up a Surrey fan from south east London who rarely got to see Surrey play. On my council estate trips to sporting events weren’t exactly second nature, and Surrey were hardly on the telly then. No really, it seems hard to fathom but this ‘privileged’ county were almost sidelined by the BBC back then. I’ve no idea why, but it added to the allure of the Brown Caps. Visualising the team in action from the scorecards in the paper and Ceefax.

When we reached the ‘90s, I had started to go to The Oval. Test matches? Nah. County Championship or the longer format one-dayers. When there was a smattering of spectators outside of the members. It was my place to think. A cathedral. The ugly-beautiful old ground where we’d sit with the gas holder behind us. Mainly my friend James and me. And hear the players. “Get hold of it,” from behind the stumps.

There was a Surrey fan at every match who we never saw, just heard. He’d bellow “Run ‘em up Thorpey” (and indeed to every player when a ball was hit off the crease), in a voice so gravelly it was like he gargled with the stuff. It says a lot about how relaxed our trips were that we didn’t think to try and look round and identify him. It was just part of the ritual, the ambience.

Over that decade a team was developing, that become my favourite sports team of the era. A Surrey team with players that mainly developed into internationals through their feats with this county alone. The starting eleven usually included the Hollioakes, Butch, Stewie, Bickers, Saqqy, Tudes, and Thorpey. He was my favourite. When he reached the crease, you felt so calm.

Do you tense up a bit when some players receive their first ball? Feels like it could be an aggressive shot for four, but also a nick through covers, or leg before. Not Thorpey. Yes, these things would all have happened when he batted over the years, it just felt like I never saw them happen. Instead, he’d always deflect the ball for a single. Everyone else appeared to try and hit the ball. Him? Felt as though the ball it was attracted to his bat like a magnet. In his own time. Come one Thorpey. Ah I’m in tears now. It was my special place, and a special time.

Atherton described him yesterday as England’s best batsman of the era. I certainly wouldn’t disagree. 100 tests. His pulls and drives in an era of exceptional bowling quality could be proud and exhilarating for Surrey fans- I remember standing up at my presenting desk in the Channel 5 newsroom in the late 90s to applaud one of his shots, oblivious to the live news programme going on around me.

He had to face the highest quality of bowlers, often in tandem. Warne and McGrath, Ambrose and Walsh, Donald and Pollock, Wasim and Waqar. Yet averaged over 44. And over 45 against Australia. He delivered when it mattered.

But we know it was decade of utter chaos for English cricket. Great characters, great stories, great moments, but you learned if you were playing on Teletext, and with no contract could be thrown out of the team at any time, then not know when you’d be back. It happened to them all. Destroyed some of them. It felt from our distance like Thorpey had the right temperament for that, but we didn’t know half of what he was going through.

With that Surrey team I’m like a schoolboy, the impressionable young chap from the cult movie P’tang, Yang, Kipperbang, who worships cricket and the players, walking to school imagining commentaries. This is what the game could do to us, we want a less complicated life, we want it to be like Thorpey’s batting.

Back in the day, I was getting to watch him in the calm waters of county cricket. It was blissful. The team captained by my favourite leader in any sport. Adam Hollioake. And with respect, you’d need to have spent as much time as we did watching unselfish, dynamic, clear leadership, to know fully why.

His ablity to get the best from players was best exemplified by his brother Ben. In my first book The Dilly Dong Bell I wrote about my best day in sport at the time, May 23 2001, a perfect day, a utopia. A cup quarter-final for Surrey v Sussex at Hove with Thorpey in the Surrey team of course.

This wasn’t big time. But I was surrounded by precious people, not all of whom had been to cricket before or since, in the sunshine at this beautiful coastal ground, and a Surrey team full of players who felt like family. A superb game of cricket, Surrey won. A moment in time.

Within a year Ben had died in a car crash. He was 24. The cruelty of it never dies. My heart still bleeds for him, for his family, for Adam. And for all the achievements of that county, there has been darkness. The death of young player Tom Maynard, which I reported on in 2012 remains horrific. And never forgotten.

We’ll always have those memories. When Thorpey did Thorpey we used to just glance deadpan at each other. James, Andy, Adrian, Rhino and I. Others. It brought us together, an oasis from the challenges around us. Frequently I’d head to The Oval on my own. My place to think, I’d smile at his shots, I was at peace. He was calming. If only he’d been at peace himself.

My other favourite player? Brian Lara. In height, in style they are not wildly dissimilar. But I’m just so bloody grateful I got to see one of them play live so often.

I never usually got star struck. But I saw Thorpey on a tube once, at the height of his batting powers, travelling to a game. I tried to say something, it would probably just have been thankyou, but my mouth went dry. I just couldn’t.

So, I’d like to do that now if I may.

Thank you Thorpey. Rest in peace. What memories you gave us x