While the dark pall of literally betting away your house stalked the great W.T. with more foreboding than Dick Francis riding Devon Loch at the 1956 Grand National, it did not alter his prized reputation as one of the most talented – and latterly deeply tormented – figures in snooker folklore.
Nor did it ruin the perception of Thorne or his popularity among the Great British public, who have always held close to their bosom the belief that snooker professionals from the 1980s generated a level of interest in the game that has never been nor will ever be replicated in modern times.
For such an affable, charming, thoughtful and well-groomed character, Thorne had much in common with traditional sporting hell-raisers such as Alex ‘Hurricane’ Higgins, George Best and his after-dinner speaking chum Paul Gascoigne. The difference being his principal drug came in gambling his shirt away rather than obscuring reality with a bottle.
He was very much a product of the times.
Thorne’s personal life was more chaotic and perilous than any challenges he faced down in 26 years as a snooker professional between 1975 and 2001.
His desire to gamble saw him declared bankrupt in 2016. He regretted being an unfaithful partner, fought depression, contemplated suicide, was threatened by money lenders and saw his £475,000 house repossessed. As he tragically battled leukaemia in Alicante he relied on donations from a GoFundMe page to finance health treatment.
A flawed character? Very much so. A loveable character? Very much so. In a world of machismo that defined snooker culture in the 1980s, he was viewed as a man’s man, a stellar geezer and a fabulous raconteur, but battled a plethora of personal demons
For all the stories of his iconic moments in the sport and his penchant for making 147s that saw him become the self-styled ‘Mr Maximum’ rising to world number seven and reaching two World Championship quarter-finals, there are numerous tragic tales of an individual with a destructive streak due to the disease of compulsive gambling. He estimated that he splurged £3.5m on betting and was once banned from British racecourses due to the debts he owed.
“Snooker and horse racing had become the twin obsessions of my life,” he said in his autobiography, the aptly titled Taking A Punt On My Life. “The former helped me make a lot of money, while the latter ensured that an awful lot of it was wasted.”
My own dad, no stranger to the seduction of the gee-gees, bumped into Thorne in a local bookmakers during a break from his commentary stint when the sport’s old Premier League was staged in Scotland in 2004. “He wasn’t holding back,” was the message that was sadly in keeping with the theme of the crippling gaming debts that blighted him.
The grim, deceptive fact of gambling is that it can also be done in private.
“I suffered from depression most of my life,” he said. “It’s the limelight. Snooker players have a lot of free time and footballers have a lot of free time that’s why so many footballers are involved in gambling.”
The death of Thorne marks the passing of an era from a time when professional sport seemed more innocent and less serious. The only problem being it was a myth. What went on behind closed doors back then still exists today. It is just that there was no social media or 24-hour news channels to invade personal thought processes.
“I think you are born with it,” said Paul Merson, the former Arsenal and England midfielder, who blew an estimated £7m, “you go insane. As soon as the bet goes on, you think what did I do that for? The self-worth comes in and you hate yourself.”
Leave a Reply