In the age before the explosive Twenty20 revolution, no one struck the leather with greater ferocity than Robin Smith. Built with a prizefighter's frame yet endowed with the nimble footwork of his ballet dancer mother, he unleashed strokes – the square cut in particular – with such immense force they could dent in advertising boards and deflated bowlers' confidence.
Smith has passed away after a prolonged illness, presented as a figure filled with stark contrasts. Outwardly, he appeared the embodiment of fearless, attacking batsmanship, renowned for memorable contests with the world's fastest bowlers. But behind this show of machismo existed a man constantly questioning his own worth, a struggle he kept hidden during his playing days only to later led to problems of alcoholism and depression.
His fearlessness against pace was utterly authentic. The motivation, however, was a curious mix of pure grit and a self-confessed addiction to adrenaline. He seemed wired differently, seeking out the masochistic test of standing up to thunderbolts, which demanded blistering reactions and a high tolerance for pain.
This was perfectly illustrated in his famous undefeated knock of 148 playing for England facing the Caribbean pace attack at the Home of Cricket in 1991. In challenging conditions, against the rampant Curtly Ambrose and Malcolm Marshall, he did not merely endure but thrived, his eyes reportedly sparkling the brutal exchange of intimidation and strokeplay. He admitted afterwards the feeling was one of “electrified”.
Batting primarily at number five or six, He earned caps for England in 62 Test matches and 71 One-Day Internationals from the late 80s to the mid-90s. He scored 4,236 Test runs with a mean of 43.67, including nine hundreds. In the one-day arena, he made 2,419 ODI runs averaging just under 40.
One of his most destructive displays came in 1993 against Australia facing the Aussies, hammering a devastating 167. The display was so impressive he earned personally congratulated the Prime Minister, John Major. Yet, in a cruel twist, his team ended up losing the match.
Affectionately nicknamed ‘Judge’ because of a youthful haircut resembling a judicial wig, his batting average in Tests was notably impressive, especially considering his career spanned for a frequently defeated England team. It is widely felt he was discarded somewhat unfairly after a difficult tour to South Africa in the winter of 95/96.
He admitted in his autobiography, he felt like two people: ‘The Judge’, the ruthless on-field warrior who lived for conflict, and Robin Smith, a gentle, feeling individual. Each persona fought for dominance.
His fierce loyalty occasionally led to trouble. One well-known episode he intervened to protect West Indian colleague Malcolm Marshall from racist abuse at a team hotel. When verbal requests were ignored, he punched the primary abuser, a response resulting in a broken hand leading to a lengthy spell on the sidelines.
Moving on from the game after professional sport became a huge struggle. The thrill of competition was replaced by the mundane realities of running companies. Businesses involving a travel company ultimately faltered. Alongside a strained relationship and serious money troubles, he descended into alcohol dependency and severe depression.
Relocating to Perth with his family offered a fresh start but failed to fix his personal demons. During his darkest hour, he thought about taking his own life, only being pulled back from the edge by the support of family and a neighbour.
His family includes his companion, Karin, Harrison and Margaux, and his brother, Chris.
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