Two years ago Ken Doherty, the then world snooker champion, assisted Alex Higgins in playing a testimonial match in the Waterfront Arena, Belfast, The Hurricane's home town. By then Higgins had been through the rinse for the umpteenth time, again washed out, once more penniless and - depending which reports were accurate - homeless too.

Doherty stepped in, allowing Higgins to cash in on the Dubliner's recent success at the Crucible and Belfast's willingness to support one of the most influential snooker players in the history of the game. Typically, Higgins was also mumbling about making another comeback.

The Belfast gig was a resounding success and Higgins reputedly pocketed £20,000. At the end of it all the Dubliner sat on stage signing autographs until a long line had filed away clutching his name on the night's programme. Alex slipped away "for personal reasons". He went backstage to celebrate with his entourage and didn't return.

It wasn't a typical show of gratitude, but it was typical Higgins. The Hurricane was always of the opinion that he took snooker to the people. The game owed him. Belfast was just payback.

Fifteen years previously Higgins had been on the cusp of another comeback. Having won the World Championship in the Crucible for the first time in 1972 as a 23-year-old, and then lost in the 1976 final, 1982's climax against Ray Reardon finished in the most dramatic fashion and arrived to the backdrop of the player's chaotic life.

Typically Higgins, who even then was something of a cross between the derailed character Begbie in Trainspotting and Walter Mitty, produced some of the most thrilling snooker seen in a final. Higgins had a comfortable 10-7 lead overnight in the 35-frame match, but Reardon, a six-time World champion and then just a year off 50, took advantage of a wild shot from his opponent in the first frame of the day to make a demoralising 95 clearance.

Higgins's response was not unusual. In the next frame he tried to swerve the cue ball around a red to touch the black into a corner pocket but fouled. The mistake triggered a fight back from Reardon which finally took the match to 15-15 in the evening session.

The memories of the moments after the climax, when 33-year-old Higgins went on to take the match with a 135 clearance, are still of a waif of a man wearing a green shirt with a brown collar, the formal bow tie cast off, a picture of bewilderment.

Bursting into tears, the Hurricane dispensed with the traditional stiff handshakes and emotionally beckoned to his wife Lyn and daughter Laura to come down into the arena. That is the enduring image, the moment. For once the public was not asked to join his world of paranoia and delusion. Temporarily, at least, the recidivist had cleaned his slate. The family union, together with the world championship trophy, was a metaphor for hope for Higgins, one of the public high points for a champion who fell into decline without fear of taking people with him.

Higgins, with a cheque for £25,000 and another potential £300,000 in the following year's earnings, was back then, in the mood for personal reform.

"I have been under a lot of pressure over the past five or six years but this will give me financial security for life," he said.

Then we tried hard to believe him.