Robin Smith - and one day in 1988

A 25-year-old Bobby Moore holding the Jules Rimet trophy aloft at Wembley in July 1966. Muhammad Ali, arms raised in triumph in Kinshasa after flooring George Foreman in October 1974.

For Hampshire supporters - mourning one of their own this week - Robin Smith walking off having plastered Derbyshire's bowlers all over Lord's in June 1988 remains an image ingrained in the memories of those fortunate enough to be there.

I was.

I had seen plenty of Smith in the years preceding that knock, and had already seen more than enough to know that here was a cricketer going places - a man destined to play at the very highest level.

His brother, Chris, had already done it, having earned eight caps between 1983 and 1986.

His Test average of over 30 actually put him in fairly rarefied company during a decade when England's batting was overly reliant on David Gower, Mike Gatting and an inconsistent Graham Gooch.

But if 'Kippy' was reliable, doughty and solid, his brother was box office. Given the choice of watching either, there was no choice to be made.

That Hampshire made it to that final in 1988 was remarkable in itself — and almost entirely down to the Judge.

Having never made it to Lord's - the only county with that weight on their shoulders - Hampshire were dead and buried in their quarter-final against a Worcestershire side that included some of the biggest names in English cricket.

The hosts had been bowled out for 169, but then reduced Hampshire to 114 for 7.

There was just one problem for the Pears.

Smith was still at the crease.

And in a match that lasted a barely credible three days - there was no play on day one, while the inclement May weather returned to the most flooded ground in global cricket 24 hours later - Hampshire's talisman had no intention of heading down the A303 on the losing side.

He scored 87 not out, and guided Hampshire home alongside Nigel Cowley, who contributed 18 not out, in one of the most significant victories in the county's one-day history.

In many ways, it demonstrated Smith's versatility.

Yes, he could smash you a breath-taking hundred before your Northlands Road jacket potato had cooled, but he could also dig in and double up as an immovable object.

And he could do both with a broad grin on his face.

That's why everyone loved him.

But I digress. Back to June 1988.

The weather looked grim, Hampshire's supporters had travelled to North London in their droves, and there was hope that the county's St John's Wood duck was about to be broken.

No-one knew what to expect. We'd never been here before.

This was a match that Hampshire supporters had traditionally watched on TV.

For me, a young cricketer dreaming of one day being able to play at Lord's in a final myself (spoiler alert — I didn’t), we had to keep the faith.

And there was one player we had faith in above all others.

Smith was just 24 on that famous day - and he was up against one of the most ferocious pace attacks ever assembled in county cricket.

Ole Mortensen, Michael Holding, Devon Malcolm, Alan Warner and Paul Newman: there was little subtlety in the Derbyshire attack, but that didn’t make it any less lethal.

History shows that Stephen Jefferies' bowling changed the game that day.

The South African took 5 for 13 as Derbyshire were bowled out for just 117.

That was great, of course. At the innings break, most Hampshire supporters - like their Derbyshire counterparts - were walking around a ground they weren't particularly familiar with, in a daze.

But that afternoon wasn’t about Jefferies.

It was about an innings which I can still remember as clearly now as I did back then.

The Hawk recently caught up with Cardigan Connor, and he recalled the atmosphere in the dressing room as Hampshire went into bat.

"We had the television on in the dressing room and Richie Benaud was commenting on our final against Derbyshire in the Benson and Hedges Cup (in 1988)," says Connor.

"I remember him saying, ‘gees, Devon Malcolm is bowling fast’. We all looked at each other and decided to turn the volume to zero.

They didn’t just have Dev; they had Michael Holding and Ole Mortensen too. "The one player who wasn't nervous was Robin.

"He was just pacing around - he couldn't wait to get out there and smash them all around Lord’s."

I can still recall the way he walked out that afternoon. Here was a man who meant business. Smith was a man who wanted to prove that he was ready.

Not just ready to win Hampshire a major one-day trophy at Lord’s, but prepared to show England what they were missing.

We knew he was good enough to play for his adopted country, but he was a cricketer in a hurry.

South Africa still appeared years off returning to international cricket, and we didn't want to lose him to them anyway… he was one of our own.

Even if his accent betrayed that Durban upbringing.

By the time he walked off that afternoon, he hadn't so much made a statement as hammered it to the door of the Lord's pavilion.

If you Google that final - and I've watched it a couple of times today, in between phone calls and responding to WhatsApp messages from a cricket community in shock - a lot of the coverage surrounds the incredible catch that ended Smith's dismissal.

What you don't see is the jaw-dropping assault that not only assured Smith's place in Hampshire cricket folklore, but also propelled him into England's plans for the next eight years.

He may only have scored 38, but they were 38 of the most compelling and iconic runs that a Hampshire cricket supporter will ever witness.

I left Lord's convinced that he was the best batter in the world. And within two years that assertion was backed up by his performances against the likes of the West Indies and Australia.

In 1989, he and Jack Russell pretty much defied the Aussies single-handedly in an otherwise humiliating summer.

The outpouring of sadness at Hampshire is an indication of the special place he still holds in the heart, not just of those who played alongside him - including Jimmy Adams and Giles White - but those who watched him play and adored his approach to the sport.

I was fortunate to interview him three times during my career as a journalist.

Without fail, he was as forthright in his views as he was with his batting.

In 2010 he laid bare his disdain for Ray Illingworth and Keith Fletcher, and the way he was treated towards the end of his England career.

But when it came to Hampshire he never had a bad word to say about anyone.

I caught up with Adams earlier today and he made it clear just how much Smith meant to him, the impact he had on his formative years and just how hard he was to wake up when you shared a room with him.

“The fire alarm went off in the middle of the night,” he says. “Robin was sleeping and I was like, what do I do here? I can’t leave him. So I tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Judge, there’s a fire alarm...’ He didn’t even open his eyes. He just said, ‘If it’s really bad then come and wake me up’.”

“Growing up as a kid - the Test would be on the BBC. I’d be playing cricket in the garden, but all that would stop as soon as Judge walked out to bat.

"He was down to earth, so caring. But not as confident as the person you watched on the TV.”

Smith clearly had his battles following the end of his career, but the unity today has been something to behold.

This was a cricketer who was loved unconditionally.

And he always will be. The Judge will be missed. More than he will ever know.