Andrew Symonds finished one of his final interviews with some haunting last words

The maroon 4×4 with the personalized ‘ROY’ number plates rolled around the side of the large, impressive house, pulled up in front of the garage, and out climbed the legend.

It seems that these days any athlete playing more than a handful of first-grade games of just about anything gets called a ‘legend’, but no-one deserved that label as much as Andrew Symonds.

And no-one looked the part more than he did that day. He appeared superbly fit and strong, barefoot, dressed in a pair of shorts, a red shirt with his name stitched over the breast pocket and a big stockman’s hat.

If ever a man looked at peace with himself and his environment, it was him.

‘Hi,’ he said sticking out his big right hand. ‘Call me Roy.’