Fifteen years ago today, David “Syd” Lawrence began his run-up on the last day of the third Test between England and New Zealand in Wellington. It was Lawrence’s fifth Test for England in four years and he was desperate to prove that he could cut it at the highest level, despite the discomfort in his left knee that had forced him to consult the team physiotherapist that morning.

After a thorough examination, the physiotherapist had advised the Gloucestershire strike bowler to “play through the pain”, but moments before his third over, Jack Russell, Lawrence’s long-time friend and teammate, gently pointed out that the ball was not coming through as fast as normal. “It’s just not hitting my gloves as hard as it usually does,” the wicketkeeper said.

Lawrence resolved to go flat-out on his next ball, but as he planted his left foot in his delivery stride, the locomotive force of his 6ft 1in frame proved too much for his weakened kneecap, which split horizontally, emitting a sound like a firecracker.

As he convulsed on the floor, screams echoing around the ground, many looked away in horror. He never played Test cricket again.

So where is the big man now? Propping up a bar in embittered retirement? Down and out in deepest Gloucester-shire? Well, no. Although Lawrence suffered the customary postinjury identity crisis and a lingering sense of injustice, he battled his way through the dark days, came out the other side and owns a cult nightclub in Bristol with an inordinately late licence and implausibly garish interior.

As I made my way through the puce corridor and down to the basement dancefloor, I mused on the quirks of fate that send each of us on such wondrously divergent life paths. Behind the bar were Buddha statuettes and emblazoned on the crimson walls were Japanese symbols, presumably a nod to the nightclub’s name, Dojo. Sitting on one of the tall stools next to the bar was the unmistakable figure of Lawrence, still in an impressive state of bulging muscularity.

After some small talk that established my ignorance of house music, Lawrence was willing to talk about the moment that shattered his patella and his world. “All I can remember is the pain,” he said. “I am a bit of a hard guy. Before getting into cricket I used to box, so I know how to take a punch. But I had never experienced pain like that before — and I stayed conscious throughout the whole thing.

“For two years I refused to believe that my life in cricket was over and I worked like crazy in the gym. But then my knee broke again when I was doing some leg extensions. It was not as painful because the force was not going through it, but emotionally it was crushing.”

Such is the siren call of professional sport, however, that Lawrence attempted yet another comeback three years later and managed two brief but abortive spells for Gloucestershire before retiring and buying his beloved nightclub. “It was a long struggle to get back into competitive cricket, but I am glad I did it,” he said. “I knew I would never play Test cricket again, but those spells in the county game somehow made the transition out of sport a little easier. My new life is completely different, but I have come to terms with it. I prefer to be called David when I am working in here because it represents my new identity. Syd was my name back in the days when I was a cricketer.”

The smoothness of one’s journey through life is often determined by how readily we are able to adopt new identities in times of crisis. This is, perhaps, particularly true of professional sport, a calling in which obsessives tend to succeed and therefore find it difficult to move on. But Lawrence has shown admirable resilience, particularly when you consider that his dreams vanished in one cruel instant, whereas most sportsmen have months of self-administered therapy as their careers wind down.

Every inch of Lawrence’s frame is now that of a nightclub owner. He reminisces without rancour and ponders the future with optimism. “We just got a licence on Saturday nights that allows us to remain open until 9am,” he said. “Things really start heating up around 3am. We also have some outside space, which is really fortunate, what with the new smoking laws about to come into play.”

I thought — but did not say — that it was about time that he was on the receiving end of a lucky break or two.

Syd vicious

David Lawrence’s knee injury in 1992 ended a stop-start England career of five Test matches and one one-day international over 3K years. At his best, he could be unplayable. Bowling for Gloucestershire in 1988, he almost killed Phil Simmons, the West Indies opening batsman, whose heart briefly stopped after being hit on the temple. Lawrence took 515 wickets in 185 first-class matches and few worked harder at their game.