Hollywood could never match sport’s real-life fairytale endings

“Pretty cool,” was how the man himself described it. Others were more effusive. Indeed, on Monday when Stuart Broad brought an end to his Test career by securing victory for England against Australia through the simple process of taking a wicket with his final delivery – this after hitting a six from the last ball he faced as a batter – it was such an extraordinary conclusion, for many it could only be rationalised as part of a preconceived script.

“It was written in the stars,” said his captain, Ben Stokes.

If not quite as celestial, for many of us a Hollywood ending was the widely shared assumption, as if Broad had been a participant in a movie. Not that many scriptwriters would dare conjure up a conclusion as perfectly rounded as his, and there was something ridiculous about the manner in which he had seized his moment.

He declared, just before the final day’s play began, that this would be the last of his 167 Tests. Beloved by the English crowd for his career-long baiting of Australian cricketers, to go out against the old enemy at the conclusion of one of the most insistently dramatic series in Ashes history was the perfect exit. But Broad did more than just wave to the crowd, while metaphorically flicking two fingers at the Aussie opposition. He insisted on putting himself at the heart of an epic conclusion. It really was bonkers.

However, here is the unexpected thing: Broad is by no means unusual. What we love about sport is precisely the fact that it cannot be contrived. Hollywood has consistently tried to harness the drama of its unscripted rhythms and consistently failed. If Broad’s farewell had come at the end of a movie, it would have been mocked for its laughable implausibility. Yet the history of sport is littered with those who have timed their departure to perfection, in glorious circumstances, as if competition could be manipulated to deliver a theatrical spectacle.

From Eric Cantona announcing he was off just as he had won the Premier League title for the fourth time, through the boxer Joe Calzaghe leaving the ring after compiling a perfect 46 wins in 46 fights record, to Sir Alex Ferguson, Cantona’s manager, who guided his Manchester United team to their 13th title under his supervision three months after he declared he was off, many have appeared to have employed Hollywood’s finest to script their leaving.

Not to mention the magnificent cyclist Chris Hoy, who won the last of his six gold medals to ensure he was Britain’s finest ever Olympian before stepping away from the velodrome, or Jill Scott, who won the Euros in her last ever game for England, during which she demonstrated her unyielding commitment to the cause by being caught on camera swearing vigorously at her German rival Sydney Lohmann.

Sure, some have done it without prearranged fanfare, but in a way, their unexpected departures at the very peak of their powers only enhanced their legend. Alain Prost walked away from motorsport immediately after winning the Formula One title in a fit of pique because his team had announced they were signing his rival Ayrton Senna. Bjorn Borg had grown weary of celebrity when he decided to retire in his prime as a tennis player. While few can match the manner in which Barry John, probably the greatest Welsh rugby player of all time, left the game. So dispirited was he by the growing hero worship surrounding his astonishing displays for his country, he decided it was over the day a small girl curtsied to him when he was in his local shop. He was just 27 at the time.

But the thing about sport is, circumstance can undermine the script. Ahead of this year’s Tour de France, the cyclist Mark Cavendish declared this would be his last. Tied with the great Eddy Merckx on a record 38 stage wins, everything was set for the Manx Rocket to make his mark on history before pedalling off into the sunset. When he finished second on stage 7, the concluding act seemed predestined: the cameras were trained on the conclusion of stage 8. Sadly, desperately, instead he crashed, broke his elbow and was obliged to miss the rest of the race. It was not the way he had planned his leaving.

Nor did things go as Cristiano Ronaldo – a footballer acutely aware of his own narrative – expected his final chapter to pan out. He thought it would be back at Manchester United, the club where it had all begun. But instead of an emotional sporting sunset, his Mancunian foray was soiled in bitterness and recrimination. Now his ending appears to be written in the pointless, mink-lined dustbin of the Saudi Pro League.

Which brings us to his rival in football history, Lionel Messi. Presented last December with the perfect circumstance to leave the game he so long graced at its very apex, clutching the World Cup, the Argentinian captain has instead been lured for his final act to America. There he has found himself embroiled in the growing Hollywoodisation of the game. Following the lead of Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney’s lucrative transformation of Wrexham from a football club into a vehicle for storylines, David Beckham is attempting the same at Inter Miami. Messi has been signed to deliver images of Kim Kardashian swooning in the stands at his brilliance.

From the world’s greatest footballer to international media content: it only goes to prove that when Hollywood gets involved, they invariably get it wrong. Messi really should have done a Stuart Broad.