Everyone was talking about Stephen Hendry yesterday, most likely causing the 43-year-old no end of embarrassment.

One of life's great limelight shunners, the Scot's announcement that he was retiring from snooker in the immediate aftermath of his 13-2 World Championship defeat to compatriot Stephen Maguire on Tuesday evening sparked all manner of tributes; paeans which testified to one unarguable fact.

Quite simply, for more than a decade Hendry was the greatest in his domain, and possibly the finest who has ever graced the green baize. Indeed, there are grounds for claiming that he is the best sporting talent that his country has ever produced, given his seven global titles and complete dominance in the 1990s. The litany of statistics – the 775 century breaks, 36 ranking tournament victories and 11 competitive 147 "maximums" – simply reinforce the pedigree of the man who was born in South Queensferry in 1969, just 10 days after Michael Schumacher, who also won seven world championships but did so with considerably more controversy and dirty tricks than Hendry ever did.

In anyone's terms, his achievements are exemplary. Should we stand him next to a Jimmy Johnstone or Jim Baxter and conclude that he lacked that duo's innate joie de vivre? Or might Hendry's dominance of his vocation have happened before snooker was transformed into a truly international pastime?

I can already envisage the protests from the petrolheads, who will fight the corner of Jackie Stewart and Jim Clark, whilst boxing devotees will point to Ken Buchanan and Olympic lovers will cry hurrah for the likes of Allan Wells and David Wilkie, Eric Liddell and Sir Chris Hoy.

Irrespective of the gifts of these characters, none of them grabbed their sport by the scruff of the neck and squeezed the life out of would-be challengers with more intensity – and over such a prolonged period – as Hendry. He won his first major tournament in 1987 when he defeated Dennis Taylor and duly embarked on a rampant destruction of anybody who stood in his path until the dawn of the new millennium.

For some people, Hendry was always too clinical and overly calculating; a fellow with the baby-faced countenance of Stan Laurel and the temperament of a Cyberman. And yet, if ice ran through his veins when he was at his peak, why should that be viewed as a failing? Especially when one contrasts his cv with that of so many other Scottish stars, who have either collapsed in a heap with the finishing line in sight, or squandered their talent through drink, drugs, narcissism or lack of ambition. Hendry, by comparison, was both Jekyll and Hyde in the same body, unfailingly polite and analytical, even as he ruthlessly reduced the rest of the snooker fraternity to quivering lumps of jelly.

As a consequence, the abiding memory of Hendry will be of somebody who strained every sinew to translate his potential into the solid currency of trophies, titles and the trappings of fame, even though the latter never especially interested him. It might be a valid criticism that he immersed himself in a bubble and cared little for his younger compatriots as he practiced for up to eight hours a day in semi-darkness at his long-term base in Stirling. But Hendry recognised one of the essential ingredients of sporting excellence; that teams might depend on camaraderie and collective spirit but individuals have to rely on their own motivation, selfishness and driven desire.

He watched and learned from Steve Davis, but, ultimately, Hendry knew there were no short cuts to glory.

On the rare occasions when he met the press, his impatience with churning out hackneyed quotes was obvious, and his suspicion of the media increased after it was reported he would leave Scotland if Labour won the 1997 General Election, something he flatly denied. However Hendry tolerated the attention for the sake of spreading the gospel and will continue that process, having committed himself to promoting snooker and building his profile in China, where he is regarded as something akin to a god.

Perhaps he should have retired earlier, considering his admission in 2010 that he had suffered with the yips for most of the previous decade. But then again, anybody who witnessed the majestic fashion in which he amassed another televised 147 at the Crucible last week will appreciate that Hendry, even amidst the flickering embers of his career, still possessed the capacity to thrill and entertain.

In which light, he is up there in the pantheon of Scottish sporting legends and Maguire, for one, believes he stands at the summit. "Obviously there are a couple of football players who would think something different, but I'm not a football fan so I would say yes [he is the greatest]. He has done everything and he has done it with a bit of class."

It's a tough legacy for anybody to follow. As Scotland may shortly discover.