Tropical cyclones are a harsh reality of living in far north Queensland. One crossed the coast in the spring of 2010 near Townsville and headed straight for Johnathan Thurston.

It was Cyclone Gus.

"How do you want to be remembered?" asked Phil Gould, who had been employed by the Cowboys as a consultant to help fix the floundering club.

That was the nice part of the conversation, apparently. The rest wasn't so pretty.

Gould's former players often tell you about Cyclone Gus, a category five force of nature that brutally explains to a footballer why he isn't reaching his true potential.

If you're looking for clues to explain why Thurston is the best player in the world right now, at the peak of his powers at the age of 32, you don't need to search much further.

"There has been no greater motivation or driving force behind the way I've been playing than that," Thurston tells Fairfax Media. "That's a conversation that I will never forget – it was extremely important. It really opened up my eyes to a lot of things, but especially rugby league and how I wanted to finish my career, being in the best form that I can be."

Rugby league views itself in tabloid back pages. Excited stories reveal that careers hinge on single moments in time: the late-night phone call, the chance meeting, the bullet dodged in Kings Cross.

In reality, it swings on some of this but so much more. The last few years of Thurston's career have been defined by love, fatherhood, grief, success and the not-so-sensational fact that he's just grown up.

REVEALED: PLAYER MATURES! Stop the presses.

That's why Gould never speaks about his frank discussion with Thurston. He didn't want to speak about it when contacted this week, let alone any emphasis put on its importance.

Thurston, though, is less guarded, because it came at a critical time in his life.

Weeks earlier, he had been arrested outside the Treasury Casino in Brisbane and charged for public nuisance. He was captain, but also soon to come off contract. There were strong whispers that the Cowboys wanted to let him go.

Then Cyclone Gus intervened.

"We spoke about how we were coming to the back end of my career," Thurston continues. "There were some details that we spoke about, that I don't want to speak about, that will stick with me forever. That's why I have tried to take my game to another level. My teammates deserve a lot of credit for the way I have played, but that conversation … I can still remember it clearly and it's a driving force for how I wanted to be remembered."

The greats of the game – including Thurston's boyhood heroes Andrew Johns and Darren Lockyer – passionately argue that Thurston has nothing left to prove. He doesn't need to steer North Queensland to victory in Sunday night's grand final against Brisbane at ANZ Stadium to establish his place alongside them.

Thurston's influence at club level is best explained in the fact the Cowboys made one finals series in 10 seasons before he arrived. They've made seven in the last 11 while he's been there.

But what if he does triumph on Sunday? How will he be remembered then?

He will be remembered like Johns and Lockyer as playmakers who mastered their game at the end of their careers, instead of letting it ebb away.

"It doesn't get easier – but it gets slower," says Johns. "When you first start, everything is frantic and a hundred miles an hour. As you get older, it really starts to become slower. The options are far easier than they were. You do it so often; it becomes second nature. Then you get little signs, little tricks you work out yourself."

In other words, Thurston doesn't have the Shaun Johnson step, or the Anthony Milford bounce, but he does have the composure of Wally Lewis. Or Johns. Or Lockyer.

Witness the effortless try he set up for Cowboys teammate Gavin Cooper late in the preliminary final against the Storm last Saturday night: a subtle step off his left foot, a dummy outside, a short pass inside.

Leading the way: Johnathan Thurston is tackled during the Cowboys' preliminary final win over the Storm at AAMI Park. Photo: Quinn Rooney

And all of it with throbbing calf and groin begging for an ice pack and a rest.

"He's obviously got a cork in that calf, the game's won, and everyone else in the world will be thinking about next week," says Johns. "He could've put his hand up to come off but he had the audacity to set up another try.

"He isn't as fluent as other players, and he's not as graceful with his ball playing, and sometimes it doesn't look orthodox, but it's just so effective. He's around the ball all the time. He wants it in his hands. He's a footy player."

Ask Thurston if he understands what Johns means when he talks about the game slowing down and he laughs his signature two-stroke mower laugh.

"Yes, very much so," he says. "You see things unfolding before they happen. You play fast but think slow. Everything around you is happening quick, but to yourself it's like it's happening at a slower pace, and you get to execute some of those plays that you're trying to do."

Johns played his final match for Australia in the 2006 Anzac Test against New Zealand in 2006. Thurston came off the bench that night. There couldn't have been a more appropriate passing of the baton.

Later that year, in the Tri-Nations final against New Zealand, Thurston produced the play that stands out more than his laugh – his "show'n'go" – when he fooled the defensive line, slipped through and then put Lockyer over for the winning try in golden point.

He's been the mainstay of Australian and Queensland sides since. His captain in those teams, Cameron Smith, has played alongside him more than anyone, and he also holds clues that reveal why Thurston is the best player in the game at the age of 32.

"The one thing that stands out for me about JT, out of all the wonderful competitors I've played with he's the most competitive of all," says Smith. "He just can't lose. He loses of course, but in his mind he can't lose. You see it in every training session or game. His demeanour never says, 'I'm beaten here'. Even when he can't do anything about it."

Much has been written about how NRL clubs shunned Thurston as a teenager because of his small size and perceived deficiencies in defence. It belies the toughness he's shown as a matured player, despite being the constant target rival forwards will regularly run at.

"We were playing a Test and he did his ankle in the last training session, and for all money he was gone," recalls Smith. "He did rehab around the clock and played that match and played well. That's mentally tough. You see him busted after the game, with crook shoulders and dodgy knees, but he just pushes through it."

Lockyer remembers the younger, smaller player – and the one we have now.

"Your first perception was that he's a touch player," says Lockyer. "He was just little. But you soon find out he's a tough little bugger. The highest honour is to play for your country, the biggest reward is a premiership, but the toughest test is Origin. That's what the statistics say about his toughness: he's played 30-something matches in a row."

For the record, it's 33. Thurston hasn't missed an Origin since his debut in 2005.

"And he's always performed at that level," says Lockyer. "When you want to analyse a player and how good they are, there's a good starting point."

Another clue is less definable, and it came minutes after Queensland won the deciding match of the 2011 Origin series against NSW.

It was Lockyer's last Origin but the mood had been soured.

With 20 minutes to play, Thurston went down screaming in pain, clutching at his left knee. Play was stopped for three minutes before a medicab took him from the field. It was every footballer's worst fear: a suspected ACL.

Amid the euphoric scenes after the match, attention suddenly switched to the east-west corner of Suncorp Stadium, where the crowd was roaring even louder.

It was Thurston emerging from the tunnel in a wheelchair being pushed by teammate Sam Thaiday.

Clutching a green morphine whistle to help ease the pain, the two-stroke mower laugh started as he made his way towards Lockyer and his jubilant teammates.

"That," says Johns, "means he only cares about one thing – the team."

Unhappy end: Johnathan Thurston after Origin III in 2011. Photo: Steve Christo

Well, almost.

After Thurston claimed his record fourth Dally M Player of the Year award on Monday night, he broke down when he talked about his family and their support.

Those who know him best were aware that a piece of that was reserved for his late uncle, Richard Saunders, who was bashed to death in 2008 by a group of eight men in Brisbane. He was 38.

The men responsible were jailed in 2011 for periods ranging from eight years' jail to four years' youth detention.

Thurston was devastated.

The incident occurred during the World Cup. When he hugged Kangaroos coach Ricky Stuart outside the church where the funeral service took place, it was uncertain when he'd play again.

But he did. He played in Australia's opening match of the tournament against New Zealand. He was man of the match.

"That was a very difficult time for our family," Thurston reflects. "It was seven years ago now. I know how much enjoyment and how proud my family are of me. During that time, it was like I was the only shining light for them."

His uncle's death helped shaped Thurston, too.

"During that difficult time, I knew that to put a smile on their faces I needed to play football," he says. "That's what I did: not only for their benefit, but my benefit as well. Being able to block the emotional side out during such a difficult time has made me able to handle things differently now. I can deal with pressure a lot easier now than before that moment."

Family is the only reason Thurston is playing in this grand final for the Cowboys, instead of trying to win one for Penrith.

In early 2013, in his role as Panthers general manager, Gould pushed hard for Thurston to join the revolution at the foot of the Blue Mountains.

Thurston has admitted in the past that "I wanted to go". Finishing his career under Gould, in the lucrative market of Sydney, would've opened up many doors and set him up for life.

In the end, his fiancee Samantha Lynch made the decision for him. She wanted to stay and raise a family near her family in Townsville.

Ask him how close he was to leaving, Thurston says bluntly: "Um, extremely close. I just couldn't convince Samantha. I just couldn't convince her to come with me."

REVEALED: LOVE WINS! Stop the presses.

Now, Lynch and Thurston have two young children. "The responsibility of fatherhood has helped him," says Lockyer. "He's in a happy place."

On the field, he seems happier, too, and if you're looking for a clue for that one look at coach Paul Green, who has reached a grand final in his second season.

Thurston endorsed the departure of Neil Henry as coach – "We needed a shake up," he has previously said – and the result is the halfback has never played so free.

The perception is the dominant character of Thurston controlled the Cowboys. He was in charge, not the coach. Green made it very clear from his first days in Townsville that he was the boss.

Henry disputes that Thurston had too much control. "He had to learn how to cope with being the dominant playmaker," Henry says. "There were too many times when he had to be everything, and sometimes got flustered. He doesn't have that now with [five-eighth] Michael Morgan."

Thurston, though, makes it clear that his form can be attributed to the change in coach.

"It's no surprise that I'm in the form of my career since he's arrived," he says. "A lot of that has to do with the structures he has in place, and the standards that he's instilled into the playing group. The players around me have been playing out of their skins as well, as have I. It has a lot to do with Greeny being here and the respect we have for him. There's no doubt that the last couple of years have been the best I've had here."

Emotional triumph: Johnathan Thurston poses with his partner Samantha Lynch after winning the 2015 Dally M Medal. Photo: Cameron Laird

Push Thurston on the belief that he was taking on too much, he says this: "That's where Greeny has come in and taken that pressure off me by lifting the standard of the rest of the playing group to perform at a higher level. We don't have to rely on myself to win games."

But, well ... they do. They will on Sunday.

After the preliminary final against Melbourne, Smith embraced Thurston and wished him luck. There was no profound message, says Smith, but he appreciates how important this moment is for his representative teammate and close friend.

"He's played with a lot of pressure up there, to deliver a premiership," says Smith.

If Thurston delivers in the grand final on Sunday, it should be a footnote to his greatness. It shouldn't define it.

He has off-field baggage from his past, but Thurston is showing himself to be a different character as his career draws to a close.

The tools of his trade are the clues that reveal the most.

There's the headgear he gives to a young fan sitting in the first row of the grandstand after and sometimes during matches.

There's the kicking tee he picks up and hands to the ball boy after each attempt at goal.

And there's the black, yellow and red mouthguard displayed with every two-stroke mower laugh, showing his pride for the Aboriginal people he represents each time he plays.

Thurston's talent has never been in dispute, but if you had suggested a decade ago the man would befit the player, many would have their doubts.

But he does.

That's how he should be remembered.