"Whoever called snooker 'chess with balls' was rude, but right." - Clive James.
I know things have been deathly quite around the corridors of fustar.info of late, but I went into a kind of indulgent hibernation (ah…bliss) over the holiday weekend from which I am only now returning.
What news? Well it may be a sport on its last legs (if you believe Alex Higgins et al) - with cigarette company sponsorship disappearing, number of tournaments shrinking, public interest continuing to wane - but Snooker's World Championship is back in Sheffield's Crucible Theatre and (for the next two weeks at least) all is right with the world.
Yes indeed folks, I love snooker. I love the jubilation & the (addictive) cruelty, the bewildering skill (under extreme pressure) & the agonising caprice of a match-losing 'in off'. I love the tension & the languidness, the rapid century breaks & the 20-minute safety exchanges, the confident players who can't miss & the crushed players slumped in their seats watching it all unravel before their eyes. Clive Everton neatly summed up the horrible, helpless 'sitting & watching' players are forced to endure as follows:
In sports like tennis, a bad shot or a lucky one from your opponent costs you one point and there is a new start at the next point. In snooker, a bad shot or a fluke can lead to a player sitting fuming and powerless in his seat for the next ten minutes.
The trouble is that there is no scope to discharge this frustration with any form of exertion as there is in most other sports and it does not help, as Davis puts it, that the television cameras are up your nose.
I love it all.
Those who share my love of the game will, no doubt, agree with Clive James' pithy, second-hand, assessment (see above) but it only tells half the story. While the game does indeed require 'grand-master'-esque levels of spatial awareness, ability to plan several moves ahead etc., it also is (at its most basic) all about reproducing one's technique consistently and fluently under the most extreme pressure (when most of us would hardly be able to pick up the cue). As Steve 'Dead Soulless Eyes' Davis once memorably put it, the key is "to play as if it means nothing when it means everything". It all seems so simple when reduced to that level - with the winner being the person who can relax most and allow his well-honed technique to take over. In that sense snooker (at its most tense and exciting) captures some of the sadistic pleasures of penalty shoot outs.
Those who whinge and moan about penalties being a cruel and 'random' way of deciding a football match are, of course, missing the point. It is this very cruelty and 'randomness' that makes the thing so captivating, agonising and compelling. It seems inexplicable that a talented, professional footballer can fail to score from 12 yards out, but yet we see it happen again and again, with the devastated 'misser' forced to endure the long walk back to the centre-circle (while millions of eyes watch - laughing or crying).
While the taking of a penalty may appear to epitomise the delicious 'one person against him/herself' nature of sport, it pales in comparison to World Championship snooker. Striking a static ball at a target 8 yards wide is one thing, but a high-pressure, final frame clearance in snooker is akin to trying to knock one football on to another into an ice-hockey goal from the half-way line…30 times in a row!1
While we may admire the composure and superhuman focus of snooker's great winners, our compassion and affection tends to be reserved for those who show all-too-human fragility at vital moments. No rivalry better illustrated this truth than that between Stephen Hendry and Jimmy White. Between 1990 and 1994 they contested the World Championship Final on four occasions, with Hendry proving victorious each and every time.2
Hendry of course was cursed with the permanent appearance (at least) of smugness and invincibility, while Jimmy always seemed one lapse in concentration away from (yet another) match-ending error. Jimmy was easy to love - never more so then when, in what was to be his final 'final appearance', he missed a black off its spot…at 17-17…with the title (at last) at his mercy. Hendry, of course, stepped in and ruthlessly, relentlessly polished off the balls to triumph once more. When (after the prize-giving) White was wished a "Happy Birthday" by David Vine (it was his 32nd), he smiled and quipped, memorably and heroically, "He [Hendry] is beginning to annoy me…".
What a guy…and what a sport.
Hendry just potted the white straight into the pocket, ho ho. It was like something out of Alice in Wonderland - the white rabbit piling down the hole with nary a backward glance. Table must be a bit fucked.
April 18th, 2006 at 6:35 pmYes, incredibly Hendry is trailing 6-3 to everyone’s favourite snooker-playing accountant, Nigel “Look how grey I am” Bond.
If he (Bond) wins there’ll be the de rigueur BBC montage of him in a tuxedo, standing beside an Aston Martin DB5. How hilarious…
April 18th, 2006 at 10:08 pmThe table seems to be coming in for a lot of criticism. It’s not like the Vic eh?
April 18th, 2006 at 10:39 pmUlster’s own Joe Swail seems particularly aggrieved at the vicissitudes of the green baize in question. The Vic’s tables do, at least, enjoy a consistent unpredictability…
April 18th, 2006 at 10:51 pmYes indeed there is nothing quite like curling up on the couch with a pot of tea and a couple of slices of well buttered toast to watch the drama that is the world Snooker championships. There is something remarkably comforting about hearing the famous introductory music and the whispered commentary from the likes of John Virgo. Indeed even the crisp sound the balls make when they are potted is somehow reassuring.
Also, In no other sport do you get such an intimate knowledge of the protagonists. The intense close-ups of the players give you a deep, and sometimes unnerving, knowledge of every facial blemish and wrinkle they possess.
One of the other most appealing aspects of the sport is the relative slow pace at which the action happens. In fact because, at times, the game can be rather uneventful if anything remotely controversial or mildly amusing occurs it is always blown out of all proportion. Over the years there has been controversy over a range of issues including the irregular tables, the mysterious origin of the “kick” as well as the unprecedented breaks of, the incredibly annoying, Quentin Hann. Every year the expert analysts seem to spend hours poring over often trivial yet fascinating aspects of the game, something I lap up with unequivocal glee.
April 19th, 2006 at 8:36 amMy one and only gripe about BBC’s World Championship coverage: Why don’t they let Hazel Irvine MC the trophy presentation? When David Vine was the regular BBC anchor, he’d always appear out on the floor of the crucible in his tux to deliver the coup de grace. But nowadays, they draft Tony Gubba in to do the job, as if it wouldn’t be the same if a man wasn’t doing it. Rubbish. I say, let Hazel put on a fancy frock and enjoy her moment in the spotlight.
That said, I love the way they’ve taken to introducing the players by nickname. When that Hamilton guy was introduced on Monday as “The Sherriff of Pottingham”, I damn near wept for joy. What are the odds someone will style themselves “Osama Bin Pottin’”?
April 19th, 2006 at 1:03 pmI miss David Vine. Hazel Irvine just isn’t the same for me (nothing to do with her being a woman…I just find her annoyingly ‘light’ and a bit twee). Tony ‘Perma Grin’ Gubba isn’t much of an improvement though…
I love the nicknames. “The Sherriff of Pottingham” is a classic, but don’t forget John Higgins (The Wizard of Wishaw), Alan ‘Angles’ McManus, Ken ‘Darling of Dublin Town’ Doherty, David Gray (The Mighty Atom), and Ronnie O’Sullivan (The Essex Exocet).
April 19th, 2006 at 2:55 pmI rather like Hazel. Cheery yet knowledgable, no?
Still though, why can’t they just bring back David Icke? Oh….
April 19th, 2006 at 3:42 pmShe’s cheery and knowledgeable to be sure…but…I dunno. Maybe it’s the irritatingly chummy way she calls John Parrott ‘JP’ all the time, maybe it’s her tepid banter with ‘the lads’…but something grates.
I agree that they should bring that lovely David Icke back though. He was a character.
“So tell the national audience watching right now Steve. When were you first approached by the Bilderberg group and how horrified were you when you first saw that giant owl?!”
April 19th, 2006 at 4:24 pmJimmy White appears to be struggling in his opening round match (currently 3-5 behind). Time for the “GOO AWN JIM-MAY” brigade to get behind him.
April 19th, 2006 at 4:52 pmUpdate 6.15 p.m: He’s now 3-6 down overnight…
Hey fústar, didn’t you say before you didn’t have telly? Have you succumbed? Just curious… I love telly. And I love watching the snooker on telly…
April 20th, 2006 at 9:19 amI haven’t succumbed Martin…which makes keeping up to date with the snooker pretty difficult. It’s the one time I miss the telly…but between the internet and my folks’ house (just round the corner) I’ll manage to stay in touch.
Jimmy’s out…a sad day.
April 20th, 2006 at 4:21 pm[…] g”> My old mucker fústar of fústar dot org fame has a top notch post today about the snooker - am watching Hendry and Bond while I jack this cyber missive straight into the matrix […]
May 29th, 2006 at 2:00 pm