I’ve always enjoyed snooker. Probably partially because I’ve watched it since my childhood; my father is or was a fan of the game.
Perhaps surprisingly, David Attenborough is also a part of the story. It was Attenborough, when running BBC2, who chose this working men’s sport as a part of showcasing the introduction of colour TV to the United Kingdom.
We may come back to the issue of class at some later point. Billiards has been portrayed as a posh man’s game. Pool is a brasher more American blue-collar pursuit. And snooker sits, perhaps, somewhere in the middle.
But here are some of the things I like (and dislike) about this game.
First, the table. I love the green baize (what if any difference is there between baize and felt, I wonder?). It’s like a mini battlefield. And as a wargamer I like that! It’s the terrain in which the combatants engage in a warfare that’s both physical and intellectual.
Then, the balls. I love those bright, hard, shiny orbs! And the choice of red, against green, for the little army of low value ‘grunts’ is perfect. The higher value colours could be various brass or ADCs (Aide-de-Camps), dotted around the battlefield, running errands for the commanders.
Then there are the players and their magic wands, the cues. Snooker players are a funny bunch. Mostly they seem to be drawn from working class or what we class-conscious Brits might call lower middle class, or upper working class. The latter might be best exemplified by someone like Ronnie O’Sullivan; resolutely working class in terms of culture, but from an affluent (if shady) background.
Do such considerations apply to foreign players? One wonders about the Chinese and Thai players. I really don’t know!
Having mentioned the whole ‘working men’s culture’ thread, that brings in some other things. Mostly these relate to what I don’t like about the sport. These also concern the ‘showbiz’ and fiscal aspects of the game (not unique to snooker). So, whilst I don’t mind the silly nicknames, I’m not so keen on the player’s theme tunes. A recent trend I could happily do without. And the ubiquitous advertising, gambling being the most pervasive, pernicious and, frankly, repulsive.
Snooker players and umpires also have – in all the snooker I’ve ever seen, UK or elsewhere – dress codes, which are a mixed bag. That any people in sport should act as advertising hoardings I strongly disapprove of. But the tradition of dressing smartly? That’s alright. Rather like cricket whites it’s a tradition I find cosy and comforting, rather than oppressive.
There’s obviously the game itself, with its combination of bravura and strategy. I love flashy aggressive players, from ‘Hurricane’ Higgins and ‘Rocket’ Ronnie, to newer guys, like Trump. But then again, I also love the more measured tempi of guys like Neil Robertson and Mark Selby. There are a good number of what I deem to be duller players. In the gentlemanly spirit of the sport itself, I’ll refrain from naming anyone. They may be highly skilled. But I don’t enjoy watching them ‘at work’.
But the chief attraction of snooker, as with many sports (or indeed any human activities), is to do with something I just mentioned, skill. Watching the more flamboyant players when they’re ‘in the zone’ is a kind of Zen poetry.
And with this introduction, via my reference to Zen, there’s the calmness of the game. Crowds occasionally get a little rowdy, at certain junctures. But by and large they watch in rapt silence, as the gladiators fight hard, but silently. If one excludes the TV commentators (quite often on YouTube the commentary is missing), the clack of the balls, the numeric narrative of the umpire’s interjections, and the occasional burst of applause, are all that breaks the almost monastic silence.
In the end it’s the mix of skill, drama, aesthetics (of the game in particular) and pace/peace, that I love the most. It’s a game I can focus intently, or just bathe in its ambience. It can command attention, and it can soothe and relax.
Whilst mentioning such qualities, and having consciously excluded them above, I feel it’d be churlish not to mention some of the commentators. Perhaps my favourite might be ‘whispering’ Ted Lowe (Clive Everton may be his heir?), whose soft-spoken delivery really is very charming. Especially in an era when the tawdry brashness of so much of our culture – the intrusions of adverts really throws this into stark relief – is pitched at such a glaring blaring level. As alludes to via Everton, Lowe has some noteworthy heirs, although the professional pundits of old are increasingly being replaced by former (and even sometimes current) players.
As I type this I’m watching a Trump vs Robertson match from 2020. And it’s great. Trump has the flash speed and power, and Robertson the cool, smooth methodical game. And – this might sound superficial; I’m a tad embarrassed confessing to it – they’re both trim and relatively (for the snooker world, perhaps not the acme of fashion) stylish.
Certainly snooker is not as bad as darts, in which you can picture many of the players as drunk, racist, aggressive bigots. The kind of folk who might keep the worst of rough pubs in business. Sure, snooker has its cadre of tattooed skinhead porkers, evoking a culture I find total anathema. Along with the role of gambling in supporting the sport, this is an aspect of snooker I have real issues with. And I won’t pretend some of these relate to ‘issues’ I have with what is often popularly called ‘chav’ culture, but I prefer to call contemporary serfdom.
* Peter may be a very nice chap. I really don’t know! But his theme music is by a band called Pitbull. And he looks like a proper cnut.
But let’s leave such thoughts there! And instead, reflect on the the simple but satisfying aesthetics and mechanics of the game itself, the prodigious and entertaining skills of its best protagonists, and the range of responses it can provoke from excited awe to soothing and relaxed admiration.
For me snooker – not all snooker, mind; but snooker at its best – is a wonderful and almost therapeutic spectator sport.
8/1/‘22
Since first posting this I find I am in company with a certain Mr Osman. The only game show I like enough to watch regularly is his House of Games. He’s not ashamed of being suavely polite and clever. And he’s also an author. Apparently he chose the BBC Snooker theme when he appeared on Desert Island Dicks, on the most recent Boxing Day,
