The Longest Match

The boy and I came to the conclusion that it was time to call an end to years of speculating as to which of us was better at snooker. Having had many best of five or even best of seven matches, it was obvious that this short technique of measuring performance was not enough.

So we played first to ten, and then we had the idea of playing first to 18, as though we were in a World Championship. But the conditions weren't ideal (i.e. I lost both) as we had to keep stopping the game at inappropriate moments, most unlike the professional game.

There was clearly only one way to settle this in a sensible way. It was the summer holidays, which when 16 years old seems like the longest period that could possibly exist. It had to be first to 100.

My memory of how the match progressed is hazy, but the one thing I do recall about it is that at one point I was something like 80 frames to 60 down, and pulled it back to close to 90-90. Amazingly, the game ended 100-99 to the Boy, with me kindly handing him the final frame, no doubt going in off the black after some Patrick Ewing and giving away a cheap foul after scuffing the white with the Steve Ryder.

An honourable mention should go to my good friend Mark, with whom I played a first to 35 (best of 69) match of pot black pool in the kitchen of his student house all in one day. It ended 35-34 to Mark, once again proving my inability to win a match of substantial length.

The times I have watched snooker live and what it was like. Part Two: The Masters at Wembley

I'm not quite sure how this happened, but my whole family went to see this one. I was late in to the first match, which was a shame because it went to the wire. Selby versus Doherty. Good game. Selby has got the best nickname, and makes funny faces and the occasional joke around the table. Good jokes though, not like Parrott and his witty quips which are more like something that Jimmy Tarbuck would come up with. The Jester from Leicester can regularly be seen having a good chuckle with referee Jan Verhaas, although obviously he wouldn't want to be making Michaela laugh because he might be worried that all of the bigger boys in the commentary box would laugh at him and say that he fancies her.

I made it into the last frame to see The Jester defeat Kenneth. Great atmosphere. The security at Wembley Arena made a late play to stop me entering the room, but as we had somehow got tickets that were as far as possible in the right hand corner of the arena I probably could have got away with wearing a traffic cone on my head. Tense stuff which Selby won 6-5. As well as being a significantly better witty quipster than anyone else, watching Selby live is fun because he stalks around in such a weird way, a bit like those old videos you see of Alex Higgins.

We had the most entertainment out of those ear pieces. Obviously at about a tenner each they are the biggest rip-off in the entire world, but it is worth it to hear some of the total shite that the commentators come out with. The PUNishment being handed out by Virgo was next level, and was generating some serious guffawing in the Stephen Lee match that we watched second. Virgo and Dennis were talking about Stephen Lee's 'long swingy action' and how he had a 'lovely touch amongst the balls'. When Virgo started saying how he 'preferred a long swingy one to a short sharp one' it all got too much. Surely they didn't broadcast that?

Other points of note include a protracted discussion about the merits of peppermint tea, which Dennis Taylor has (apparently) started experimenting with (his usual dose of heroin before a match was playing havoc with his concentration). As many snooker commentary discussions do, this seemingly harmless avenue of chat ended in a supreme piece of racial stereotyping which would make any liberal Guardian-reading snooker lover blush. During the tea conversation, Virgo or Dennis noted that Marco Fu was also drinking tea. 'What type do you think it is?' asked Dennis. 'Probably Jasmine tea' said Virgo. Of course! Fu being from Hong Kong, what else would he be drinking? I would have laughed if it was actually Yorkshire tea or Twinings breakfast.

Stephen Lee wins easily, his long swingy action too much for the Jasmine tea-drinking Fu, who to be fair looks pretty bored throughout the whole thing. Watching this match was pretty dire I must say, but definitely worth it to see the whole family out chuckling in unison at the nonsense coming through the earpiece and yawning together at another protracted safety exchange.

The times I have watched snooker live and what it was like. Part One: The Crucible

Me, The Boy and the Grand Master went to the Crucible a while back. God we were excited. We even had a mini-tournament on the pool table in Wetherspoons Sheffield the night before to get ourselves in the mood. The Grand Master won as usual. He built the original table after all, from which all subsequent snooker followed. Our excitement was somewhat tempered by walking f*cking miles up the steepest hill in the world afterwards. The Grand Master gave great pleasure in informing us that he used to do this walk twice a day when he had his first job in Sheffield etc. etc. Since then cars have been invented, and some people own them and charge you to ride in them on a temporary basis (this practice is called taxi driving). We informed him of these developments and did not make the same mistake the night after.

The first game we saw was McManus versus McCulloch. We pronounce 'McManus' in our house as though the last part of his name sounds like the word anus. I don't know why this is funny but it is and has become common parlance. I would rather stick a rusty pole in my eye than watch these two bore-mongers play snooker. Also, it was the first half of a match so there was no finale / conclusion. Total shocker. It ended 8-8 I think.

But the next game made up for it. Hendry versus Pinches. Pinches is a ledge of the highest order as is from Norfolk like us. We were wearing our Norwich shirts hoping to get on the telly (failed) and were well up for the Pincherman to beat Bendry / Hendreary / Hendrong (he is called all of these things in our house). It was tense at 10-10 at the start with the first to 13 the winner. The Boy has pinched me about 5 times now as some kind of physical-semantic joke. It is wearing thin, and would have come in more handy during McManus McCulloch. Hendreary and Pincher go neck and neck to 12-12, Pinchit looking pretty confident. Being the Jimmy-defeater, Bendry is like some sort of pantomime villian to us, we cannot be doing with him. We want to see him crushed by Pinches, who is ranked about 114th in the world and probably still plays at the Canary Cue Club. 'Millions of Pinches, Pinches for me!' shout me and The Boy. The Grand Master tries to look excited, but maybe he has been here one too many times before at the hands of the old enemy Hendrong. At 12-12 Pincherman and Hendrong disappear to psyche themselves for the final frame. The roar when the Pincher comes back is huge. The back of his waistcoat is yellow and green, just like our blood - we love him long time! He starts positively, but soon Bendry is in and then Pinchme has no way back. Yet again, even when Pinches is about 20 points behind I still hope he can snooker Bendrong behind the black three times or that one of the studio lights will fall on the table and they will have to restart. Something almost statistically impossible that still nags away at the back of my mind. It is impossible, so it doesn't happen and Bendry wins. Gutting.

What a day out though.

Those wooden seats in the Crucible are pretty uncomfortable. During McManus (rhymes with anus remember) versus McCulloch I thought my leg would fall off. It would have diverted my attention from the game though which would have been a bonus.

We get a taxi home.