I admit it. I like snooker. I know, how sad. There is a proviso. I only get interested during the World Championships. Which is also terribly tragic. I hate it when people are only interested in tennis during Wimbledon, but there we go.<br />
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But yes, suddenly during the 2 weeks of non-stop coverage from the Crucible, Sheffield (does it host any other events?) I get transfixed. Will Ronnie self-destruct? Will Jimmy White ever win? (answer: no). Will any of them ever have normal complexions? (answer: no. I think they all suffer from vitamin D deficiency.).<br />
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And I suddenly remember why I like snooker. One reason is that once, when I was young, I was ill and off school for two weeks. And all that was on was snooker, the world championships. I had no option but to get into it. <br />
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The other (real) reason is my late grandpa. He was a big, BIG snooker fan. He also loved rugby, but I could hardly take him out into the garden and practice tackling, could I? Even into his 80s he could kill me on the green felt of the snooker table. He taught me all the intricate shots, the nuances of the game (not that I can play very well). And he wasn’t pale and spotty like snooker players today – he was charming, caring, and tanned very easily. His favourite player was John Parrott, who was probably a good player to be a fan of. Better than that boring Stephen Hendry.<br />
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My grandmother, who was probably not a snooker fan but indulged his passion for the game, also had opinions on it. She thought Jimmy White had “a cheap face”. She was right. Her comments on a couple of other players (Joe Johnson in particular) bordered on the unrepeatable. What she would have made of some of the players today I dread to think.<br />
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So for 50 weeks of the year, I forget about snooker. And then it’s on tv all the time, and I have a secret, hidden passion for it. I admire the skill, the tactics, the fact that to win the tournament you have to concentrate like almost no other sport. It looks so easy on the telly, but it’s bloody difficult to play. And I think of my grandpa, who would have been watching, quietly appreciating it, looking forward to discussing the matches with me. Playing snooker was our bond, our way of sneaking off and being boys away from the women. They were special moments. And I love the game – there, I said it.