“SNOOKER.” A POPULAR GAME ON THE BILLIARD TABLE
BY S. A. MUSSABINI.
Round games on the billiard table have their fashions. At one time and another life pool, pyramids, shell-out, cork pool, and skittle pool have had their run of popularity. To-day, however, snooker’s pool— that fascinating game founded upon a medley of the 15 red pyramid and seven pool balls ranging from the white to the black— is all the rage. It provides a nice change from billiards. The labor of break-making comes along so seldom that “snooker” must be described as a comparatively restful game. It is not fatiguing, although provoking many a nervous sensation to the most staid players going. To see a man “bang up at the reds,” as many are willing to chance their luck by making one forceful thrust for what the Fates may hold in store, will create apprehensive feelings all around the table. I have seen most classes of players at “snooker,” and only recently Stevenson and Osborne have edified me with expositions in this line. Their wonderful accuracy in inserting the colored balls makes them too great efficients for the amateur to learn much from. There are no scattering shots included in their treatment of “snooker.” It is a matter of nice calculation and strokes gauged to very exact “strength” with as much regard to preventing the other player scoring as doing so themselves. There is more in the game than meets the casual eye when the professors handle it.
The Fortunes of the Game.
The fortunes of this good game are so changing among a set of equally matched players that anything may happen. You may go on game after game and never get a look in save for an awkward red or two. The worst player in the party will probably be taking all the easiest shots. In these times it seems as though the one who plays in front of you simply does so with a deep-laid scheme in his mind. “I haven’t had a shot to go at all the evening!” you cannot help saying. Long-rangers the length of the table, and not a few of the dreaded “snookers” go to fill your cup of ill-success to the brim. I always think of the words used by an old billiard hand, who, in the good old days, when billiard and pool sharping was looked upon as an accomplishment, practically earned his living in the various rooms about town. He said to me, “This snooker’s pool was invented by some crank to put the good and the bad billiard player on equal terms!” He really thought that an injustice had been done, that equity should not be allowed to exist, and that the more capable billiard player should hold a monopoly of all games played on the board of green cloth. I must point out, though, that it is only when there is a party at “snooker” that the chances are evened up. In a single-handed tussle the weaker cueman must go to the wall. He will be out generalled and out-pointed for a certainty in the long run.
Black Counts Seven.
To my fancy there is nothing more picturesque than a longish break at “snooker.” It is most interesting to see a player guiding his ball to different parts of the table in the sequence of his accurately-made strokes on the colored balls. First, a red with an eye to the black with your second shot. The black ball is the one that you keep working to get on as it counts the maximum number of points, a serviceable seven. Wherever it lies the white ball, unless you are forced to play possum and run it into safe quarters, should be near at hand. The biggest breaks are made from the black ball when it stands on its allotted resting place, the billiard spot. When you see it there with a clear course left and right to the corner pockets with some reds knocking about in the same vicinity, then the cat is likely to get among the pigeons. Somebody will surely grasp this golden opportunity amid a dull silence, but feverish anxiety pervading the rest of the party. There is a monotony about this play on the black ball, however, which is too reminiscent of the old spot-stroke tactics to present the beauties of winning-hazard striking and positional play. You want an all-round the table trick to show the manoeuvring of the cue-ball to the most advantage. To see it deal impartially with the blue, pink, yellow, and brown in between the necessary holing of the more humble, if more highly-colored reds, is pretty play, indeed! That is the real “snooker”!
The Record Break.
The record “snooker” break stands at 81 points, and is to the credit of Memmott, the Australian professional cue-man! The imagination fairly reels at the succession of shocks experienced by the other members of the party. A 30 break makes one feel terribly uncomfortable. But what is that to an 80? Perhaps the most wonderful game that is known in the not overlarge annals of “snooker’s pool” occurred during last August at Yarmouth. A renowned hazard-striker, a man who has added considerably to his income by pursuing this latest fashion of the billiard table. Buffered a series of reverses that almost unhinged his mind. He was far and away the better player of the five who indulged in a modest “penny a ball” game. But his talents availed him nothing in the face of a perfect avalanche of pot shots, all of the best kind, too. He agrees that he met his “snooker” Waterloo on the fields—or should it not be sands?—of Yarmouth. In that game he had to rest content with a grand total of eight points—a solitary red, which led up to a much needed black. The only satisfaction he may have had lay in the fact that he was not at the bottom of the poll. Two of the party, between them, however, claimed 130 points, one totalling 68 and the other 62 points. A full total of 145 was made out of a possible 147. Not one miss occurred, nor was there a single in-off or “snooker.” The man who went to slay, but made the one great mistake of his long but unenviable career, was heard to remark, “If 15 reds, 13 blacks, and two pinks don’t constitute a record at snooker’s pool, then I’m a Yarmouth bloater!”
WHAT MAY AND WILL HAPPEN.
A pretty shot
From range afar,
A long, straight “pot”—
And there you are!
(Receives 1d. all round the table.)
The very next stroke,
Oh, my! what pain,
He misses the black and—
There you are again.
(Pays out 7d. all round.)
Morning Leader, Friday 14 December 1906