Molly Guinness

Would a dash of hooliganism improve the game of snooker?

The recent BDO and PDA darts championships were undeniably glorious. Ronnie O’Sullivan is arguing that snooker needs to learn from darts by introducing shot clocks and power play to speed things up. Perhaps another way of boosting snooker’s status would be to bring in an element of hooliganism. John Wells was delighted when a Jamaican crowd started ‘lobbing bottles of Auntie Emily’s Home Town Goulash at the soberly clad riot police’ at a cricket match in 1968.

In carrying sporting violence into Test cricket they have triumphantly invaded yet another cherished sanctum of peace and fuddy-duddy ritualised conflict…Violence is here to stay. As I stood and roared myself hoarse at the breathtaking climax to last year’s FA Cup Final, when referee Bert Entwhistle was dismembered and eaten by the crowd within seconds of appearing on the field, as I…listened to that exhilarating exchange of small-arms fire between the rival supporters’ clubs, my heart went out to the deprived spectators of old-fashioned, stuffy sporting events, still groaning in the shackles of petty restrictions and head-in-the-sand reactionary rules. But have no fear. Their day will come. Already heroic innovators like the Wild West Indians of Sabina Park are breaking new ground and hammering away at the shape of things to come.

I give you eighty-four year old Sam Elphinstone, thrice holder of the Surbiton Darby and Joan Club Snooker Truss and Badge. After an astonishing thirteen-minute break in the final, during which packed oldies in the benches held their wheezy breath as ball rolled across the emerald baize to click against ball and to fall with a thud into the pocket. Sam Elphinstone went for an apparently immaculate black. The ball nudged the cushion, teetered on the brink, and stayed there. Hardly had the pent-up sigh of disappointment begun to escape from a thousand withered lips than it was interrupted by the throaty ripping of dusty baize.

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