Snooker Needs More Ronnie O'Sullivans If It Wants To Keep The Public Interested

Filed under: Other Sports, Snooker

If it's possible for both sides in a binary argument to be wrong, this week Ronnie O'Sullivan and Shaun Murphy managed it.

Ahead of their second-round match at the World Snooker Championships at the Crucible, the pair engaged in a minor spat. Murphy accused O'Sullivan of showing the sport little respect, with reference to the time last year when O'Sullivan initially refused to pot the final black of a 147 in protest at the lack of a prize for the maximum, and of his recent threat not to compete in this year's World Championship. Murphy also suggested the three-times world champion neglected his ambassadorial duties to the game. Whatever they are.

For his part, O'Sullivan responded by pointing out that nobody is a bigger box-office draw than he is, and he's rattled in more than his fair share of exhilarating 147s to boot.

Murphy's arguments first. If anything, O'Sullivan is guilty of showing the game respect. It's no secret that snooker's most exciting days were the 1980s, when the gentlemanly old guard looked on aghast at the antics of Alex Higgins, Kirk Stevens, Bill Werbeniuk, Jimmy White, Tony Knowles and Cliff Thorburn. When they weren't gambling and hustling, they were throwing punches at each other, or stumbling out of nightclubs high as kites with Special Chalk falling out of their noses, or punching tournament executives, or sleeping with glamorous women, or threatening to have opponents shot, or in Werbeniuk's case, downing 40 pints of lager a day as a pre-match steadier.

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Outrageous behaviour, and not necessarily acts you'd condone within the earshot of a doctor or a law-enforcement operative, but it was what we wanted. We'd all seen The Hustler, and wanted our heroes to be real-life Fast Eddie Felsons: wayward geniuses like Higgins, handsome grinders like Thorburn, street-fighting desperados like Higgins, life-grabbing roister doisters like Stevens, hard-drinking loons like Werbeniuk. And Higgins. Their shenanigans were made all the more amusing by their elders responding with sheer horror. Some made attempts to ban the miscreants. Others fought fire with fire: Steady Eddie Charlton, despite being in his fifties, was more than happy to showcase some of the skills honed in his earlier career as a boxer. Meanwhile, as both sides engaged in open warfare, belabouring the red, yellow, green, brown, blue, pink and black out of each other, Steve Davis quietly sauntered in, picked up the swag, and buggered off with it, much like Mr Pink at the end of Reservoir Dogs. It's as cinematic as sport gets.

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These days, O'Sullivan is the only scattergun character left in the sport, but even his shtick palls in comparison to the heroes of snooker's golden age. Would the sport of snooker really be damaged if O'Sullivan had failed to pot the black in that 147 attempt? If he hadn't shown up for this year's Worlds? If he, midway through his upcoming quarter-final with John Higgins, decides to lash all the balls off the table with his cue in one fell swoop before sashaying out of the Crucible and setting up camp in the pub across the road, lamping that eejit who screams "let's get the boys on the baize" en route? Scandalised, perhaps, yes. Damaged? No. If snooker needs ambassadors - presumably ruffling the hair of precocious wannabe snooker stars in clubs up and down the land - then there are plenty of journeyman professionals who can act big brother to the kids. Someone needs to field the outrageous behaviour, and give the game a bit of strut and sass. Bring it on.

Which brings us round to O'Sullivan's argument. The ability to rake in a 147 in under six minutes is all good and well, but paradoxically, if anything's done anything to spoil modern snooker a bit, it's Ronnie's brilliance. And that of Stephen Hendry before that, and Steve Davis before him. Trouble is, the players are just too damn good these days. Nobody can afford to play with a raging hangover any more, let alone with 40 pints of lager sloshing around inside them. Nowadays every successful pro on tour works out in the gym, their core strength helping them to rattle in centuries at the drop of a hat. It's technically brilliant, but when it comes to the crunch, totally against the spirit of the game.

Instructively, the BBC ran one of their online polls the other day, asking the public whether they preferred to watch huge breaks, or grinding tactical battles. The public plumped for the latter. The pros in the commentary box - Dennis Taylor and Willie Thorne - were surprised at the findings, but then sportspeople rarely understand what attracts the public to the game they're so good at. Fans want to see the stars in trouble, their backs against the wall, battling their way out, not knocking in another flawless 75 break with metronomic consistency.

The best passage of play in this year's Worlds so far has come as a result of an amateurish mistake. Needless to say, it was Ronnie's, missing match ball against Murphy, the sort of short red into the top corner that wouldn't trouble a single club player in the country. It precipitated a total collapse in his form, and nearly lost him the game, until he finally regrouped four frames later and rattled in a match - and face - saving clearance.

 

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Source: http://www.fanhouse.co.uk/2011/04/27/snooker-ronnie-osullivan-shaun-murphy/

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