Tag Archives: Ronnie O’Sullivan

Snooker’s Shoot Out: Why there’s magic behind the madness

In they file, bringing with them their large jugs of lager at 12.30 in the afternoon, ready for another four days of merriment.

These are the loyal yearly attendees of the Snooker Shoot Out, an event which laughs in the face of snooker’s traditional grace and decorum, placing cheap, poorly-fitting polo shirts on the normally smart professionals, and placing a beer cup in the hand of normally solemn spectators, along with an invitation to shout, guffaw, and generally degrade themselves.

Originally a one-off event held in September 1990, the Shoot Out returned to the professional snooker tour in 2011 and has held its place in the calendar ever since.

It is a fast, frantic form of the sport, each match comprised of a single 10-minute frame, with a 15-second shot clock that falls to 10 seconds for the final five minutes. Any foul results in ball in hand for the opponent. The crowd are encouraged to chant and holler in what is snooker’s answer to the beered up, rootin’ tootin’ atmosphere of live darts.

To watch the Shoot Out on TV is one thing, but attending in person presents the full array of pros and cons this unique event offers up. On TV, the atmosphere is diluted somewhat.

The commentary drowns out much of the boorish crowd, and the frequent wisecracks from members of the audience are, perhaps mercifully, inaudible through the television set.

But to witness the event at the Watford Colosseum first hand sees this seemingly benign event take on a whole new level. Everything is cranked up. The garish bleats and cries of the crowd pervade the atmosphere.

The bleeping of the shot clock timer conjures images of an operating theatre. MC Phil Seymour’s shrill timbre stings the eardrum, along with the dull, humanoid voice that yells ‘10 SECOND SHOT CLOCK NOW IN OPERATION,’ not dissimilar to the warning heard when the luggage doors of a coach are opening.

To derive any semblance of enjoyment from such a clamorous affair requires one to disabuse themselves of any prior held notions of what a snooker tournament should rightfully represent.

This is worlds apart from the soft, silent confines of the Crucible Theatre, where the slightest rustle of a Murray Mint wrapper draws tuts of admonishment.

This is thrash metal snooker, where the core values of strategic thinking and measured pragmatism are flung out the window like a rock star’s hotel TV. The shot clock disrupts players’ natural thought processes, sowing seeds of doubt where there would otherwise be none.


It’s a well-worn cliché that the end result justifies the means, and in this case the end result is exceptional entertainment. There’s something thrilling about seeing these usually level-headed players scrambling around the table while the onlookers howl at them.

Some players crumble underneath the tumult of it all, while others rise to the occasion, almost relishing the challenge and the antagonism of the crowd.

‘Despite the fun image the event seeks to promote, many top pros resent the Shoot Out, and only six of snooker’s top 16 ranked players bothered to enter’

One such example is the eventual winner of this year’s edition, Thepchaiya Un-Nooh. The 33-year-old is the fastest player on the tour, posting an average shot time this season of 16.5 seconds, more than 1.5 seconds faster than second-placed Jack Lisowski. On paper, he’s the most suited player to the unique tempo of the Shoot Out.

And he stepped up to the plate at the business end of the tournament, beating an in-form Stuart Bingham in the quarters before producing a blistering break of 139 in his semi-final clash against Jamie Clarke.

It was the highest break in Shoot Out history, eclipsing Martin Gould’s effort of 135 in 2011. Another quick-fire 74 secured the title against a helpless Michael Holt.

Un-Nooh’s performances were the highlight of the four days, but overall it was a tournament of immense quality. To make a century in a 10-minute frame while the manifold sounds of the bleeping shot clock and the beery, shouty crowd pervade, is a remarkable achievement.

The total of four centuries during the tournament is itself a Shoot Out record, as the tournament seems to rise in quality year upon year.

A hive of stories

Despite the fun image the event seeks to promote, many top pros resent the Shoot Out, and indeed only six of snooker’s top 16 ranked players bothered to enter.

However, the absence of the sport’s usual suspects allows lesser spotted amateurs and youngsters to have their moment in the spotlight. The Shoot Out is a hive of stories, the result of the presence of so many underdogs combined with the unpredictable nature of its format.

It offers a glimpse of the sport’s future, as talented prospects are given an opportunity to flaunt their wares on live TV. Perhaps the biggest story of this year’s edition was the emergence of 16 year-old Ryan Davies, a spotty skeleton of a teenager blessed with a cue action as smooth as silk.

The youngster saw off Robbie Williams, 14 year-old Ben Mertens, and the very capable Sunny Akani to reach the last 16 before succumbing to eventual runner-up Holt.

Mertens himself caused quite a stir in round one, knocking out the venerable Thai James Wattana by a single point in a Shoot Out classic. Former world number three Wattana needed just the pink to claim victory, but saw the match clock elapse agonisingly before it could be dispatched.

Liam Davies, 12, was the youngest participant, but saw his hopes swiftly dashed as first-round opponent Ricky Walden knocked in a rip-roaring 132 break to send the young Welshman packing.

Even still, the chance for these youngsters to pit their wits against seasoned pros is thoroughly uplifting, and it’s an opportunity that would not be possible if it weren’t for the Shoot Out.

Here come the girls

Two of the sport’s best female talents, Reanne Evans and Emma Parker, were also invited to compete. Indeed, Evans’ matchup with snooker legend Jimmy White was arguably the pick of the first round ties.

It proved a nervy affair, and an untimely miscue by the 11-time women’s world champion proved costly, allowing White to hold his nerve and seal his passage to round two, to the delight of the crowd.

Parker went out with something of a whimper, losing to Indian amateur Laxman Rawat. It felt as though it was a missed opportunity for both Parker and Evans to make a statement of their talents.

Evans in particular, who has toiled for some time to make an impact on the main tour, didn’t play to her potential, but that is the nature of the Shoot Out, where a player’s chances can go up in smoke with one long pot by an opponent or an unfavourable run of the ball.

It’s a fascinating question as to why Evans has been unable to gain a place on the main tour.

In a sport that is less concerned with physical aptitude, and more to do with mental strength and level-headedness, how can the sport’s most decorated female player, who has won a plethora of titles in the women’s game, be so far behind even the lowest-ranked male players?

Why so serious?

There is much to enjoy and much to despise about the Shoot Out. It is not for everyone, and its ranking status is a bone of contention amongst many. Many attendees flock to binge drink with their mates, call out nonsensical gibberish, and generally indulge themselves in nincompoopery.

Yet others seem to be there to try and enjoy the snooker, longing for the peace and quiet of other events. You can hear them tutting and see them frowning at the uncouth drunkards.

Many die-hard fans will refuse to tune in to the Shoot Out, such is their animosity towards what they view as a debasing of the long-held values of snooker.

But then, perhaps the key to enjoying the Shoot Out lies in simply embracing it for what it is, to leave preconceived notions at the doorstep and revel in the revelry. Snooker is a tense, high-pressured sport at the best of times, and this once a year chance for players and fans alike to let their hair down should be welcomed, cherished even.

Sport can be a lot of fun when everyone’s not quite so serious all the time.

Snooker’s Masters growing into its home at Alexandra Palace

From the train window, out over the grey fog of north London, Alexandra Palace rises.

Its light beige facade shines bright against the grassy hill on which it stands. The iconic Rose Window sits proudly within its walls, surveying like a glass eye the city that stretches out before it almost endlessly. Alexandra Palace is an antidote to the greying, soulless railway lines and bland terraced houses over which it looms — a sight for sore and troubled eyes.

Venue for many a memorable music act, notably the Stone Roses, Blur and Björk among others, along with sporting events like the PDC World Darts Championship and the World Championship of Ping-Pong, ‘Ally Pally’ as it’s affectionately called now plays host to the Masters snooker, and has done since 2012.

Each year snooker’s top 16 ranked players are invited to compete, freed from the shackles of ranking significance to cement their status among the sport’s elite. 

Though Ally Pally has now become a much-loved and cherished venue, most will say that the original home of the Masters was the old Wembley Conference Centre where the tournament was staged from 1979 to 2006. A curved, futuristic construction in its day, the venue became famed for its uniquely raucous atmosphere, a far cry from the sombre silence of the Crucible and other snooker hotspots.

Close to 3,000 well-watered snooker fans would pile into the arena, where the players smoked and drank in their seats, creating a thin, grey, tobacco-scented smog which hovered above the table.

Members of the crowd were known to cough or rustle sweet wrappers in an attempt to distract players, usually those who threatened the success of local lads Jimmy White or Ronnie O’Sullivan. It was an atmosphere more akin to darts than the traditional calm of the baize.

London pride

The Masters has always been London’s snooker tournament, and the capital’s snooker faithful have always backed their men to the hilt, be it Jimmy or Ronnie, or even the Tooting potter Tony Meo who himself reached a couple of semi-finals in the 80s.

White especially has always been London’s darling in snooker, winning the Masters in 1984, and playing with the kind of flair that, barring Alex Higgins, had never been seen in the game before.

White’s well-documented defeats in six world finals seemed to galvanise his position as the likeable protagonist of snooker’s perpetuating storyline, the hero desperately trying to foil a villain who in this case was Stephen Hendry.

A prime example is White’s first-round victory over Hendry in 2004. Just listen to the roar that greets the Whirlwind’s game-clinching red. That is the sound of a sportsman on home turf, with an army of followers willing him over the line. As with another perennial Masters crowd pleaser Alex Higgins, it was White’s gung-ho approach to the game that won him so many fans. 

Sheffield may be snooker’s spiritual home, but it has always seemed fitting that the Masters should stay in London, that the country’s capital city should play host to the sport’s capital showmen. The magnitude of each match, whereby each could easily be the final, aptly reflects the magnitude of the city itself — a physical manifestation of the significant, of the huge.

The redevelopment of Wembley Stadium and the area immediately surrounding it meant that the old Conference Centre was demolished in 2006, and with it a part of snooker’s fabric. For the following five years, the Masters was held at the new Wembley Arena in an attempt to preserve some of the magic conjured by the locale.

But the same atmosphere could never be re-created, as the combination of a dull, insipid venue and a sport struggling at the time to attract new fans stripped the event of much of its allure.

Indeed, much like Wembley Stadium, the new Wembley Arena could not emulate its prior incarnation, awkward and uncomfortable like an ill-fitting pair of orthotics that can never quite be broken in.

New home

The decision to re-locate to Alexandra Palace, at a time when Barry Hearn was just beginning to breathe new life into the sport, has reaped dividends, reinvigorating a tournament which had stagnated during that vain attempt to cling to the past.

Now, the Palace seems the perfect home for this yearly clash of snooker’s giants, from the winding walk up the hill from the train station — itself a symbol of the toil required for a player to claim his place in snooker’s top 16 — and the fine stone and golden stair-rods which line the building’s interior, to the near 2,000 fans that hurry through those giant doors to see their stars in action.

Ally Pally is a fitting backdrop to the Masters, its inner finery and glass ceilings representative of snooker’s emergence from the dank, smoky confines of Wembley and into the light — an apt reflection of the sport’s growth into a global game.

Year upon year, the tournament grows more comfortable in its new home.

The atmosphere within may be slightly less raucous than the old days at Wembley, but occasionally cries of ‘come on, Jimmy’ still ring out around the arena, emerging from the mouths of fans keen to honour this tournament’s glorious past, as snooker’s most prestigious invitational bounds boldly over the horizon towards future traditions.

Rocket man: Record-breaking O’Sullivan makes snooker history

The two bookends are set 25 years apart.

In 1993, a fresh-faced 17 year-old named Ronnie O’Sullivan downed the reigning world champion Stephen Hendry to win his first major title, the UK Championship.

Some two and a half decades later, his head bestrewn with the scattered grey hairs that mark a man in his mid-forties, O’Sullivan is UK champion for the seventh time, and the proud holder of a record-breaking 19 triple crown titles.

In many ways, maturity is the perfect word to describe O’Sullivan’s performance at the Barbican, York, last week, capped by the 10-6 defeat of Mark Allen in Sunday’s final.

The flashy ‘blink and you’ll miss him’ snooker still comes through in the Rocket’s play on his very best days, but it is now bolstered by the tactical nous and pragmatism of the most steely and wily of operators.


Potential banana skins such as Ken Doherty and Jack Lisowski were negotiated with competent assurance, along with the deceptively simple tasks of ousting Martin O’Donnell and Tom Ford to reach the final.

It was rarely vintage O’Sullivan, but then again it rarely is these days, for the 43 year-old’s burgeoning mental fortitude is what now defines his success, and is the reason why he has won three titles and reached four finals out of the five events he has entered this season. Recently, O’Sullivan has been less Rocket and more Rolls-Royce.

‘O’Sullivan never looked like missing, each shot culminating in the same thumping crescendo of ball on leather, as every red and colour cannoned the stitches in the back of the pockets’

Sunday’s final against Allen was the perfect exhibition of the modern Ronnie. He gave Allen every ounce of respect, appropriate when facing the leading player on the one-year ranking list, hanging in and matching the Northern Irishman’s early pace to go to the interval at 2-2.

It was in the next four frames that O’Sullivan won this final, capitalising upon a blip in Allen’s concentration, which can often affect players in the longer tussles of ranking finals. Blistering long-potting and ramrod-straight cueing, a feature of his game since working with Steve Feeney and SightRight, combined with laser-like safety, saw O’Sullivan end the session 6-2 in front.

For those four frames, O’Sullivan never looked like missing, each shot culminating in the same thumping crescendo of ball on leather, as every red and colour cannoned the stitches in the back of the pockets.

The evening’s action from there seemed a formality, despite Allen’s best efforts to claw his way back into a match that, sadly for him, had been won and lost in the early afternoon.

Snooker’s greatest showman

Indeed, it felt as though O’Sullivan’s name was on the trophy all the way through the competition. The draw was kind to the world No.3, as players like Murphy, Ding and Trump fell by the wayside against less-fancied opposition. The timing was ripe for O’Sullivan to claim that 19th triple crown title which now puts him clear of Steve Davis and Stephen Hendry in terms of major titles won.

It is with that degree of objectivity that O’Sullivan can now lay claim to be snooker’s greatest player of all time. He has chipped away slowly at Hendry’s various records for many years, now eclipsing the Scot in century breaks, maximum breaks, and finally triple crown titles.

The last vestige of Hendry’s domineering legacy is his record of seven world crowns, where O’Sullivan still lags two behind.

The long-form, drawn out nature of the World Championship has been the Rocket’s kryptonite in recent years, having failed to progress beyond the last eight since he lost the final to Mark Selby in 2014. It could be argued that unless O’Sullivan can match that particular record, Hendry will always have the upper hand in terms of objective greatness.

However, what is clear to most, and even Hendry will admit this through slightly gritted teeth, is that O’Sullivan is the most naturally talented player to ever play the game. He is the most entertaining, the most enigmatic — a rollercoaster of a player who has thrilled for over 25 years and showing no signs of slowing down.

While Hendry, through his 10-year dominance of the sport in the 1990s, was perhaps the most feared and venerated cueman, O’Sullivan will always be the most awesome, in the truest sense of that word. From the five-minute maximum at the Crucible in 1997, to his majestic fifth world title in 2013 having not picked up a cue for the entire season, and now to his ongoing quest to reach 1,000 century breaks, the Rocket is the gold standard in snooker, and arguably of individual sport in general.


It is O’Sullivan’s newfound belief in his own abilities, and the greater appreciation of the blessings in life, that have brought about this recent reinvigoration and birthed the kind of mental resilience which was once the missing ingredient from his game.

His work with acclaimed sports psychologist Dr Steve Peters, along with his pursuit of other activities away from the table — cooking, running, writing to name a few — have given him a platform to truly enjoy the craft he loves once again. He is now longer worn down, but rather strengthened by the vicissitudes of sporting life.

“Now I just think, if I play rubbish, who cares? It’s history tomorrow. Look forward to the next one” — Ronnie O’Sullivan

His remarks in an interview with World Snooker after Sunday’s victory were a testament to that more hopeful attitude: “Before, if I didn’t play well, it was rubbish. Now I just think, if I play rubbish, who cares? It’s history tomorrow. Look forward to the next one.”

Such an approach breeds sustainability of one’s talents, and it is the longevity of O’Sullivan’s success that is most striking. To maintain such thrilling standards for 25 years is the mark of the most complete of sportsmen.

Although he makes headlines regularly with his at times ill-conceived comments – in York, these were about breaking away from World Snooker to set set up a rival tour – when you reduce snooker to its purest form, O’Sullivan is the finest exponent of this great sport the world has ever seen.

He is snooker’s rocket man, blasting through records one by one with singular power and beauty. It’s going to be a long, long time before we see another quite like him.