Go online and search for ‘grandmothers playing billiards (or snooker).’ Aside from an article about Grandma Fatma, Turkey’s oldest snooker fan, or a Maltese nonagenarian who likes Stephen Hendry, the pickings are slim. Yet, the concept has a certain hip factor, as evidenced by the variety of available merch emblazoned with slogans such as, “Some Grandmas Play Bingo; Real Grandmas Play Pool,” “Never Underestimate the Power of a Grandma Who Plays Pool,” and my favorite, “My Grandma Will Break Your Balls.”
In fact, the concept’s popular appeal can be traced back at least to May 1987, during the second season of the British children’s television show SuperGran. In the “Supergran Snookered” episode, our favorite superpowered grandmother, Granny Smith (Gudrun Ure) demonstrates that aside from being able to jump tremendous heights and hear distressed communications from a long distance, she also shoots a mean game of snooker.The episode is available to watch below.
For the unfamiliar, SuperGran, which was based on a series of children’s books by Forrest Wilson, is about an elderly grandma who accidentally acquires superpowers when she is hit by a magic ray. In the guise of Super Gran, she protects the residents of the fictional town of Chiselton from villains such as Roderick ‘Scunner’ Campbell (Iain Cuthbertson) and his gang, the Muscles.
In “Supergran Snookered,” Campbell fortuitously realizes that the local overweight Cat Burglar, initially dismissed and denigrated as a “myopic mass of multitudinous flab” or a “quivering colossal crumb” is a snooker prodigy. Armed with his new secret weapon, the ever-scheming Campbell becomes a snooker promoter. As the narrator shares, “By the end of that day, Scunner Campbell was walking on air. Yes you could keep your Joe Johnsons, your Hurricane Higgins and your Whirlwind Whites, the next snooker sensation just had to be Fat Cat Burglar.”
As snooker fever envelopes Chiseltown, Campbell sets up the Chiseltown Snooker Championship, which ultimately draws the attention of Mr. McBigg, a resident gangster, who wagers 50,000 pounds (approximately $135,000 USD today). The match is supposed to feature Cat Burglar against McBigg’s stakehorse, Hot Shot Houlihan. But, complications ensue, leading to McBigg playing SuperGran, a last-minute substitute for Cat Burglar. Though McBigg initially disparages her as “the Tartan twit that jumps through walls,” he quickly becomes mum, as SuperGran runs 147 points for a perfect break.
The light-hearted episode allows SuperGran to showcase a variety of her enhanced skills, including accelerated cartwheeling, bicycle stunt riding, and superhuman strength. But, of course, it’s her snooker that really shines.
While the actual filming of the snooker is terrible (i.e., all potted balls, no set-ups, no continuous shots), the scene’s saving grace is none other than the real Willie Thorne, who watches from the stands, patiently awaiting his “few pointers” from SuperGran.
Last week’s vandalization at the World Snooker Championship was so unprecedented and absurd, it felt like maybe Robert Milkins and Joe Perry were on some UK episode of Punk’d or Saturday Night Live. But as we learned real-time, the guerilla stunt was real. A Just Stop Oil protester had managed to climb on the table, while the Milkins/Perry match was in progress, and spray it with orange powder paint before getting hauled away by security.
Too bad. In a different universe, that would have been the set-up for an uproarious comedy sketch.
While televised snooker desecration is a relatively new phenomenon, televised snooker lampooning goes back five decades, when British comedians, such as Benny Hill and Tommy Cooper, trained their sights on the sport’s formality and increasing popularity.
This was the beginning of the Golden Era of Snooker, a time that has since been memorialized in the 2002 TV movie When Snooker Ruled the World and the 2021 TV series Gods of Snooker. Pot Black broadcast its first snooker tournament on the BBC in 1969. Ray Reardon eclipsed John Pulman as the man to beat. And snooker, having only recently removed its shackles as purely a “gentleman’s sport,” began to grow in popularity as a national pastime and eventually spread overseas. At the era’s peak, the 1985 World Snooker Championship between defending world champion Steve Davis and Dennis Taylor was watched by 18.5 million people – about one-third of the UK’s population.
While my list is surely not exhaustive, the following quintet of sketch comedies, from 1973 to 1986, provides a rollicking ride through snooker’s Golden Era, miscues, sneezes, warts, and all.
The Benny Hill Show – “Spot Black”(December 5, 1973)
Both boorish and brilliant, British comedian Benny Hill was one of the first to satirize snooker in his sketch “Spot Black,” a spoof on the popular snooker broadcast Pot Black. Dressed in an ill-fitting mesh shirt and sporting a mop of wild orange hair, Mr. Hill plays Hurricane Hill (a jab at Alex “Hurricane” Higgins, who won the World Snooker Championship in 1972). His opponent is defending champion Henry McGee. The skit includes almost no dialogue. Most of the six minutes consists of Hill making a variety of disturbing noises and grunts, interspersed with blatant cheating (e.g., giving his opponent a crooked cue, swapping the cue ball for one that doesn’t roll properly) and constant head pats and rubs to the bald-pated referee. It’s a pitch-perfect mockery of the sport’s chivalrous reputation.
Of course, no Benny Hill Show sketch would be complete without the eyeballing, eye-rolling, and eye-goggling that Hill gives to a sexy woman watching the match. Initially distracted, he becomes near paralyzed as she undoes a button of her blouse, rolls up her dress to reveal her garter, and ultimately, applies a dab of perfume to her cleavage. In a premature fit of cuejaculation, Hill loses his focus and misses the ball, spearing the baize. He is disqualified, and the object of his affection goes over to Hill’s opponent, kissing him and leaving the match together. The episode is available to watch here.
The Morecambe & Wise Show – “The 1981 Christmas Show”(December 23, 1981)
Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise were one of Britain’s most loved comedic duos. Their sketch series, The Morecambe & Wise Show, was ranked 14 on the BFI’s list of the 100 Greatest British Television Programs. At the end of 1981, they released “The 1981 Christmas Show” which included a snooker match between Mr. Morecambe and (the real) Steve Davis, who had won the World Snooker Championship earlier that year. The sketch was divided into three segments, interspersed throughout the episode. I was unable to find the first segment, the second segment is on Facebook, and the third segment is here.
The skit’s premise is that Mr. Davis is unable to pot a single ball, whether that’s because Mr. Morecambe is secretly descuffing Mr. Davis’ cue or interrupting his concentration with a loud sneeze. At the same time, Mr. Morecambe is making a series of incredible shots, such as a beautiful masse (in segment two, where the score is 0-40) or a three ball topspin trick shot (in segment three, where the score is now 0-59). Like the Benny Hill sketch, there is almost no dialogue; it’s all sounds, pantomimes, miscues, and stunning snooker shots (clearly made by an off-camera snooker pro). The announcer’s monotone voice-over ties it altogether.
Of course, at that time Mr. Davis had a reputation for being robotic; his manager Barry Hearn described him as having “zero personality” in those early years. Thus, it’s all the more enjoyable to watch Mr. Davis mock himself (and try to suppress a laugh – something he was not able to do in the “Invisible Snooker” sketch a few months later).
The Cannon and Ball Show – “Invisible Snooker”(May 8, 1982)
As its literal title suggests, “Invisible Snooker” was a sketch on The Cannon and Ball Show which pitted (once again, the real) Steve Davis against the comedian Tommy Cannon in an invisible snooker match. (The Cannon and Ball Show was a British comedy variety show featuring the double act of Mr. Cannon and Bobby Ball that ran 1978 to 1988.) The joke is that Mr. Cannon is not in the joke; the match is a ruse hatched by Mr. Davis and Mr. Ball to con Mr. Cannon out of 50 quid. The fourth season sketch is available to watch here.
While the gag runs a bit long, it’s funny because Mr. Ball’s deadpan description of the shots contrasts wildly with Mr. Cannon’s rising frustration that he’s the only one who thinks invisible snooker is absurd. When Mr. Davis pots his final ball and declares himself the winner who is owed 50 quid, Mr. Cannon has his best line:
“You can’t see any balls on the table,” Mr. Davis offers as proof of his victory.
“I can’t see any table!,” retorts Mr. Cannon.
As with The Morecambe & Wise Show sketch, Mr. Davis is a trooper for joining the roast of his own monochromatic foibles, even periodically breaking character to laugh.
Spitting Image – “Steve Davis Rap” (January 27, 1985)
By 1985, Steve Davis was a British household name. He had won the World Snooker Championship in 1981, 1983, and 1984, plus a host of other major titles. Yet, he still had to contend with his reputation for being “boring,” a moniker first given to him by his opponent Alex Higgins.
That’s what makes the “Steve Davis Rap” on the show Spitting Image so raucous. For those unfamiliar with the satirical puppet show, Spitting Image was a mainstay of British TV in the 1980s.1 The series used puppets to satirize British politics, sports, and entertainment. No one was safe from their derision – not Queen Elizabeth II, Margaret Thatcher, Mick Jagger, Princess Diana, Ronald Reagan, Michael Jackson…and certainly not Mr. Davis.
The three-minute rap, available to watch here, features a puppet of Mr. Davis lamenting that he has no nickname and that he should be deemed Steve “Interesting” Davis. The lyrics include a mix of braggadocio, sexual double entendre, and awkward attempts to convince others that he is interesting:
Hey, you’re Tina Turner aren’t you?
You look just like the woman who just moved in next door to my Auntie.
That’s interestin’, innit?
‘Ello, I’m Steve Interstin’ Davis. I’ve got a new record out.
It’s called the Steven Davis Interestin’ Rap. It’s good.
I sing on it. No, I don’t sing, I speak actually.
Here, we had turkey for Christmas, what did you have?
We have lots of turkey every Christmas.
It’s really nice. I like Turkey.
Saturday Live – “Pot Snooker”(March 22, 1986)
Finally, there is a sketch from The Oblivion Boys (Steve Frost and Mark Arden) which appeared on the first season of Saturday Live, a British twist on the more familiar Saturday Night Live. Entitled “Pot Snooker,” yet another send up of the popular series Pot Black, the sketch consists largely of loosely glued together sight gags that deride the formality of snooker. It is available to watch here.
Like the Benny Hill skit thirteen years prior, there is little dialogue; in lieu, there are fake arms, a mechanized ref that slides across the rail of the table, a player sleeping on the table, a player emerging a hole in the table covered in sawdust, and a brief morphing into Robin of Sherwood, another 1980s British TV show.
In this viewer’s opinion, it’s a disappointing bookend to a pentad of parodies. The jokes and gags feel haphazard and recycled; earlier sketches nailed the landing with less effort and more creativity. Maybe it was a sign that the Golden Era of Snooker would soon come to an end.
Fortunately, it was not a sign that the comedic gods were finished deriding the sport. As new superstars would dominate snooker (e.g., Stephen Hendry, Ronnie O’Sullivan), the nineties and the aughts would usher in a new crop of acerbic humorists. Sketch comedy shows, such as Hale & Pace, A Bit of Fry & Laurie, The Fast Show, and one of my favorites, That Mitchell and Webb Look, would bring new levels of ridicule and mimicry. Such is the topic for a future blog post!
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If you grew up on 1980s MTV, you may also recognize the puppetry of Spitting Image in the 1986 “Land of Confusion” video for Genesis.
In the sport of snooker, getting “snookered” means that one has been put in a position where s/he does not have the ability to use the cue ball to make a direct, linear shot on the object ball. It is a perfectly valid and highly technical form of defense.
In modern parlance and away from the table, “snookered” is a slang verb that means to “deceive, cheat, or dupe,” according to Dictionary.com. That definition has provoked considerable criticism across the Ocean from linguists who counter by referencing the Oxford English Dictionary: to snooker is to place in an impossible position; to balk, stymie. Ergo, to be snookered would imply that one is in a difficult situation, but nothing duplicitous has occurred.
Now, all of this lexical debate could be routinely dismissed and relegated to the online nattering of etymologists on the English Language & Usage Stack Exchange, except “snookered” improbably shows up as the single most common title of billiards movies and television episodes. By my count, “Snookered” is the title of four billiards televisions episodes and three billiards short films, not to mention a billiards-themed play, two billiards-themed books, and the b-side of Chas & Dave’s famous anthem, “Snooker Loopy.” So, without further delay, let’s get “Snookered.”
Terry and June – “Snookered”
From 1979 to 1987, the BBC ran the sitcom Terry and June, which starred Terry Scott and June Whitfield as a middle-aged, middle-class suburban couple. In the January 1982 “Snookered” episode, Terry has purchased a six-foot snooker table, with grand fantasies of becoming a champion. But, the acid-tongued June is less certain, telling Terry, “You’re about as good at snooker as the captain of the Titanic was at spotting icebergs.”
Admitting to his shortcomings, Terry begrudgingly sells his table for 30 pounds by advertising it in the newspaper. However, immediately after selling the table, he starts getting inundated with inquiries from prospective buyers, who are willing to pay more than 100 pounds. Realizing the table is worth far more than he thought, he buys it back for 70 pounds. Then, he begins a rather comical – and ultimately expensive — journey to determine why there is such demand for the table, even when antique dealers tell him it is “rubbish.” I won’t spoil the ending but don’t get your hopes up that Joe Davis has any relation to the legendary Steve of the same surname. The full episode is available to watch here.
Mortimer’s Patch – “Snookered”[WANTED!]
Unfortunately, most of the other “Snookered” television episodes I was not able to find online, including the June 1984 episode from the New Zealand police drama Mortimer’s Patch. If you can help me locate any of these episodes, please contact me directly. All I could learn was that the series, which lasted only three seasons, featured detective and police work in the fictional town of Cobham. In the “Snookered” episode, a pool hustler comes to town in order to blackmail.
Roy – “Snookered”[WANTED!]
Roy O’Brien, the 11-year old cartoon-animated son of a live-action family in Dublin, is at the center of this eponymous Irish children’s television series. In the February 2014 “Snookered” episode, Roy’s dad, Bill, discovers that his son is a snooker prodigy. When his dad bumps into his old snooker-playing rival, Clive “The Tornado” Butler, Bill forces Roy to compete in a grudge match. For Roy, it’s a big fuss about “a silly game of snooker,” but for Bill, it’s an opportunity for “claiming glory on the field of battle” and for his son to “be a world champion by the time he’s 16…have [his] own line of merchandising, maybe a video…and then in 25 or 30 years, retire as the greatest player to ever pick up a snooker cue.”
Though I could not watch the “Snookered” episode online, I got some mild enjoyment from this transcript of the episode.
Harry’s Mad – “Snookered”[WANTED!]
Still another children’s television series that seized on the name “Snookered” is Harry’s Mad, a British show that ran from 1993 to 1996. Based on the book by Dick King-Smith, the series focused on 10-year-old Harry Holdsworth, who inherits a super intelligent talking macaw named Madison (aka Mad). Harry and his family have lots of adventures, but the bird also attracts the attention of the villainous Terry Crumm. There’s a dearth of information about the “Snookered” episode, except that it featured snooker world champion Steve Davis.
Snookered (short film, 2005)
This nine-minute film written and directed by Hammish Scadding saw a larger audience than it deserved because it was a part of Virgin Media Shorts, the UK’s biggest short film competition at that time. (The competition ended in 2014.)
The movie focuses on two ‘friends,’ one of whom has always been more popular and successful than the other. The narrator, always undermined by his friend, views the pool table as “the most important place. Two sides fighting for supremacy on that bright green battlefield.” Presumably, he’s never won a game against the friend until – spoiler alert – tonight. And, with that victory, “every winner loses, while every loser joins a winner’s table.” Really? Someone actually wrote that? The film is available to watch here.
Snookered (short film, 2014)
Almost three years ago, I wrote a blog post about Azeem Mustafa’s 2015 billiards-martial arts short film The Break. At the time, I was unaware of that film’s predecessor, the five-minute film Snookered, which, naturally, also mixes billiards and martial arts over a funky soundtrack.
The ‘martial arts criminal comedy’ focuses on two gangsters who opt to play a game of snooker to determine who shall walk away with a valuable briefcase. The five-hour game fails to determine a winner, so the two men follow up with a one-hour martial arts battle (that has some pretty decent fight sequences for a self-made short film). The film is available to watch here.
Snookered(short film, 2018)
Rounding out the septet of Snookered-named films is this seven-minute film from Scotland that won the 48 Hour Film Project. Like the name suggests, the movie was written, shot, and edited in just 48 hours for entry into this cinematic competition. The plot centers on a mysterious, dangerous box that must be couriered to a local snooker hall. When it is delivered to and opened by the recipient, we learn it contains toxic cue chalk that kills the user when he blows on the cue. Created by Team Dropshack, Snookered won Best Film, Best Cinematography and Best Editing.
So, to all the film auteurs still contemplating the name of their next billiard masterpiece, please heed my advice and leave alone the title “Snookered.” I promise I’m not trying to deceive or cheat you, or put you in a difficult situation. I just don’t want anyone to be snookered again.
“Well that was a lucky chance for young Mark Deacon, but as usual, he approaches the table with – how does one put it – a face like a slapped ass.” — Peter DeCoursey
When it comes to snooker commentary, Ted Wilkes and Peter DeCoursey are in a class by themselves. Exactly what class is another question. The two retired players, perpetually drinking, chain-smoking, and sweating in their airless cramped radio booth, spend the bulk of their on-air time talking insensitively about the players and sharing inappropriate stories, such as Mark Deacon’s attempts at suicide, or – how shall I put it – “bids for oblivion.”
Of course, that’s the comic genius of David Mitchell and Robert Webb, who respectively play Ted and Peter on each “Snooker Commentators”segment of their British sketch comedy That Mitchell and Webb Look.
The comedians’ dipsomaniacal duo first appeared on the radio show That Mitchell and Webb Sound. Then, in 2006, the ex-snooker-shooting sots, along with numerous other sketch characters, moved to television, where That Mitchell and Webb Look eventually won a BAFTA aware for “Best Comedy Programme or Series.”
Though That Mitchell and Webb Look ran for four seasons between 2006 and 2010, I could only locate a handful of “Snooker Commentator” sketches, all from the first season. Always kicking off with Ted’s catch phrase, “Oh, that’s a bad miss,” and one of the duo bringing in the evening’s potables, the first episode starts with the pair mocking past-his-prime snooker player Harry Vaughn and the final episode ends with Ted and Peter revealing the secret snooker lyrics behind Chris de Burgh’s career-launching anthem, “The Lady in Red.” (Never seen you looking so shiny as you did tonight | Never seen your baize so tight |You are amazing.)
In the real world of snooker, with its genteel traditions, it would be unimaginable to have commentators as boorish as Ted and Peter. However, snooker commentary has not been irreproachable. In 2016, the snooker commentator John Virgo said during the semi-finals of the World Snooker Championship, “I wanted to watch a bit of racing this afternoon. I’ll be lucky to watch some f****** Match of the Day.” Apparently, he thought his microphone was off.
Similarly, the former cueman Willie Thorne was commentating in 2017 during the first day of the Betfred World Championship when he said to his co-host Peter Edbon (in reference to the struggling match player Anthony McGill), “When you ‘go’ here though Pete, it is a f****** nightmare this place.”
But, these vulgar verbal bloopers are rather mild compared to gaffes uttered by sports announcers across the Channel here in the U.S.
For example, Jimmy ‘The Greek’ Snyder said to a reporter in 1988, “The black is a better athlete to begin with because he’s been bred to be that way…This goes back all the way to the Civil War when the slave owner would breed his big black to his big woman so that he could have a big black kid.” CBS fired him immediately.
Or, how about ESPN commentator Mark Madden, who said in 2008, “I’m very disappointed to hear Senator Ted Kennedy of Massachusetts is near death because of a brain tumor…I always hoped Senator Kennedy would live long enough to be assassinated”? And then there is Fox Sports baseball commentator Steve ‘Psycho’ Lyons, who blasted outfielder Shawn Green for skipping a game because of the Jewish holiday Yom Kippur. Lyons said, “He’s not even a practicing Jew. He didn’t marry a Jewish girl…And from what I understand, he never had a bar mitzvah, which is unfortunate because he doesn’t get the money.”
And these sleazebags are not even the worse of the lot. Remember Marv Albert, who sodomized a woman and then forced her to perform oral sex, all while supposedly wearing white panties and a garter belt? Sean Salisbury was an NFL analyst for ESPN when it became public that he sent pictures of his private parts to ESPN female employees. Seven-time Pro Bowl player Warren Sapp joined the NFL Network as a commentator only to have his contract quickly terminated after he was arrested on suspicion of soliciting and assaulting a prostitute.
Finally, there is the all-time king of scuzz, local New Orleans sportscaster Vince Marinello, who murdered his ex-wife in 2006. He shot her twice in the head. His cover-up was so poor that at his house the police found a “to-do” list related to the murder, along with records of him purchasing the type of bullets used for the murder.
So, Ted and Peter may not be most polished pair, but compared to some of their real-world counterparts, I’m quite willing to overlook the occasional stein, or six, of ale.
On May 3, 2013, Judd Trump was shooting against Ronnie O’Sullivan in the semifinals of that year’s World Snooker Championship. Down 4-32 in the frame, Mr. Trump lined up for his shot when a loud farting sound thundered through the Crucible Theatre. Described as a “bit of noise in the crowd,” the sound, which some later ascertained was created by a fart machine, had the audience in guffaws until the referee was able to quiet down the crowd. Mr. Trump may have regained his concentration, but he ultimately lost the match 17-11.
Almost six months later, another snooker match was repeatedly disturbed, this time by a mixture of ill-timed sneezes, cell phone rings, and the occasional crinkling of a too-new Danny Zuko leather jacket. Fortunately, this was not another WSC match, but rather the plotline of an amusing television episode of You, Me & Them entitled “The Legend of Old McCreadie.” The full episode is available to watch here.
Even for Brits, You, Me & Them may be hard to remember. Airing on UKTV in 2014, the original comedy series lasted only 12 episodes before it was yanked. The show centers on a married couple, Lauren Grey (Eve Myles) and Ed Walker (Anthony Head), who are madly in love despite their 26-year age difference. Their families think a quarter-century age gap is irreconcilable, but in fact, the couple do just fine while everyone around them is engulfed in chaos and craziness.
Like many sitcom episodes, “The Legend of Old McCreadie” has several interlocking stories, including one thread in which Ed and his father-in-law Clive (Jeff Rawle) decide to do some family bonding by attending a local snooker match where they can get “drama and excitement, yet peace and quiet.”
Their troubles start when Clive begins violently sneezing as a result of an allergic reaction to the mohair jumper of the woman seated in front of him. Then, Ed’s leather jacket, which has never been broken in, makes distracting squeaking noises each time he moves. Thus, to avoid moving, he enlists Clive’s help to scratch his itches, raising eyebrows from those around them. Adding to the awkwardness, Clive’s wife keeps calling his cellphone to get the alarm codes as she fears someone may be breaking into the house. The situation only gets worse as Clive attempts to hand signal the alarm code over live television, since he knows his wife can see him on the telly. Whatever patience the players, referee, and audience members had exhibited up to this point completely disappears and cacophony ensues.
The episode scores points for lampooning the genteel core of snooker. After all, this is a sport in which “the players wear bowties and waistcoats, the referees are dressed formally with white Mickey Mouse gloves, and the crowd is mainly hushed and silent.”[1]
In describing the “intensity of silence” as one of the “characteristics of true snooker,” one writer said:
Some players might actually prefer more of a constant backdrop of noise, but that’s not in the foundations of the sport. Yes, the sport came from an Imperial room of commission officers, but walk into any snooker club now and pretty much the only noise heard is coming from the tables, cues, balls and pockets. And for the fan, the knowledge of having to stay as quiet as possible adds to their own intensity in that moment.[2]
Amidst this revered soundlessness, is it any wonder that Ed and Clive’s peccadillos are received with such disdain?
In fact, similar offenses have led to snooker audience members getting stern warnings and even outright ejections from the matches. Such was the case when an audience member got a bit too boisterous at the Ronnie O’Sullivan vs. Mark Selby Masters Final in January 2014. And, in Mr. O’Sullivan’s match against Gary Wilson in April 2017, a drunk heckler had to be removed due to his disruptive behavior.
Of course, had Ed and Clive come to watch Kyren Wilson compete against Mark Allen in the semi-finals of the 2018 World Snooker Championship, perhaps they would have been a bit more lucky. As snooker fans may recall, Mr. Wilson was down 32-45 with a difficult lead on the 6-ball, when he was interrupted not once, not twice, but three times by a spectator’s mobile phone. And though the referee was quick to oust the culprit, it was Mr. Wilson who said, “Don’t kick him out, just turn the phone on silence,” which won applause from the audience.
Mr. Wilson went on to beat Mr. Allen 13-6. You draw your own conclusion.
When historians chronicle the origins of billiards, they frequently cite Mary, Queen of Scots, as one of the sport’s earliest and most famous enthusiasts.
Painting of Mary, Queen of Scots, by Nicholas Hilliard. The painting resides at the National Portrait Gallery in London.
Mary ruled over Scotland for almost 25 years in the mid-16th century. When she claimed she was the legitimate heir to the throne of England, the current queen, Elizabeth I, had her confined to various castles. One of the last prisons for Mary was Tutbury Castle, where she was moved to in 1585. Under the guardianship of the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, she was treated kindly and was granted her request to have a billiards table on the premises.
However, her time at Tutbury was short-lived. She was subsequently moved to Fotheringay Castle, without her billiards table. There, she was found guilty of plotting to assassinate Elizabeth and was beheaded in 1587. According to reports from her lady-in-waiting, her headless body was wrapped in the cloth from the billiards table.
Now, fast-forward about 400 years. Charlie Gimbert, a sleazy antiques dealer, has inherited the management of fallen snooker champion Murray McNally, who insists his game depends on the procurement of Mary, Queen of Scots’ billiards table. To find the table, Gimbert contracts Lovejoy, a rougish dealer, and sics him on the impossible fool’s errand with a promise of a big payoff if he successfully secures the trophy.
Well, that’s at least the premise of “The Colour of Mary” episode of the British comedy-drama series Lovejoy. First aired in 1986, Lovejoy follows the antique-hunting adventures of the eponymous Lovejoy (Ian McShane). The series had a five-year gap between its first and second seasons, which is why this particular episode aired in January, 1993, during the fourth season.
“The Colour of Mary,” with an obvious cultural nod to The Color of Money, begins with Lovejoy’s well-intended pursuit of the mythical table. Unfortunately, after connecting with antique historians and visiting the famed Fotheringay Castle, it becomes clear to Lovejoy that the table no longer exists, most likely incinerated hundreds of years ago along with all of Mary’s possessions.
Expecting that neither Gimbert (Malcom Tierney) nor McNally (Alex Norton) know the table’s true history, Lovejoy proceeds to create a forgery, using some early baize and nailing it to an Elizabethan table. The table is put up for auction by an estate, and Gimbert buys it for £15,000 with the intent of showing it to McNally. But, surprise, surprise, McNally was acting in his own ruse, and upon seeing the table, proceeds to demolish it, citing his militant preference for snooker over billiards.
This curious coda seems intent on fanning the flames of a ‘snooker versus billiards’ rivalry, but I strongly question whether such a dogfight exists. More to the point, any player that would take an axe to an antique billiards table is truly not deserving of his cue stick.
“The Colour of Mary” also include an exhibition snooker match with real world snooker champion Dennis Taylor, but his presence does little to save this rather uneven episode.
The full episode is available for purchase on YouTube.
There is clearly a market for celebrity pool tables.
In 1998, a snooker table custom made for the Rolling Stones’ Voodoo Lounge tour sold at auction for $12,075. In 2007, an Adler Victorian-style carved-walnut pool table, which had been customized for musician Ozzy Osbourne, sold at auction for $11,250. A year later, the Brunswick table that actor Glen Ford had spent countless hours using to play celebrities such as John Wayne and Frank Sinatra, went for nearly $8000 in a Heritage auction.
from the Voodoo Lounge tour
So, it was not outrageous for Gallery 63 owner Paul Brown to think that he could make a pretty penny auctioning a snooker table that had been customized for, and used by, the Rolling Stones as part of their 1989 Steel Wheels Tour. Such is the setup for “Rolling Stones Snooker Table/Aliens,”the fourth episode of the first season of Auction Kings, a reality television series produced by Authentic Entertainment for the Discovery Channel.
Airing in November 2010, the Auction Kings episode, available to watch here, begins with Donald Dukes, the founder and creative talent behind handcrafted table maker Atlantic Billiards, walking into Mr. Brown’s auction house in Sandy Springs, Georgia, looking to sell a custom 12-foot snooker table that he built for the Rolling Stone to bring on tour.
This was not the first time Mr. Dukes had been called upon by the Rolling Stones to build a snooker table. He built a total of five tables for the band and for its lead guitarist Keith Richards, including the aforementioned Voodoo Lounge tour table, which had been crafted from 1,400 pounds of slate playing surface from Italy, worsted wool cloth from Belgium, gum-rubber rail cushions from England, and maple cue sticks from Canada, according to the Christie’s auction site.[1] Mr. Dukes even joined the band on tours in order to maintain the tables.
(It is now well-documented that the Rolling Stones include in their concert tour rider that the promoter installs a snooker table backstage. Rolling Stones guitarist Ronnie Wood wrote in his 2007 autobiography Ronnie: “The gig organizer is also obliged to set up a snooker table for Keith [Richards] and me – it’s a non-negotiable part of the contract. We always have a game before a concert.”[2])
from the Steel Wheels tour
For the Steel Wheels tour table, which was decorated with names of classic Rolling Stones’ hits, had legs mounted with replicas of John Pasche’s famous 1970 “Tongue and Lips” artwork, and included “ironclad provenance – [Mr. Dukes] and Keith Richards shooting a game on it,” the desired price was at least $4,000. “If all goes well, we will use the cash for 2nd honeymoon for our 40th anniversary,” says Mr. Dukes.
At the time right before the episode’s airing, enthusiasts on the AZBilliards Forum opined that the table should command a significant price. Estimated ranged from “at least 4K” or “around 8K” to 15K and even 25K.[3]
In the actual episode, an appraiser values the table itself at $3,500 but quickly adds that its celebrity provenance is the true wild card which could favorably impact the value. Owner Mr. Brown robotically follows up, “I’m hoping the fact it was indeed the Rolling Stones’ snooker table will drive the value up in a Jumping Jack Flash.”
“Rolling Stones Snooker Table/Aliens” ends with the auction, which also includes the sale of some African art and life-size aliens that are also highlighted throughout the episode. With Mr. Dukes in the audience, the auctioneer begins the bidding at $1250. An anonymous call-in buyer drives up the price, ultimately buying the table for $4000. Though Mr. Dukes only received his minimum asking price, he seems content; Mr. Brown, too, is relieved, though the lackluster bid prices for some of the other auction items leads him to surmise that there is bad luck in the air.
The theme of bad luck was a motif the show’s producers ran throughout the episode, starting with the scratching of winless lottery tickets and ending with Mr. Brown unwittingly walking beneath a ladder. Such superstitious events were undoubtedly inserted to build the show’s narrative.
But, ironically, the bad luck gimmicks may have been a real omen. The series Auction Kings ended in 2013, and Mr. Brown’s auction house Gallery 63 closed in March, 2015. And, according to an AZBilliards Forum post from NoBull9, who spoke with one of the table’s assemblers, the $4000 deal fell through and the table was locked up in a warehouse, still for sale.[4]
Congratulations to Stuart Bingham, who this past Tuesday defeated Shaun Murphy to win the Betfred World Snooker Championship, a tournament that reached more than 330 million viewers last year. In winning the £300,000 (about $457,000) prize money, Bingham said, “Just to put my hands on that trophy, seeing all the names on it, that’s just everything. It means so much.”[1]
In a tribute to Mr. Bingham and the popularity of the Snooker Championship, I watched “Snooker” (November, 1984) from the second season of the British television comedy Ever Decreasing Circles that ran on BBC1. The series revolved around Martin Bryce (Richard Briers), an obsessive, middle-aged man from East Surrey who harbors an ongoing jealousy toward his new, younger, next-door neighbor Paul Ryman (Peter Egan), an adventurous, confident, charming playboy, who is seemingly better at everything than Martin.
“Snooker” begins with Martin imploring his wife Ann (Penelope Wilton) to assume the 32nd spot in the local snooker tournament he is organizing. Winning this tournament means the world to Martin, having starved himself for two days in past years when he was only a runner-up. Echoing Mr. Bingham, Martin yearns to hold the winner’s cup, which he fantasizes about “polishing every day.” When Ann rebuffs him, he begrudgingly asks Paul, who he had intentionally overlooked, fearing Paul will again demonstrate his dominance over Martin. (This obsession with not living in the shadow of another man is a recurring theme in British television. See the far more laughable Steptoe & Sonepisode “Pot Black,”which tackles this very issue.)
Just as Mr. Bingham, the oldest winner of the Snooker Championship since Ray Reardon won in 1978, defeated the younger Mr. Murphy, so too does the dowdy-looking Martin vanquish the impeccably attired Paul, albeit for a host of comedic reasons I won’t divulge here. Equally farcical is Martin’s ultimate loss to his friend Howard Hughes, who temporarily sheds his meek mien to win the match.
Though there is little snooker shown, what makes this episode incredible, particularly to an American viewer like me, are the snooker references, each punctuated by the laugh track, an implicit affirmation that the 12-million-person audience understands the joke, and thus, the reference.
Case in point: Seventy five seconds into the episode, Martin, having asked Ann to participate in the tournament, quips, “Steve Davis plays with women now.” Putting aside the dated gender humor, the audience laughs because it is familiar with Mr. Davis, the English snooker player who dominated the sport during the 1980s when he won the Snooker World Championship and was ranked world number one for seven consecutive seasons.
Given Mr. Davis’ stunning achievements, it is little wonder he is a national icon. But, for American audiences there is sadly no counterpart, no billiards player that could be referenced with similar recall and reverence. (Minnesota Fats may be the one exception, but his legend is more due to his role as an entertainer than as a pool player, for he never won a major tournament.)
In fact, Mr. Davis is not the only player instanced. Later in the episode, Martin is dumbstruck when Paul unsheathes a new cue from its carrying case. Paul shares, “I borrowed the cue from a mate of mine, Tony.” “Tony Knowles?,” asks Martin. [Audience laughs.] “No, Tony Meo,” replies Paul. [Audience continues to guffaw.]
For the aforementioned reasons, this is again a remarkable exchange. Tony Knowles shot to prominence in 1982 when he defeated Steve Davis in the first round of the World Snooker Championship. He was ranked #2 when “Snooker” aired. Tony Meo, whose highest ranking was 10, was largely known for winning four World Doubles titles.
To viewers of Ever Decreasing Circles, these were evidently household names. But, can you imagine a similar conversation about American billiards players? It is lamentable that less than a nano-sliver of US TV viewers might have heard of Johnny “The Scorpion” Archer or Earl “The Pearl” Stickland or even Jeanette “Black Widow” Lee.
Here’s a painful exercise: add up the number of Twitter followers of America’s top 10 current or former players. There’s no definitive list (e.g., Earl Strickland – 4090; Mika Immonen – 4268; Jeanette Lee – 4711), but I doubt, in aggregate, the sum will exceed 25,000. Now, compare those followers to those of some of Britain’s superstars (Shaun Murphy – 58,500; Ali Carter – 43,000; Ronnie O’Sullivan – 301,000). The numbers dwarf their US counterparts, providing a non-scientific, yet truly painful, reminder once again of how billiards has failed to attract an audience in the United States compared to other parts of the world, such as England and Southeast Asia.
The “Snooker” episode of Ever Decreasing Circles is available to watch online here.
Northern Ireland has produced a number of world-class snooker players, such as Karen Corr, Alex Higgins and Dennis Taylor. To that list, one should now add Mickey Munday, described by his manager “as a snooker player… an absolute genius, as a man…one of the biggest bastards I’ve ever met.”
In the first season “Manic Munday” episode (May, 2003) of Murphy’s Law, Detective Sergeant Tommy Murphy (James Nesbitt), a tough-talking Belfast cop now in London, is assigned to provide undercover protection to Munday (Adrien Dunbar), who is on tour to promote his self-titled autobiography, but is also on someone’s hit list. Murphy is pleased to “babysit,” given Munday is not only one of his hometown heroes, but also that Murphy will be joined by his attractive boss, Detective Inspector Annie Guthrie (Claudia Harrison).
Murphy’s Law was a BBC crime drama that ran for five seasons and starred James Nesbitt as a maverick cop with a troubled personal history and an unflappable charm that he directs toward any woman, especially his boss. In “Manic Munday,” the eponymous reigning champion but now a 45-year-old aging “warhorse,” is expected to play the heavily favored, rising heartthrob Johnny McEvoy (Jonjo O’Neill) in the upcoming Williams Championship in London.
Murphy learns early that someone is blackmailing Munday to fix the snooker match. But, when Munday resists dumping the game, his estranged daughter is kidnapped. Initially, it appears that the attacker is a local gang-lord, who grew up with Munday and has a long-term vendetta against him. But, the sudden arrival of the Belfast Police suggests that hooligan may just be a puppet for a more nefarious mastermind.
Other storylines, such as a love affair between Murphy’s ex-wife and Johnny McEvoy, and an attempted shakedown of McEvoy by some Irish thugs, slowly wend together as it is revealed [SPOILER ALERT!] that a sinister Irish terrorist organization is behind the scam, which not only requires Munday to throw games, but also McEvoy, lest the bettors detect a fix. Both players are eventually pressured into complying, throwing just enough shots to maintain a predetermined sequence and spread of frames. But, when Murphy foils the criminal plot (in a lights-out bloodbath of gunfire), the snooker match can resume and a true winner can be declared.
“Manic Munday” features 90 tightly-knit minutes of crime drama. The episode is well-paced and acted, with a solid soundtrack and crisp cinematography. Thanks to advisor Del Smith, a professional snooker player and WPBSA snooker coach, the billiards sequences are tense and realistic, successfully eschewing the standard over-reliance on trick shots, the announcers’ commentary are technical and appropriate, and the supporting elements, from the chalking of the cue to measuring of the spot for the black ball with the ball marker, are done with great attention to detail. (Smith also has a small role in the episode as Eric Law.)
The “Manic Munday” episode is available to purchase as part of the Murphy’s Law Series 1 DVD on Amazon.
Go online and search for ‘grandmothers playing billiards (or snooker).’ Aside from an article about Grandma Fatma, Turkey’s oldest snooker fan, or a Maltese nonagenarian who likes Stephen Hendry, the pickings are slim. Yet, the concept has a certain hip factor, as evidenced by the variety of available merch emblazoned with slogans such as, “Some Grandmas Play Bingo; Real Grandmas Play Pool,” “Never Underestimate the Power of a Grandma Who Plays Pool,” and my favorite, “My Grandma Will Break Your Balls.”
As snooker fever envelopes Chiseltown, Campbell sets up the Chiseltown Snooker Championship, which ultimately draws the attention of Mr. McBigg, a resident gangster, who wagers 50,000 pounds (approximately $135,000 USD today). The match is supposed to feature Cat Burglar against McBigg’s stakehorse, Hot Shot Houlihan. But, complications ensue, leading to McBigg playing SuperGran, a last-minute substitute for Cat Burglar. Though McBigg initially disparages her as “the Tartan twit that jumps through walls,” he quickly becomes mum, as SuperGran runs 147 points for a perfect break. 
