BILLIARDS

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLI, Issue 3, 15 July 1908, Page 41

BILLIARDS

■Y

AN EXPERT

COMPILING BIG BREAKS.

There is to be found in the compiling of big breaks, say, Of anything beyond the 300 mark, a deep satisfaction to player and spectator alike. Such performances weave a cord of sympathy between them. From merely taking a normal degree of interest in the proceedings upon the billiard-table, the spectators gradually find their feelings quickened, their expectancy heightened, and their apprehensiveness of failure ruling over all. It is questionable, indeed, whether a sustained effort in which the balls are rolled about with the systematic forethought that governs the movements of chess pieces, does not enforce as big a strain on those of sensitive nerves as on the player. Stroke by stroke, one follows the studied positions played up to bo delicately or so strongly to marvel at the control exercised over those usually elusive glistening spheres of ivory. There is light and shade in the work and varying effects that tell of the masterhand guilding the cue. Deftly this is plied and attuned to the character of the stroke. The balls crash at a forcing hazard; they merely make a melodious click as the player modulates the power of the shot; but the most melodious note is struck in the ' medium-pace contacts, the short, sharp staccato of the halfball, the lighter ring .of the thinner and the more robust intonation of the fuller collisions. Here is a theme for some composer of realism in music. Some of the most striking yet harmonious tones come within the scope of the billiardball repertory. But only a grand orchestra could do justice to the unending changes. In the recent match at Messrs. Thurston’s Grand Hall, Leicester-square, London, the professionals, Reece and Halverson, provided a quite remarkable series of three to four hundred breaks. These proved the feature of as fine a struggle as one could well hope to occur. Having seen some of the breaks run their palpitating course, I can testify to the extraordinaryattention lavished upon them once it became clear that something of an abnormal character was in progress. The billiard public dearly love a big break. They like the game all the way through; but to the bulk the very salt of the proceedings at a big match is concentrated into some exceptional single-handed effort. It is then that the player obtains a hold over the spectators comparable to the tension set by some grea.t actor in delivering the most stirring passages on his part. A pent-up excitement comes over the silent group in the seats surrounding that elegant piece of furniture surmounted and inset, as it were, with the oblong of green cloth.

There are alternating hopes and fears, expressed in some cases and felt only in others, at the slower motions of the player’s messenger—his trusty cue-ball. In the main, however, there is no relief to the strain imposed on the spectator. He has to sit and to suffer all the trying variations of the play. These arc nothing if not trying, as you feel and hear the break mount higher and higher. Your sympathies are extended to the machine-like exponent, who so steadily and so accurately turns and twists and manoeuvres the balls about with almost faultless skill. The outcome of it all is shrouded in doubt. Who shall say that the record —that highest pitch of the billiardist’s ambition —shall not go? But as inexorably as Fate itself the balls win in the long run, and anywhere on towards the fifth hundred they baffle the player. In this connection, I may say I have participated in more than one recordbreaking sitting. The greatest of them all stands to the credit of that most finished cueist, H. W. Stevenson, who turned on a wonderful effort of no fewer than 802 points. It was simply remarkable how, in a crowded and heated room, he contrived to keep the balls going for nearly an hour without let or hindrance to his command over them until they played him the most scurvy triek imaginable. The exertion of playing at high pressure, such as the scoring of this 802 points in five minutes under the hour would imply, contained, perhaps, the distinguishing characteristic of a never-to-be-forgotten display. No strings of close cannons, so prolific in their production, and asking comparatively so little from the player, gave Stevenson no pause from his rather open scoring. His stroke ■accuracy, particularly at some rather awkward-looking run-through cannons, was true almost to a fault. The spectators became convinced that something exceptional was in the air, and they began to betray a lively interest in the kaleidoscopic changes of position going along right under their eyes before the fatal fifth hundred, in the vicinity of which so many breaks have ended their fleeting careers, was an accomplished fact. From that point onwards, Stevenson, playing like one possessed whose actions were controlled by that abstract inner sense, the sub-conscious self, held out hopes of reaching the great goal of all hopes—the thousand break. Flushed and hot, he never slackened pace nor hesitated on the stroke. His physical condition must have been at its best to have withstood the trial to his nerves as the previous best on record was approached. He betrayed no signs of anxiety as it was approached, nor any discernible emotions as a thunder of applause denoted that it had been passed. On he went at racing speed to score another 80 points. Then the balls kissed, and, running into •impossible quarters ended, amidst scenes of tumultuous enthusiasm, the highest, break on record under the present code of rules.

Visitors to a billiard match in which professional players are engaged cannot fail to be struck by the persistent and ready ■manner that the balls are directed to the head of the table between the top pockets. This is the real scoring ground, where the leading practitioners build up a full four-fifths of their scoring. Close as the work seems to be and simple as all its details may appear to the looker-on, this play at the top of the table is hedged with all sorts of difficulties and dangers. It presents the most refined and exacting stroke problems. At the closest range every conceivable stroke, the screw, the thin, the full, side, and top are all in turn employed. They have to be executed in their most subdued forms. Only the past-masters of the art have any legitimate claim to be recognised as top-of-the-table performers of merit. They know their ways to this points-yie’ding expanse by heart. In one, two, or three strokes the balls are made to congregate by the top cushion with a certainty that gives the uninitiated into the mysteries of this stepping-stone to break-making something to ponder on. One of the accompanying diagrams delineates a three-

stroks passage, one of very common occurrence, to the top of the table. The numbers placed by the cue-ball, and ob-ject-balls in each of the three strokes coincide with one another, and so express the character of their shot's and their positions. It will be seen that a top-pocket losing hazard is first played off the object-white, which is brought down the table between the middle pockets. Another losing hazard played generally into the right of these sends the ball behind the billiard-spot, where it only needs the company of the cue-ball and the red-ball. This eomes into position together as the result of the eol-

The continuous lines show the course of the cue-balls, and the dotted lines the run of the object-ball. The numbers illustrate the cue-ball and object-ball played at in each stroke.

cured ball being holed, and the player’s ball running up to the top cushion, and some two feet down the table again for the ideal top-of-the-table arrangement. Reece has in the past fortnight provided an infinity o.f such stroke variations in reaching the head of affairs. On the other hand, Harverson has pursued a most opportunist and not less successful seoring policy. He has compelled admiration by the character of his forcing losing hazards, which have taken him out of many an awkward entanglement. Two of the best strokes in this category made by Harverson are illustrated upon the second diagram.