Anyone who has been watching the Masters Snooker coverage this week will I am certain have been profoundly depressed by the antics of the "knowledgeable Ally Pally audience".
It's bad enough that the sacred and pristine Crucible Theater has for decades been tainted by the foul-smelling, sub-prime creatures who emerge from sewers every April to soil the place, with their non-stop crisp-crunching, sweet-unwrapping and past the use-by date pork pie munching. All of which has of course has led to those unseemly competitions amongst themselves, as to who can break wind with most ferocity and audibility. All accompanied naturally by the sound of shameless and unrestrained maniacal laughter.
Well anything that The Crucible crowd can do now also seems to apply to the Alexandra Palace patrons. One would have thought that the Final would at least be one occasion where the freaks could be excluded, hopefully on price alone, and that events could proceed with a modicum of decorum and dignity. Think again. Far from it sadly.
Today (and in fairness most days this last week) we heard a never-ending series of whoops, aggressive shouts and the sort of ululating that a demented sea lion might bark. The peak of this nonsense occurred during session one on Sunday afternoon when a rag and bone man in the crowd decided to drop the entire contents of his weekly scrap collection on the floor, doubtless returning to take his seat after blocking at least two of the toilets on a comfort break. It was something of a relief that a mariachi band didn't appear, improvising a non-stop succession of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass toe-tappers.
And can ANYONE tell me when "Hawkinsmania" began in Britain??? I willingly admit that this phenomenon had completely passed me by until today. Hitherto, I think it's fair to say that however efficient his play, the name of Barry Hawkins has never once been associated with the loud and fiercely vocal crowd support experienced by Jimmy White, Ronnie O'Sullivan and Alex Higgins to name but three. Are we now looking at the very real possibility that come April, the floor of the Crucible Theatre will be strewn with the fragrant panties of female fans when 'The Hawk' comes out to play?
but now the formalities are done with, let's get to the crux of the matter..
how long until the Kolo/Yaya Toure song graces snooker? can imagine them all barking it all over the Crucible Theatre like demented sea lions, conducted by their insane leader "Rob Walker"
Happy New Year alun! I hope all is well with you.but now the formalities are done with, let's get to the crux of the matter..how long until the Kolo/Yaya Toure song graces snooker? can imagine them all barking it all over the Crucible Theatre like de
Precisely WW, that is the spectre that now haunts snooker. One that significantly was not discussed by the Three Stooger in the BBC presenter studio last night.
Without very firm restrictions in place, we face the living nightmare of Walker becoming the Pol Pot of snooker, with his sub-prime army of devoted spectators hanging on to his every word and carrying out all sorts of unseemly rituals.
Before we go to sleep tonight, let us all pray that April at the Crucible will NOT become Walker's (and Snooker's) Year Zero.
Precisely WW, that is the spectre that now haunts snooker. One that significantly was not discussed by the Three Stooger in the BBC presenter studio last night. Without very firm restrictions in place, we face the living nightmare of Walker becoming