Billiards

by William Broadfoot

POOL

Pool, the good old-fashioned following pool, is getting out of date. The more racy games of black pool and snooker have jostled it from its place in men’s affections, so once more Cronos has been deposed, and Zeus reigns in his stead. As, however, no article on winning hazard games would be complete without a detailed reference to it, if only because of its antiquity, I will treat it as still instinct with life and energy; and, indeed, as the parent of the more modern games, it deserves our respect. The principles of the game are quite simple.

Each player receives a ball by lot—any number up to twelve can play—and starts with three lives. The order of play is decided by the sequence of the colours on the marking-board, which correspond with the balls. White is placed on the billiard spot and red plays the first stroke from the Ｄ; yellow plays on red, green on yellow and so on, the same order being kept throughout the game, unless an intermediate ball is dead (i.e. has lost all its lives), when the ball that precedes it becomes the object ball; e.g. if red is dead, yellow plays on white, or if both red and yellow are dead, green plays on white. If a player clears the table—i.e. takes all the balls on it—his ball is spotted.

The most important part of the game is to hole the object ball. When this is done, its owner loses a life, and the striker continues his break by playing at the nearest ball, and thus the game proceeds till only one player or two are left. In the first event the survivor takes the whole pool, which is called a maiden pool if he has his three lives intact; in the second the two players play on till one kills the other, or till each has an equal number of lives, in which case the pool is divided. If, however, there are three balls on the table, say red with two lives, yellow with one life, and green with two lives, then if green holes yellow, he has a shot at red, though the number of their lives is equal. This is obviously fair, as he is in the middle of his break. Green, then, has this stroke called stroke or division; if he holes red, the pool is played out to an end—i.e. till both are one-lifers or till green kills red; but if green’s stroke fails, the pool is divided at once. Each player pays the amount of his pool to the marker, this being generally three times the value of a life, though, if lives are only sixpence, the pool should be two shillings. The table-money, generally threepence a ball, and the same for each star, is taken out of the pool before it is given to the winner. A player who is unfortunate or unskilful enough to lose his three lives early can come into the game again by paying the amount of the pool a second time over. This is called starring, as a star is put against his colour on the marking-board, but he only receives the lowest number of lives shown on the board.

As the striker is compelled to play at a particular ball, he is allowed to have any ball or balls taken up (to be replaced after the balls have ceased rolling) which are nearer than the object ball and prevent him hitting either side of it, or which in any way interfere with his stroke (see Rules 20 and 21).[^[24]] No star is allowed when only two players are left in, but when more than eight are playing a second star is permitted. Sometimes the game is played with an unlimited number of stars, each costing the amount of the pool over and above the price of the last star—e.g. at three-shilling pool the first star costs three, the second six, and the third nine shillings, and so on (see Rules 8 and 9). The striker loses a life (Rule 13) if he holes his own ball, whether he takes the object ball or not; forces it off the table; misses; runs a coup; plays out of turn; hits a wrong ball first; or plays with the wrong ball, except when he is in hand, in which case there is no penalty. All penalties are paid to the owner of the proper object ball, however incurred. If a player wishes to have a ball up, he should not lift it himself, as such an act would be technically a foul stroke. Should a player be angled, and wish to play off the cushion, he may have any ball or balls taken up which interfere with his aim; but the old rules allowed him to move his ball just far enough to get his stroke, though he could not take a life by it.

Rule 28 says: ‘Should a player be misinformed by the marker, he may play the stroke over again, but cannot take a life.’ This seems hard, and is perhaps an instance of summum ius, summa injuria; but the moral for the player is that he must keep his attention fixed on the game and the marking-board. To attempt to replace the balls, and to allow the stroke to be played over again might give rise to much unpleasantness. By Rule 30, ‘Should the striker miss the ball played at, no one is allowed to stop the ball, the striker having no option.’ The striker’s ball after missing the object ball may still hit others, and materially affect the subsequent progress of the game; hence a hard-and-fast law on the subject is necessary.

As it is to the survivor or survivors that the pool eventually comes, it is of paramount importance to cling to life. Many things combine to decide the striker whether to try for safety or for a hazard, or for both together—his own temperament and skill, the state of the score, and the position and skill of the next player and his other opponents. All hands are against every man, so that general rules are impossible, but ‘When in doubt play safety’ is a capital rule. Another useful maxim is, ‘Play for safety with safety-players, play for hazards with hazard strikers,’ as the latter, if they play out boldly, are sure to sell the safety-player sooner or later—i.e. will leave his ball in a position of great danger. But if the next player is close to the cushion, one is justified in playing for a hazard when, under other conditions, safety would be the right game. Again, a bolder style is right in a big pool of, say, eight or ten players, as the chances of being sold are greater. More boldness, too, in playing out for hazards may be shown by a player who is left in with, say, three lives, while the others have only one; but even then it is better to be cautious.

It is generally good policy to star two; many things may happen before it is star’s turn to play again, and he has the great advantage of playing from the Ｄ. A glance should also be taken at the position of the other balls, as the next player may have an easy stroke to play, and every life taken is in star’s favour with a view to the pool. A deliberate miss or coup, so as to be enabled to star well, is not chivalrous, perhaps not fair, but there is nothing unsportsmanlike in playing a more open game with a view to starring. With an unlimited star the question is reduced to one of capital and temperament; but in any case starring is an expensive luxury, and the player who is not judicious may find in himself a parallel to F. C. Burnand’s heroine of suicidal tendencies, of whom he wittily writes the epitaph, ‘In memory of Itti Duffa, the ill-starred maid, who lost her one life in this pool.’

One must play for one’s own hand, regardless of the other players, and undeterred by chaff or sneer from trying for a plant or cannon; but it is generally dangerous to play for a cannon unless very easy, as there is always a chance of the player’s ball following the other into a pocket; but it is no more bad form to try for such a stroke than to pot the white at billiards; whether it is expedient or not, is another question, which only the exigencies of the moment can decide.

The marker is the proper person to measure distances when necessary, but the beginner should learn the right way to do so. One player puts his finger firmly on the striker’s ball, while another gently slides the butt of his cue up to it, holding the other end between forefinger and thumb, thumb uppermost. The point of the cue is then lowered till the cue rests lightly on the top of the other ball, the forefinger being slid up till it just touches the ball. A similar process is gone through with the third ball, the striker’s being held steady the while, and the question of which is the nearer is solved at once. Again, it is the marker’s duty to tell the striker on which ball he has to play, and which ball plays next, the formula being, e.g. ‘Green on yellow, player brown,’ or, if brown is in hand, ‘Green on yellow, player brown in hand,’ and if the striker has to play on his player, the marker must inform him of the fact; as, however, the striker is the scapegoat even if he acts on wrong information, he should keep his attention fixed on the game.

The opening of a pool is more or less stereotyped, all the players endeavouring to lay themselves under the top cushion out of harm’s way, the player being always in hand till white’s turn comes round; thus the last player—brown, let us say, in a five-pool—has to steer himself round the other balls that are clustered at the head of the table, and find his way down to baulk, as white is nearly sure to be high up; in a big pool the last player may have some difficulty, and it is well to remember that, as he can have any ball or balls up that lie between him and the object ball, he can, by selecting a good spot from baulk, have one or two such obstacles removed. The orthodox opening shot for red, by the way, is to play full on to white from a corner of the Ｄ, just hard enough to find the cushion himself. Plenty of drag should be used and no side. Side and screw are of no value except for position, or for playing a slow stroke which is wanted to travel quickly off the cushion.

The late William Cook once made a pool record. ‘Playing in a twelve following pool at his own rooms’ (I quote the words of a fine amateur player who took part in the game), ‘in 1881, he actually cleared the table, playing always of course on the nearest ball. He had taken 20 to 1 five or six times from spectators, and the excitement was intense when he performed this really phenomenal feat.’ As pool is limited to 12, Cook, like Alexander, had no more worlds to conquer; but his hazard striking and position must have been marvellous.

Doubles are of the utmost importance, and the strokes shown in the preceding diagrams should be noted. One may fairly play a middle-pocket double with extra strength if by so doing there is a chance of the double-double, though it is not strictly sound, and shows a certain diffidence as to one’s accuracy. Plants are rare.

A propos of doubles, the following occurrence is probably without precedent, but the story is absolutely vouched for. Three amateurs were playing three-pool. Red opened by doubling white into the right-hand bottom pocket. Yellow avenged white by doing exactly the same to red, and white made matters even by treating yellow to a precisely identical shot. Strange to say, red with his second shot holed white just as before—four consecutive doubles into the same pocket—and, though yellow spoiled the average by only doubling red into the right-hand middle pocket, white made things all square and yellow disappeared into the original pocket. Thus six consecutive doubles were made, five of them into one pocket! What are the odds against such a performance?

As even in these enlightened days the confidence trick flourishes, it may be worth while to warn beginners against innocent strangers. If these win by sheer skill, there is nothing to be said against them, and the best thing is to put down one’s cue; if they are sharps as well, they will probably hunt in couples, on the chance of one playing next to the other, when the first player, curiously enough, never quite gets safety and always leaves a ball over the pocket. I remember just such a pair, a good player and a duffer, turning up at some rooms I used to frequent, and, though none of us were innocents, they played so cleverly into each other’s hands, the apparent duffer making several slight mistakes at critical moments, that the good player had a pretty good time. Talking the matter over, we saw that we had been had, and, as we were rather a snug little coterie, arranged with the marker what was to be done if they reappeared. The pair had posed as absolute strangers and had come in separately, so we told the marker that if the duffer came in first he was to have a ball and we would try to warm him up, but on the good player’s appearance he was to be refused a ball, while we, a fairly sturdy lot, would see the marker through any trouble. All came off splendidly. The duffer appeared first and lost two or three pools, and when the crack walked in he was at once confronted by the marker with ‘I am very sorry, sir, but I can’t give you a ball to-day.’ We expected a row, but he took it like a lamb and decamped, and the duffer, after losing another pool or two, decamped also. One of our party saw them the same evening, hobnobbing together at the Criterion, so there can be no doubt that it was a put-up job. The following occurred to a friend of mine, a good billiard-player, a particularly good pyramid-player, and well able to look after himself. After a couple of games of billiards, on both of which he won a small bet, his opponent, a stranger and apparently a Jew, suggested ‘just one game of pyramids.’ ‘What shall we play for?’ said my friend. ‘Three and one,’ said the Semitic one, which means, as usually interpreted, a shilling a ball and three shillings on the game. My friend won by thirteen balls, but his opponent, after putting up his cue, offered him just four shillings and threepence, being at the rate of three pence a ball and one shilling a game! There was nothing to be done, but I wonder what the Jew would have claimed had he won by thirteen balls.