Billiards

by William Broadfoot

A matter which closely concerns the well-being of the game must now be considered, and that is the behaviour of players and spectators; in other words, the etiquette of the room. Throughout this book, in one part or another, the importance of maintaining order and the impossibility of preserving a high class of play when interruption is permitted have been clearly set forth. The orderly proceedings in professional play, during which neither player smokes nor interrupts the other, and spectators are generally courteous, silent, and impartial, contrast, we regret to say, with the ordinary behaviour of amateurs in a club billiard-room. Here, in general, players have to submit to all manner of interruption, the result mainly of ignorance and inadvertence. Consequently, the great majority play day after day, year after year, and scarcely improve, whilst the few who get the length of thinking out a break and working it out on the table are driven to play where they are less liable to disturbance.

A Ladies’ Battle.

In a billiard-room the players for the time being should be considered supreme; table, light, fire, marker, are theirs for the time; and a little ordinary consideration will show any gentleman that he should avoid interference with them during a game. Yet, how common it is for persons to bounce up to the door, open it without waiting for the stroke, march gaily along towards a seat irrespective of whether a stroke is in progress or not, and then, as likely as not, commence an animated conversation in a loud tone of voice with another spectator, or in default even with the non-player. If conversation fails, they have no scruple in lighting a lamp or in poking the fire and making a glare and heat which is unbearable to the players. The opponent, too, is often an offender in the matter of talking. No sooner has he missed a stroke than he commences conversation, failing to see that, if his adversary is more polite, he enjoys absolute quiet during his break, whilst the other has to play under disturbing influences, a proceeding which is not merely discourteous, but unfair. Then, again, a running commentary is often kept up during play, the remarks for the most part being absolutely foolish. A spectator who listens to them cannot fail to notice their grotesqueness, and, if they could be fully reproduced, the offenders themselves would scarcely credit that they could have acted such a part. Sometimes a player volunteers on every occasion explanation of his failure to score, at other times he passionately addresses the balls, adjuring them to stop or come on; he seems to think he gains a reputation for generosity when he praises his adversary’s efforts by shouting ‘good stroke’ when satisfied that the hazard or cannon has just been missed, and it is entertaining to watch his change of tone and countenance should some unforeseen score be made. His nervous contortions when a ball is approaching a pocket or likely to make a cannon are often remarkable; head, hands, legs and feet, all coming into play, and all impressed to indicate his sensations, which, to judge from the display, must often be unpleasant.

Smoking, too, requires regulation. Matches should not be lighted on the stroke, nor should they be extinguished by being waved about; cues, umbrellas, or sticks, should be kept perfectly still; in fact, every care should be taken to avoid distracting the player’s attention. There are many drawbacks to the game from players smoking; with every care, ashes and tobacco fall on the cloth, the woodwork of the cushions is blistered and disfigured because the ends of lighted cigars are carelessly laid on it, and the striker is often hampered by clouds of smoke poured over the table by his adversary in the line of sight. These may be reduced to a minimum by the exercise of a little consideration, and suitable metal trays should be provided on mantelpiece or side tables on which lighted cigars may be placed whilst the player is at the table. Another not uncommon but most offensive breach of etiquette is for a spectator to offer either player advice; it often happens that they see what a player has overlooked, but they should resist the temptation to advertise their smartness, and recollect that the struggle ought to be left entirely to the opponents, who are entitled to a fair field and no favour. These are the main faults which are of common occurrence: a little care and self-restraint will deter men from offending, and gain for them an enviable character for consideration of others and good feeling; whereas indulgence in them will sooner or later cause transgressors to be considered as the pests of the room and to be more or less avoided. It is true that endeavour has been made in existing rules to control the behaviour both of players and of spectators, and it is possible that some further steps in this way may be taken; but much must be left to the good feeling of gentlemen, which will not fail when they realise the value of a room in which good order is kept; and the remarks here made are offered in the hope that they may contribute to the desired result.

With reference to the disputed question which was discussed in Chapter VI. and has incidentally appeared elsewhere, whether side can be communicated by one ball to another, there is a stroke which will repay study. Place the red and another ball on the baulk-line about a foot apart within the Ｄ. From the right-hand side of the table play a free stab on the red with strong right side, hitting it almost full but sufficiently on the left to just send it out of baulk. If properly played, both balls will be left in baulk. The white going into baulk shows that the red was struck on its left, and therefore must have gone out of baulk, whereas its return to baulk would appear to be due to communicated side. It is instructive to play this stroke first with one side and then with the other, and to observe the difference of result.

The practice of strokes as recommended throughout this manual may occasionally be varied by trying breaks from some well-defined position of the balls. Place a ball over each middle pocket for easy losing hazards and play the break from hand. After each break record the score, and after five or ten trials take the average. Anyone who can usually score 100 points in six innings is more than able to hold his own against good club form. The task is not so easy as it appears, as a few trials will show. The gradual rise of this average is a good measure of improvement. But too much time should not be spent in this way, for the practice of strokes is far more profitable, specially if the maxim ‘Over the easiest strokes bestow the greatest pains’ be always remembered. Work at easy strokes till they can be so played as to leave another easy one to follow; no practice is more remunerative.

Intimately connected with the interests of billiards are the duties of referees and markers. In important matches three persons are employed besides the players—the referee, the marker, and a boy to hand the balls and rests; in ordinary games all the duties fail on the marker. It is by no means an easy matter to be a good referee; men are often selected more because they happen to be connected with a sporting newspaper than from any personal aptitude for the position. The qualities required form a combination difficult to be obtained. The referee should possess a strictly judicial turn of mind, perfect sight, developed accuracy of observation, great calmness, rapidity of judgment, perfect and fearless honesty; in addition to knowledge of the game, intimate acquaintance with the rules, and correct appreciation of the duties he may have to perform. Failure in any one of these qualifications may result in erroneous decisions; but perhaps the last-mentioned is the one which is most liable to be misunderstood. As a rule, the referee should not interfere unless appealed to; it should be fully realised by him that he can make no law or rule, and has for the time being no concern with the justice or injustice of the code; his duty is simply to say whether a rule has or has not been broken, and to declare the penalty. His personal opinion as to whether a stroke should be fair or foul is of no moment; all he has to deal with are matters of fact and the application of acknowledged rules. Thus, until the push, for example, is contrary to the rules, a referee is not justified in declaring every such stroke appealed against to be foul; on the contrary, a competent man, whatever his opinion may be as to the merit of the stroke, should declare all strokes to be fair unless he actually saw a rule infringed. If he saw the cue twice applied (which is common enough), he is justified in ruling the stroke to be foul; if he did not (as he cannot in a well-executed push) see two applications, he is bound to uphold the stroke as fair. It is no argument to say that he knows the stroke to be always foul; no one desires him to air his opinion on such a matter, and a person who made such an excuse for his ruling would thereby conclusively prove his unfitness for the post.

The marker is a man for whom we have much sympathy; his duties are many and trying, sometimes almost beyond human endurance. As a class, markers are civil, well-behaved, and otherwise probably neither better nor worse than their fellow-men. When asked for advice or instruction, they give it cheerfully to the best of their ability, and in respect to play they may be said to lie between amateurs and professionals. They have occasionally a good deal to put up with, and their services are often unjustifiably requisitioned; attention is invited to Mr. Ford’s remarks (p. [428]), which, though made with reference to pool, are in most respects applicable to billiards. And when late at night or in close rooms markers are occasionally drowsy, or make a mistake, let players endeavour to realise the monotony of their lives. From their arrival in the room before noon till their departure at, perhaps, three in the morning, think of their average experience! The table has to be got ready, the room dusted and preparation made for visitors. These appear at first fitfully—the young, who are not good enough for the serious business of the day, and the old, who are losing their game, meeting together, followed later by the regular habitués, who play billiards or pool as may be. Conversation is carried on as if the marker were both deaf and dumb, a mere machine for returning the ball and handing the rest. There is an admirable essay on this aspect of the marker in ‘The Billiard Book,’ by Captain Crawley, written by the author of ‘Lost Sir Massingberd,’ in which it is justly pointed out that the marker moralises and is ‘daily the dumb witness of innumerable frauds.’ He is made to say, ‘I know the real skill of every player to a hair, and how much he conceals of it.’ I know the characters of nine-tenths of the men who enter the room, and very indifferent they are—‘the man who plays for a stroke only when it is a certainty preferring his own safety to his enemy’s danger; the hard hitter, from whom no player is secure; the man who is always calling his own strokes flukes; the man who is always calling other people’s by that derogatory name; and the poor fellow who is for ever under the cushion. My world, which is not a small one, is mapped out for me, with all its different species of men, upon this table; for I stand apart, and mark many things beside the score.’

Then think of the marker being obliged to constantly watch the performances of those who take from half to three-quarters of an hour to play a game of a hundred, the same bad form exhibited game after game, by men who for one reason or another never improve; and judge leniently of slight lapses of attention.