The Ronnie O’Sullivan Problem

I was woken at 6.30 one morning by a hammering my back door. ‘Who can that be at this early hour?’ I wondered to myself.

I quickly threw on some clothes and hastened downstairs. It was Alun.

“It’s Ronnie O’Sullivan, Jed,” he said, “he’s retired from international snooker.”

“What again? Didn’t he retire from snooker a few weeks ago?”

“He means it this time, Jed. He’s move to an isolated spot as far as possible from the world of top-flight snooker.”

“How do you know?”

“He just told me, Jed. He’s moved here, to our little island. He’s just arrived on the morning boat. Me and the boatman helped him with his things, he’s moving into the empty house.”

As good neighbours we allowed the O’Sullivans a short time to get settled in their new home before popping down to say ‘hello’. I took a jug of fresh geep’s milk.

Ronnie was very friendly, looking relaxed, clearly enjoying being free from the pressures of top flight sport. His family were also a delight, though I shall spare their personal details from your prying glare. As a celebrity Ronnie is fair game, but his family deserve their privacy.

“You must come and visit us,” we both said. “And of course,” I added, “Thursday night is snooker night. We have a little tournament at my house, just me and Alun.”

“Well I’d planned to hang up my cue,” Ronnie replied, “but as it’s just a social game between islanders I’d be happy to join you.”

“You’ll have to watch out though,” I warned, “Alun is very good.”

Ronnie laughed, not appreciating the truth of my words. Alun is actually a very good player indeed and would have become a professional, if it hadn’t involved constant toing and froing to the mainland.

At 7.00 that Thursday evening Ronnie turned up as promised. Ronnie had brought a bottle of wine, so we chatted briefly and shared a few jokes while the wine flowed, but eventually it was time for snooker. I began with a game against Alun, who beat me convincingly. “You’re good,” said Ronnie, clearly impressed. Ronnie played me next and beat with similar ease.

“Let’s make this a best of five,” Ronnie said to Alun before their game started, “we’re clearly both capable of winning a frame at a single break and it would be a shame not to get a fair chance.”

“Let’s make it first to a five frame lead, Ronnie. Frankly I’ve never had a real challenge, Jed isn’t anywhere near good enough, and it’ll be a real pleasure to have a serious game against the great Ronnie O’Sullivan.”

Ronnie was reluctant at first, concerned at being late home, but was eventually persuaded.

The snooker was fun. Ronnie played a few frames left-handed, showing off his incredible ambidextrous skills. Alun also showed off, playing one frame blindfolded (Alun was once temporarily blinded and learnt to play snooker using echo-location). In fact both ‘tricks’ are important assets to their games: Ronnie can reach a comfortable cueing position wherever the ball is and Alun can close his eyes during key shots to remove the “distractions of light.”

I was umpire and kept score. It was, as Ronnie had predicted, a close contest, with both winning frames with high breaks. First Ronnie was ahead, then Alun, then Ronnie again. As soon as one player developed a clear lead the other would dig deep and win the next frame.

Eventually at half past midnight, with scores level at 12 frames all, it was decided to call it a day. “We’ll be here ‘til morning otherwise,” laughed Ronnie. “Let’s continue it tomorrow,” he said.

I was woken at 6.00 the next morning by a hammering my back door. It was Alun and Ronnie, both armed with their snooker cues.

“This is very early," I said.

“We want to get the match out of the way, so that we can get on with the rest of the day,” Ronnie explained.

After a swift egg and coffee for breakfast the three of us began the game of snooker. I don’t know if it was just me, but I sensed that the jollity and fun of yesterday’s session had gone, instead it was a tense and competitive morning. Again the frames swung evenly between the two players, and lunchtime came at 27 frames to 25 in Ronnie’s favour.

There was a brief, tense pause for lunch, during which the two players said little, before resuming.

The game progressed late into the night and finished 54 frames to 53 in Alun’s favour. Once more the five frame lead remained elusive and it was agreed to continue the next day.

On Sunday we spent the day with Ronnie and his family in a relaxed atmosphere. We all listened to the omnibus edition of the Archers, after which Ronnie had his first proper chance to explore the island. I introduced Ronnie’s children to my geep and the elephants and we were invited for an evening meal with the O’Sullivans in the empty house. Snooker wasn’t mentioned once the entire day. However, the rest of the week was spent in intensive snooker, Ronnie passed the 100 frame mark with Alun four behind, but he pulled back to take the lead. By the end of the first week it was 223 frames to 223. The following week was similarly tight, with Ronnie leading 452 to 450.

However, Ronnie began the next day in fine form, with two consecutive 147s (a feat only previously achieved by Peter Ebdon, and that was in far less competitive circumstances). Alun had no answer, and although the next frame was a scrappy safety-dominated affair Ronnie won that as well, meaning that he was the overall winner.

“We must do this again,” Alun said, generous in defeat.

“I’m sorry,” said Ronnie, “I can’t go through another match like that. All-day snooker every day, never so much as an easy frame. I’ve decided to return to professional snooker, it’s much less pressure.”

Thus it was that Ronnie and his family left the island, leaving the empty house empty once more. Or so we thought.