According to the Rev. E. T. Jones who made the statement in the course of a sermon in Llanelly, "billiards is a hellish game." If he means it is difficult, we agree with him; and if he means they play it in Hades, we don't know; but if he suggests that it is unfit for the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Clifford, Mr. Lloyd George, or any other representative Christian, then he is recklessly inaccurate.
Billiards, in fact, is the finest indoor game conceived of man. As an exercise in the self-suppression of bad language it has no moral equal—not even excepting golf.— John Bull.
What is the Gray stroke? Well, it is quite simple. It is merely going in off the red into one or other of the middle pockets and then doing it again and again until you do it oftener than any one else and your father kisses you to pulp. And think of Diggle seated there with his chin on his knees for four long hours; and people in the hall, who had paid to see him, too!— Punch.
We have divided authority in the worlds of athletics, football, and billiards, and any body which attempted to bring the rival factions together would be taking on a sort of legislative labour of Hercules. The body which sets out to establish peace and harmony will not be able to start unless it is composed of gentlemen of real position and influence, and it is a big question whether enough sportsmen of this type would come forward spontaneously to undertake the thankless and delicate business of pouring oil on troubled waters. Perhaps, however, the right men may be brought forward by force of circumstances, and will be seated together round a table and eager to do their best for sport. Billiards presents the most favourable opening for the bearers of the olive-branch. They will have to blunder badly to fail to bring the cue-men together; then football could be dealt with in turn, and the athletic dispute left to finish with.—"Double-You," in Vanity Fair.
The shock which George Gray has administered is precisely the shock which all British players and athletes have had to undergo in almost every variety of sport during the past fifteen years. It is the shock which the open-minded specialist who is determined to win is bound to inflict upon competitors whose general maxim is that "the game's the thing," who rarely experiment or innovate or take the pains to bring themselves to the highest level of excellence, and who are content to rub along on the easy-going, unscientific lines they are used to. Look at the record. The Australians in 1909 with no more than a fair to moderate team thrashed us at cricket. The Belgians for the third time have carried off the blue ribbon of the Thames. The Americans at Hurlingham simply swamped our men at polo.
The South Africans and New Zealanders taught us that we had forgotten how to play Rugby. The French only the other day defeated a Scotch fifteen that, while not the best that might have been got together, was a very good one.
At Oxford the Rhodes scholars furnish more than their proper percentage of the best athletes, and the real tennis champion of the world, though he has not for the last year or two defended his title, is unquestionably Mr. Jay Gould.