Our leading subject this month carries us on to rather delicate ground. It has been mainly inspired by observations made by the writer during the progress of professional matches, at some of which incidents have arisen which have provoked the mental query:--"If it is impossible as is so often asserted for amateur billiard players to play like the best professionals, might not all professionals endeavour, at any rate in regard to the great essential of sportsmanship, to act during play like the best amateurs?"
When gentlemen—and these may be either amateur or professional—are playing against each other at billiards, golf, or any other game no matter how strenuous may be the conflict or how important the issue the dominant feature and keynote in everything that is said and done are mutual courtesy and cheerfulness. A gentleman regards even the loss of an important game as a small loss Compared with loss of temper or self-control or that due consideration for an opponent apart from which the deportment of a gentleman is not easily distinguishable from that of a "bounder."
For, unhappily, there are "bounders" amongst amateur players just as there are gentlemen amongst the professionals, and it should be the great end and aim of all lovers of the refined and intellectual game of billiards to seek to eliminate, by their consistently gentlemanly and cheerful demeanour under even the most irritating circumstances the "bounder" tendency wherever and whenever it discloses itself.
Let us give a few illustrations of what we mean. The game is going consistently against one of the contestants, and from no fault of his own. The balls are seized with a bad attack, so far as he is concerned, of witchery or devilry, and, think, plan, or play as he will, he can do nothing right.
Facing a difficult scoring position every time he comes to the table he brings off the stroke only to be faced with another position equally unpromising. Going out for it, he misses the cannon by a hair's breadth, the cue ball at the same time slipping through a space between cushion and cannon ball little more by measurement than its own diameter.
Pursuing its course the cue ball pulls up for a nice halfball in-off for his opponent, whose next stroke is a drop cannon resulting in a happy little grouping around the spot.
Hope, nevertheless, revives, for the opponent, playing a trifle carelessly, misses a "sitter" and is on the point of retiring.
His star is still in the ascendant, however, for the red object ball, off which the intended loser had been designed, makes a bee line for a pocket, is spotted, and the "break" is resumed.
Now it is that the true nature of the much-tried and unfortunate player discloses itself. Out of his inwardly surging feelings almost anything may come. It may be sarcasm, impatience, tamper, or a dozen other things, and in the case of the "bounder" it will probably be all of them combined. The player, however, who loves his billiards for its own sake and who has the philosophy to reflect that all such afflictions are sent to him for his good and that in a scientifically exact game whatever happens must have some sort of a sound reason attached to it, comes triumphantly out of the ordeal and continues to survey the proceedings with a pleasant smile, whatever he may be inwardly thinking.
The advantages of this attitude are many and obvious.
Preserving his own self-respect, he obtains in addition a tacit recognition amongst the onlookers for restraint amounting almost to saintliness, and—which is an important playing asset—returns to the table unruffled and in full command of his nerves and cue.
As the case has been thus far stated the opponent has done nothing to annoy beyond taking such chances as the game presented to him and making an occasional fluke.
But if such opponent be of the "bounder" type, he will not stop here. His mission, as he sees it, is not only to continue to score himself, but to prevent his opponent by any device within the laws of the game, from doing anything.
Standing in the line of aim and doing those little unobtrusive things which are so painfully obvious to the striker, is one of these expedients, but by no means the worst.
Audible conversation with non-players—an irregularity from which some members of clubs are not free—may be indulged in, including "asides" which are intended to reach the ear and, perchance, to impair the self-control, of the striker.
Do professionals, especially, who squabble in public play over minor points, and say rude things to each other; who change their seats when their opponents appears to be set for a break for others in the most frequent line of aim; and who ostentatiously scrutinize their opponent's placing of the ball in the D when the necessary positioning for a difficult fine stroke is on its extreme verge; realize the immensity of the harm that such tactics and attitude do to the morale of the game? If they did we feel convinced that the two or three glaring offenders in these respects amongst them would, by general pressure or persuasion, be brought to see the wisdom of restraining their tempers and of treating their opponents and the paying public at matches with a due amount of gentlemanly and sportsmanlike consideration.