Having seen all the leading professional players perform many times over, I have come to the conclusion that, from the point of view of an attractive presentation of the game and its spectacular possibilities, John Roberts still stands practically alone. He is followed in this regard at some distance by Stevenson (who, in his rapid, delicate, and graceful strokes and manoeuvrings, can never be witnessed without interest), but even Stevenson needs to distribute his hundreds at the top of the table between winner-cannons, close cannons, and other variations, if spectators are to be kept really entertained. The modern professional bias is all in the direction of big breaks compiled on the most certain (and consequently least spectacular) lines. Peall set the fashion in this direction, and soon all the professionals were copying him. Then came the barring of the spot stroke and the creation in its place of the more attractive and legitimate top-of-the-table game by Roberts, who had steadily held aloof, with true instinct, from the all-in game. But the top-of-the-table movement, as played by Roberts, is a very different thing in its fascination from the same game when played by Stevenson and Reece on the one hand, or by Diggle and Dawson on the other. A close top-of-the-table game, amazing in its finesse and delicacy, is played by the two former, and a more open, but mechanically exact, game by the two latter, whereas Roberts adopts an easy abandon and carelessness of microscopical exactness, which keeps the minds of the onlookers in a perpetual flux.
Stevenson, in his book on the top-of-the-table game, says that when he is out of sorts he sometimes has to return to baulk several times in the course of a hundred break, and adds that "this is a very different thing in point of view of scientific manipulation from a protracted sequence at the top end." The result is that when Stevenson or any other top-of-the-table specialist is at work in his favourite area, almost each succeeding stroke can be forecasted by practically every spectator and there is nothing to hold the breath over. But who can forecast for any length of time the game played by Roberts, who seems to—and doubtless does—deliberately create difficulties for the mere sake of overcoming them, and perhaps of demonstrating to the average billiard players —who naturally form the bulk of any company witnessing exhibition billiards, and who, in their own play, are nearly always in difficulties—how even the apparently impossible at billiards is to be overcome and turned to advantage.
Whilst watching Roberts play I have frequently observed him break up a monotonous position and turn to something else. On other occasions I have seen him, on the contrary, persist in a spectacular stroke for the pure devilment of the thing. Two or three seasons back, at Leicester Square, I saw him play the long loser from the central spot a dozen times in succession with such strength and direction as to bring the red within a couple of inches of the same spot each time. "He meant to bring it below the middle spot and failed," the captious critic may say.
Frankly, I don't believe it. Anyone can get the conventional position after the long loser, but there is only one man in existence, in my judgment, who either would or could go for the particular effect that I have described, and achieve it with the same ease and skill. On another occasion, when Roberts was playing snooker in the same hall on the octagonal table, I remember him, with the green within a foot of a top pocket and his own ball near the brown over a bottom pocket, screw back three-quarters of the table length direct from the safely-potted green to the rear of the waiting brown. Rather than trust the treacherous octagonal cushions he brought off this prodigious coup.
The object of this article, however, is not to write a paean about Roberts and his delightfully-Philistine methods, but simply to enforce by contrast and illustration the necessity, as I seem to see it, of retaining in public billiard play, to a larger extent than is at present being done, the spectacular element. Billiard followers will crowd to see "some new thing," or to witness a match that, by reason of its "needle" character or the stakes or issues attaching to it possesses some distinctive element of interest. At the Aquarium Peall played to packed houses, as did Reece with the anchor stroke, Gray (at the outset) with the middle pocket losers, and Roberts and Stevenson at Caxton Hall.
But what seems to me to be needed is the infusion of some more popular element into day-by-day billiard exhibitions so that each successive session shall be interesting in itself.
In this connection the new points system that has been adopted this winter at Soho Square seems to be an instalment in the right direction, and its institution has, even thus early, been abundantly justified by the results. The amateur competition held at the close of each afternoon session is also distinctly good. These, however, represent management organization, and the point that I want to make is that something remains for the professional contestants themselves to do, and I suggest that this "something" should be along the lines of greater variety, quicker scoring, and greater daring. "Cannon, pot, cannon, pot, pot, cannon" are very well and quite correct and scientific, but why not an occasional ricochet loser or cannon, a rousing swerve shot, or a long-range kiss cannon. "Great Scot," said a young billiard enthusiast next to me one day when Cook brought off a great triangular screw-back cannon with the three balls nearly a yard apart, It was a desperate shot and almost paralyzed the opposing professional with astonishment, but it was the spectacle of the afternoon.
Naturally if aggressive and open methods are occasionally to be adopted in tight corners in lieu of safety play, professionals will have to agree upon the matter, as any single player (except Roberts) who adopted such a course would deliver himself bound into the hands of his adversary.
The interests of the game at large, however, and especially as a spectacle, should be the first consideration.