In Praise of ... Snooker

With the new world champion, John Higgins, attributing his form to turning teetotal, has snooker finally become a wholesome game? Back in the 1980s tuxedos were a flimsy cover for debauchery, and snooker stood out as a sport in which even the top flight would drink while they worked. That changed as Steve Davis and Stephen Hendry replaced the pint with a tumbler of water and the on-screen smoke started to clear. No player today with a doctor's note allowing up to 20 pints of beer a day to be set against tax would last as long as the late Bill Werbeniuk did. The seedy side of the game has not quite disappeared, though. When the tobacco sponsors were given the elbow, one addictive behaviour was swapped for another, with gambling filling the breach. Snooker still grows out of a twilight club world, and it imposes great psychological strains - as the weekend's world championship final once again showed. Maybe it follows that drink and drugs will never be far from the baize. Even if that is right, snooker is unlikely to lose its appeal - and not just because it gives a sporting chance to those who would never make it in games of a more physical bent. In great matches players must show startling wizardry with the cue, but also endurance in a gruelling mind game. The hush - broken only by the hypnotic clinking of the balls - only adds to the intensity. When so much entertainment panders to short attention spans with noise and movement alone, snooker's slow-burning tension deserves to be cherished as never before.