CHAPTER X
BREAKS
In Chapter III. the term break was explained as a continuous score, or one made in unbroken succession, and the definition is in a general sense accurate; nevertheless, it has amongst the better class of players a higher signification. With them it means a succession of strokes each of which has been played for, and so played that the next has been foreseen, calculated, and left as desired by the player. That is to say, a break to be perfect includes not merely making a stroke, but the preparation for another to follow. Hence the difficulty of making any given stroke is enhanced by the need of thought and of modification in play, in order that the balls may be favourably placed for the next attempt; but, on the other hand, making the next stroke, that is, continuing the break, is so much more certain after reasonable preparation, as in the hands of even a moderate performer to more than counterbalance the drawback. Indeed, in many cases it is as easy to play the stroke in the right way as in the wrong, and the eye once educated selects the proper method without conscious effort, so that the difficulty referred to is reduced to a minimum, and the advantage correspondingly preponderates.
A Serious Game: Nursing The Balls.
On the other hand, the great majority of amateurs, for whom the game is one of chance rather than of skill, either will not or cannot give the necessary attention to master its rudiments; consequently, they cannot be said to play for breaks, nor is it desirable that they should make the pretence. They will score faster by concentrating their attention on the stroke before them, and by implicitly trusting to Providence for the next. It is true that they never make a break in the higher sense of the word; nevertheless, they often succeed in putting together considerable scores and in defeating better players. For persons of this class—and let it be clearly understood that there need be no cause for shame in belonging to it, because many cannot give the time nor afford the money required for practice and professional supervision—a few general hints will suffice. What is ridiculous is when they pretend to a knowledge they do not possess, and ascribe their failures to playing for position, a crime of which they are wholly guiltless. Beyond these there are an increasing number of persons who have grasped the idea of playing a break, who desire to do so legitimately, and who can give some time and attention to the game, and now and then get a little professional instruction. Though such are undoubtedly in a higher class than the former, it by no means follows that they invariably defeat them. Their breaks though played for may very probably not equal by half the scores made by the others; indeed, until decided progress has been made the difficulty before alluded to of providing for the leave will result in the immediate stroke being missed so often, as to more than neutralise the benefits which arise from occasional success. In time, however, the average play and rate of scoring of this higher class will surpass the performances of those first mentioned to such an extent that they can give a start of from one-fifth to one-fourth of the game. The best players of this higher class soon reach the standard of what for want of a better definition may be called good club play. That is to say, few players in London clubs can give them points, they make consistent scoring, and under favourable circumstances may play 250 points in an hour. This means a considerable aptitude for the game, as well as some knowledge of it, and more or less education. In fact, a standard has been attained which will be lost unless kept up by steady work. Comparatively speaking, very few gentlemen pass beyond this stage, and when they do they seldom play in clubs. The reasons are obvious; in the first place they cannot get the tables for sufficiently long games, and they are liable in club-rooms to all manner of interruption fatal to continuity of play; they further meet no opponents from whom they have anything to learn. Hence naturally they prefer to play elsewhere, and they often attain to a very high standard of excellence in cases rivalling not without success high-class professional form. It must not of course be overlooked that certain natural qualities should be possessed by the student if he is to become a fine player, and also that men in every class as players may be fortunate enough to enjoy them. They will always be useful, and will often lead their possessor to victory when contending with a harder working but less gifted opponent. The most important of all is perhaps good health, for that covers a multitude of excellences; good nerve, good sight, quick and sound judgment, good temper. A good figure, too, is of great advantage, and it is better to be tall rather than short; yet how many short men have been and are fine players.
But these advantages will not of themselves suffice to make a player; intelligent practice and plenty of it are required, and the fewer or weaker the natural qualities may be the more must they be reinforced by work—‘à force de forger en devient forgeron.’
The system of classifying a player by means of his average break is a safe one, provided that the average is calculated from a great many games, and that the other person with whom comparison is made is averaged from the same number of games played under the same circumstances. Unless this is attended to results may mislead. The average break is found by dividing the points scored by the number of visits to the table. Thus if a player scores a game of 100 in 10 innings, the initial miss of course counting as 1, his average is 10; 20 innings give an average of 5; 25 an average of 4; and so on. This process if continued over a large number of games will give a result on which dependence may be placed. But a little consideration will make it plain that unless the circumstances are very similar comparison between players based on their averages may be misleading; one table is much easier than another; one adversary plays an open game and gives many chances, another plays for safety and leaves no opening time after time; the size of the balls, the temperature of the room and the light, the order maintained, and a variety of circumstances will affect the average, and moreover affect it differently in different men. Hence care is necessary before assuming as a result of one or two observations that the average derived from them is trustworthy. Still it is less liable to mislead than unassisted observation, and a man who desires to play a match with another and who knows his own average is considerably helped by taking the latter’s average, even if only from one or two games. If prudent he will allow a good margin in his favour to meet the unforeseen, for few things are more difficult to explain than personal questions concerning play and that most potent factor which we call luck.
As regards the first of these, it is a matter of common experience that men play differently—indeed, very differently—with different opponents. One man’s manner, or style of play, or what not, is aggravating and irritating to another, and the feeling need not be mutual; yet the man affected will play many points behind his real game. It is no exaggeration to say that there may be three men, A, B, and C, equal players, yet a record over a great number of games might show that whereas A generally beat B and lost to C, B on his part generally defeated C. Such an anomaly is of course more likely to be found where men are acquainted with each other—indeed, without acquaintance personal peculiarities would not count for so much.
The second subject, that of luck, must be approached with much caution. One person, generally that one who is enjoying fortune’s favours, will say that in the long run, as between man and man, luck is even. Indeed, he may go further and practically deny its existence, affirming, what is no doubt true, that the laws of nature are not altered or suspended in favour of any player, and that effect follows cause irrespective of personality. Another will declare that some men are habitually lucky, and that with certain players his chances are better than with others. There is truth probably in both contentions; luck is more likely to be evenly divided between the players in a long than in a short game, yet we think no close observer would care to deny that some men seem habitually lucky at billiards, just as it is generally admitted that certain persons are good cardholders, and, again, that other men appear to be more than averagely unfortunate. The better the player the more ready is he usually to admit his obligations, but as a rule, though no less valuable, they are not so evident as the palpable fluke of the weaker performer. They consist of trifles, so to speak, which are summed up in the phrase ‘a kindly run of the balls,’ and enable the fortunate man to compile breaks and play with confidence, feeling that nothing can go wrong, whilst all the time, no evident fluke being made, he is credited with playing a fine game. His unfortunate antagonist meanwhile can do nothing right; even when by dint of cue power and science he pulls off one difficult stroke after another, each leaves a more difficult one to follow, till failure is inevitable. And this is not all nor the worst; for whereas Fortunatus on failing to score leaves the balls safe or nearly so, our unlucky friend can scarcely touch them without leaving one certainty after another; finally, when attempting some impossibility, he makes the most undeniable fluke, at which the spectators smile in appreciation, whilst he is engaged in trying to solve the problem of why a fluke even should leave nothing to follow.
Luck plays an important part in most breaks, more in those all-round and what are called ‘out in the country’ than in top-of-the-table play, and least of all in spot breaks. With professional players it affects the results of games less evidently, and probably absolutely less than with amateurs, yet even with the former its power is immense. If they fluke seldomer, they make far more of each piece of luck. For example, the writer saw a match of 1,000 up between two very fine players, one of whom conceded the other a start of 100. He gave the usual miss in baulk, and his opponent attempted to screw in off the red. He failed egregiously, but drove the red round the table into a pocket, whilst his own ball after a strange career settled down beautifully for spot play. From this opening 100 spots were made, and the game when he broke down was called love, 404. Though play on both sides was of a very high order, the lead thus obtained made the final result almost a certainty.
In dealing with breaks, one other matter must be kept in mind; it is very important, and must influence anything we have to offer in the way of advice, making that of necessity general rather than particular. This is, that what is the game for one man is not necessarily the game for another, and that no very moderate break can be twice played alike even by the same man. Still there are general principles which cannot be neglected with impunity, and attention to them will without doubt improve the chances of the most moderate performers. More experienced players adhere to them almost unconsciously, and some even are disposed to push them too far, thus occasionally sacrificing the break in attempting too minute and too perfect control over the balls. This is a rock on which many a game is wrecked, specially by players of great delicacy of touch. A freer player, who recognises the futility of attempting too great precision, but who at the same time never loses sight for an instant of the general principles which should guide him, and whilst obeying them leaves minutiæ to take care of themselves, is far more likely to steer clear of trouble and to get home first.
A few words may suffice on the subject of nerve, a quality which is intimately connected with making breaks. All men at times suffer from nervousness, and its effect is paralysing; judgment, sight, and muscular control are all affected, in some instances one might say arrested. Nerve is probably closely allied to courage, yet in many respects it is quite distinct; and very often a player at billiards who is nervous has his failure unwarrantably attributed to what is expressively though inelegantly called funk. Yet the man is no more a coward than the hundreds are who if called upon to make a speech suddenly find their tongues if not their ideas paralysed; he would face danger, moral or physical, with average intrepidity, but still under certain circumstances his play breaks down and he collapses. In so far as the question is between man and man—one person’s nerve being greater than another’s—we have nothing useful to say: one man is taller or healthier or stronger than another, so much the better for the fortunate man; but much that is set down by thoughtless spectators to fear is in reality want of confidence, which happily may be supplied by intelligent work. That, with ordinary care in living and with a resolution never to play for stakes which cannot be lost with complete equanimity, is the remedy which will be found most effectual.
Allied to this gain of confidence is the consideration of whether beginners should select for purposes of play a difficult or an easy table. The question is open to argument, and perhaps what may suit one man may not suit another. But judging from personal experience and from professional advice respecting training for a match, we should counsel commencing to learn on an easy rather than on a difficult table. Many persons have doubtless experienced the feeling that when they have made 20, 30, 40, 50, or some greater number of points, they are on the way to making a break, and therefore must be careful lest they should fail. The thought is fatal, and is quickly followed by collapse. The best prevention is to become accustomed to making such breaks, and that is most easily managed on a table where the pockets are not very difficult. As one’s powers improve so may tighter pockets be encountered, but if the same game be played the limits of divergence of tables must be small. Half an inch or less in the width of a pocket necessitates a very material alteration of the game, which need not at this moment be further particularised.
A point of interest concerning breaks which may just be mentioned is that, although the tables and method of scoring in the French game are different from ours, yet the standard attained by amateurs is, compared with professional form, much the same in each country. In a rough way professionals may be said to score from ten to fifteen times more than amateurs: that is, of course, comparing class with class in this way; an indifferent amateur occasionally makes 25 or 30 points, so a professional of not very high class may sometimes make 250 to 450, whilst the amateur who can occasionally make 100 to 150 is to his fellows what the professional is who can score from 1,000 to 2,000. A series of 100 cannons is a very fine break for a French amateur, so may 100 points be said to be a long break for an English amateur, though there are a few gentlemen of whom it may fairly be said that such a break is by no means unusual; they, however, have decidedly passed from amateur to professional form.
Now as regards playing for a break the way for instruction is cleared by the system on which practice has been recommended and strokes have been explained in previous chapters. A careful reader cannot fail to have noticed that in almost every type of stroke described, the position of the ball or balls after the stroke has been considered in a way second only to actual execution. The application of the knowledge thus acquired must chiefly be left to the intelligence of the player, who will, when several strokes present themselves, at once select either the easiest, or that which promises to leave most, according as he plays for a score or for the break. Still a few remarks may be of use to the very large class of players who cannot undertake close study of the game, and if they seem to more advanced readers self-evident and unnecessary, we must crave their indulgence and try to be brief. An important point to keep in view is as far as possible after a losing hazard to leave the balls within the parallel lines P M, Q N (see Diagram I.), and then they will usually be well in play. Very often, however, one of the balls will be left beyond these lines and virtually safe; when that is so, an opportunity should be watched for, and may sometimes be made, to bring the other ball near to it, so that by means of a cannon it may be moved from its unprofitable situation.
Thus if the result of a few strokes has been to leave ball 3 out of play near a side cushion, ball 2 being near the centre of the table and ball 1 in hand, the game is to continue the losing hazards till ball 2 is so left that the cannon on ball 3 bringing it into play is easy. Suppose ball 2 to have been left exactly on the central longitudinal line of the table, in which case it is clear that the losing hazards into the top pockets are exactly alike. Yet, if ball 3 is in the position shown, play into one pocket will result in leaving the balls together, whilst if the other pocket be thoughtlessly selected the balls will be separated. First as a typical stroke let ball 2 be placed on the centre spot; the losing hazard into either top pocket is a known practice stroke (see Chapter V. p. 164). Place ball 1 for the half-ball hazard, and play the stroke in the usual way, when ball 2 will stop near the left middle pocket, and it is probable that either a hazard or cannon will be left. The one serious danger of the stroke is that ball 2 should run into the middle pocket and the break be lost; even then a miss in baulk would leave its player with the best of the deal; besides, the mishap can be guarded against by being careful not to play on ball 2 fuller than half-ball, and with rather less strength than is required if a middle pocket loser were desired. But if the hazard be made into the right top pocket, then ball 2, after contact with cushions 6 and 1, would stop near the right middle pocket on the opposite side of the table from ball 3.
This type of stroke or break should be played as indicated, so long as ball 2 strikes cushion 2 first; when ball 2 is so far up the table that (when the half-ball losing hazard is played) it strikes cushion 1 first, then the hazard should be made into the right top pocket. This will be at once seen by placing ball 2 on the pyramid spot, ball 3 being as before. Place ball 1 on the left spot of the Ｄ, and play the usual half-ball hazard into the right corner pocket; ball 2 will return from cushion 1 towards ball 3. Place ball 1 on the right spot of the Ｄ, and play into the left corner pocket, and ball 2 will return towards cushion 2 away from ball 3.
Diagram I.
Again, with ball 3 as before, but ball 2 below the middle pockets, with a hazard from baulk right and left, ball 1 in hand. If the right middle pocket loser be played, place ball 1 for a fine rather than for a full stroke, in order that ball 2 may be cut towards ball 3; if the left middle pocket be selected, place ball 1 for a full rather than for a fine stroke, so that ball 2 after impact with cushion 1 may return to the left side of the table, and admit of bringing ball 3 into play.
Fig. 1
An excellent rule is to play known strokes in preference to inventions of the moment. Those who have practised the examples previously recommended will know with tolerable accuracy where ball 2 is likely to stop, at any rate in the commonest sort of plain strokes, and it is well to profit by this knowledge. Thus with the balls as shown in fig. 1, where 2 is the red, and 3, 3 are positions for the opponent’s ball, it is better, at any rate for those who are not considerably advanced, to play the half-ball losing hazard into the left corner pocket, than to endeavour to secure a chance of a top of the table break by making the cannon. For the hazard is more certain to most persons than the cannon, and if the stroke is made balls 2 and 3 must almost inevitably be left in play. Similarly in the positions shown in fig. 2, although the cannons from 1 to 2 and 3 are perfectly easy, yet it is better to play the known losing hazard 1 from 2 (which is supposed to be the red on the spot) into the right corner pocket. Ball 2 will then be left over or near the right middle pocket, into which a hazard will be left, or if the stroke has been played without enough strength there may remain a cannon from which the balls should be gathered at the top of the table.
Fig. 2
With balls 2 and 3 so left that there are plain losing hazards into the middle pockets whilst at the same time, ball 1 being in hand, a cannon is as easy or easier than either hazard, there is some difference of opinion as to which stroke a moderate performer should play. In case of being within two points of game the cannon may be chosen as rather the easiest, but except in that case we recommend playing the losing hazards. For at the worst there are two easy strokes on the table against one if the cannon were played, totalling five against two. If, however, the balls were so placed that one of them was too far up the table for a plain hazard, then it is possible that the cannon might pay better.
Fig. 3
For the class of players to whom these few hints are specially offered it is, we believe, sound advice to say—do not vary your strength of play greatly, accustom yourself to a free No. 1 or No. 2, and do not ordinarily depart from it; avoid extremes of strength and the use of side, specially with winning hazards; master the plain half-ball stroke, and many other things shall be added to your score. Do not concern yourself more than you can help about your adversary’s good or your own bad luck, and do not think it incumbent to explain for the instruction of spectators (some of whom at any rate presumably know more of the game and understand it better than yourself) the reasons of your failures.
Now in addition to the players just referred to—and they form the great majority—there are those who can devote considerable time and attention to the game, who can play the spot stroke in the sense of knowing how each position should be treated, and can usually make from five to ten spots, besides having a fair general notion of the game. Such persons represent the better class of club play, and from among them at rare intervals a few appear whose form approaches that of the professional. For their special behoof little need be said; they have acquired and practise unconsciously the principles already recommended; in order to improve in the matter of breaks they must work on professional lines, and may, within the limits which their powers prescribe, follow professional play. That is to say, it is not desirable to try to prescribe a separate style of break for persons who are fairly grounded in the grammar of the game, even though they may never attain great excellence. As a rule, they owe the length of their scores, which are often considerable, to small genuine breaks connected together by providential bounty; every now and then in a score they are obliged to give sole attention to making the stroke, and what is left is therefore due to luck, which may be good or bad. The truth of this becomes apparent if they are set to a break which must be thought out and which does not often admit of adventitious aid, such as the spot stroke or a nursery of cannons. They will rarely make more than ten or twenty consecutive strokes, and how often not more than five. Nevertheless, their profit will lie in trying to follow the lead of the masters, modified, as may be required, by personal proficiency.
Preparing to play behind the back: the right way
And here, lest it may be justly said that the interests of the vast majority of billiard-players and of our readers are in danger of being somewhat neglected in favour of a small minority who alone may reasonably aspire to professional form, we have much pleasure in introducing a paper by Mr. A. H. Boyd, who is well qualified to deal with the subject, on ‘Every-day Billiards.’ From his paper, which is commended to the careful attention of readers, it may be gathered that he has successfully passed through many of the sorrows of the self-taught student of the game, and is now enabled to attain to a measure of his legitimate aspirations.
EVERY-DAY BILLIARDS
As a great deal of the instruction contained in this volume may be too scientific for the ordinary amateur, it has occurred to me that a few simple hints, from a moderate player, who has experienced, and is daily meeting, difficulties which possibly a brilliant performer hardly understands, may be of some assistance to those who, like himself, are fond of the game, appreciate its fascinating variety, and are honestly anxious to improve.
The correct method of playing almost every stroke that is likely to occur in a game has been so lucidly laid down in previous chapters, that my efforts will be limited to pointing out where moderate players are apt to go astray, and to dealing with a few salient points, in the hope that I may be able to show what to avoid, rather than what to do or how to do it.
By the moderate player I mean the average player as found in the average club billiard-room, a man who is capable of running up 20 or 30, and who has on certain happy days passed the Rubicon of 50.
I believe the use, and particularly the abuse, of the expression ‘power of cue’ has led to more slipshod play, and done more harm to young players, than anything else. In ninety-nine billiard-rooms out of a hundred a steady, unpretending player, who makes simple strokes with tolerable certainty and with fair strength, is considered a far inferior performer to the gentleman who plays every hazard with side on his ball, who delights in extravagant screw shots, but who is supremely indifferent to the subsequent career of the object ball. ‘Power of cue’ unfortunately, as understood by ordinary billiard-players, means want of command of cue. The mere power of imparting side, or making screws, though valuable enough in itself, falls very far short of ‘power of cue’ as rightly understood. The real meaning of the expression is the ability to combine the various elements, such as side, screw, follow, or stab with varying strengths, so as to convert a forcing shot into a soft screw, or a gentle stroke into a fast and fine shot, always with a view to improved position.
Without the power of control or combination, the power of imparting side may be and very frequently is positively harmful. An enormous number of young players with a certain amount of aptitude for the game become so enamoured of this showy gift that they insensibly drift into the habit of playing every stroke, however simple, with side, and become absolutely incapable of striking their ball in the centre, thus increasing their difficulties at the outset. It is comparatively easy to strike a ball in the centre as often as may be desired; it is next to impossible to strike it on the side in the same place a dozen times running. Hence, players who habitually use side constantly miss simple shots, because the amount of side they put on is continually and involuntarily varying.
The worst case I ever met was that of a man who had allowed the habit to grow upon him so far that he could only strike his ball on the right side. The natural consequence was that half the table was practically closed to him: he would not attempt a jenny into the left-hand top pocket, and his long losing hazards were of course very uncertain. Many others there are, however, who, even when playing from hand, evince a decided preference for playing to a particular side of the table, and it is evident that, although possibly they don’t realise it themselves, they have more command of one side than of the other. If this inclination is felt, it should be fought down at once by playing for the opposite side of the table; and a little resolute discipline of this kind will soon eradicate the fault.
Curiously enough, moderate players rarely use side for following hazards near a cushion, although a liberal use of it converts an extremely difficult stroke into a comparatively easy one. The explanation, I imagine, is, that when they began billiards, they were told to hit their ball high in order to follow, and it is of course a difficult operation to put side on a ball that is struck near the top. They, therefore, do not choose to increase the risk of a foul by aiming at the side of the top, and take some pains to strike their ball on or near the vertical centre line. Did they but know it, the same pains expended upon the same object, when playing ordinary losing hazards, would rapidly improve their game.
It is easily understood that from near a cushion a pocket is a very small target, and the margin of error in aim reaches the irreducible minimum. So that this follow is rightly considered by moderate players who play it in the way I have described as difficult, dangerous, and hardly worth attempting. If, however, there is plenty of reverse side on the ball, and it strikes anywhere on the shoulder of the pocket, it is sure to go in.
Another fault very commonly committed is, where there are two ways of playing a stroke, men take the way they fancy rather than the way which will pay them best. Nothing stands more in the way of improvement than this habit. Very likely games may be lost by trying for a little more, and spectators are often too severe on what they consider as want of proper caution. But let them say what they like. If a player is honestly anxious to improve, he can afford to let the particular game take care of itself, and even if he lose a dozen games running, patient practice will bring its reward in the end.
I do not wish to be misunderstood. I am not advocating ‘playing to the gallery,’ merely for the sake of bringing off a showy stroke, but playing out on purpose to try for position. There is, of course, a time for everything. In a match involving a stake, or when competing in a club handicap, a player should throw no chance away, and play carefully and cautiously, especially near the end of the game with the lead. But in an ordinary game he should play out and try whatever comes. Though many shillings may be thus lost, it is comforting to reflect that they are really the fees for learning, and they will ultimately prove to have been well spent. Nothing is more melancholy than to watch a couple of men who have devoted many hours daily for many years to their favourite game, poking about with safety misses, white winners and double baulks, and spinning out a game of 100 to a weary length. In all those years they have not added one stroke to their battery, and they will go on to the end of the chapter, unimproved and unimproving, confirmed cushion-crawlers.
Just as at whist, there is such a thing as playing to the score, so there is a time to be bold as well as a time to be cautious; and many a match has been lost by over-caution. I once saw a game in a club tournament, where one of the players was immeasurably superior to the other, and, although he had given his opponent a long start, he had caught him 100 from home. He then took it into his head that his proper tactics were to play for safety on every occasion. The result was what might have been expected. His antagonist took a clearer view of the situation, saw that the game was desperate, and played out every time after the other’s safety stroke. There were many occasions when the better player, if he had taken the least risk, would probably have run up a nice break, and possibly have finished the game; but he waited and waited, and his antagonist got home. Clearly, with 100 to be made and playing on level terms, his proper course would have been to play his usual game, when his superior skill must have brought him in an easy winner. A player must remember that it is not enough to hamper the enemy’s chances of scoring; he has got to make the points himself.
The four-handed game, which is a very popular institution with the cautious, is one of the very worst schools for a young player with any enterprise. He will be drilled into everlasting safety, and if he is at all ambitious of playing a good game, he should avoid it as he would the plague. On the other hand, he should never lose an opportunity of playing with better players; for, although at first he will find the rapid scoring of his opponent very disconcerting, still, in time, the feeling will wear off, and the necessity for doing better will of itself induce improved play.
The tactics of the over-cautious school lead one to consider the question of ‘leaves’ as generally understood. The hard-hitting, slap-dash player, after having sent all the balls flying in various directions, will often bitterly bewail his luck if nothing is left after what he considers a brilliant stroke; and amateurs are prone to look for this chance-leaving as a fairly earned reward of their skill. The less one looks for this sort of thing the better. A leave which has been carefully planned and successfully engineered is more meritorious than a dozen of such, and will, in the end, bring a more certain reward. Nothing is more mortifying to the player who is honestly trying to place the balls than to find, as he often will at first, that time after time he has just failed, perhaps by a few inches, to attain the desired position; while a hard-hitting, careless friend is merrily scoring all round the table after strokes which have apparently hopelessly scattered the balls. Curiously enough, a large share of this particularly exasperating form of luck falls to the lot of the careless. I once saw a man make 62 without a fluke as popularly so-called, and yet every leave was the result of accident rather than of design. This is what one must be prepared for, and suffer gladly. Don’t be cast down or disgusted if the adversary drives a ball anyhow to the baulk end and finds an easy losing hazard left. It is all the more annoying because one cannot call this sort of thing by its true name—viz. a fluke.
Another form of annoyance is the fluked safety, which will sometimes run almost through an afternoon. It is very hard to bear, especially when the adversary takes spurious credit for playing a wonderfully safe game. If under these trying circumstances the temper can be kept, things will not only right themselves eventually, but a reputation for good-nature and saintliness may be earned.
That these things worry is not wholly discouraging. Unless one is absolutely indifferent to the game they must be felt, and the keener one is the more must their injustice be resented. But, after all, they teach patience and coolness—two very valuable allies—which have many a time pulled a game out of the fire, after it has seemed utterly and irretrievably lost.
Careful students of Chapter V. will have realised that perhaps the most important thing for the learner to devote his attention to is the winning hazard; but that stroke, at once the most difficult and the most important at billiards, is sadly neglected by the vast bulk of amateurs. Seldom, or never, is a break of over 40 made which does not involve a winning hazard, which must be accomplished in order to continue the break. All strokes are largely a matter of confidence, and this is especially true of the winning hazard. Unless it is played with the confidence which practice alone can give, the stroke seldom succeeds. Here pool comes in as an excellent training school. It is wearisome drudgery practising these strokes simply; but in the friendly rivalry of pool, with the added zest of a prospective sixpence, the winning hazard becomes quite attractive.
In a long spot-barred break a spectator, if his attention has never been directed to this point before, will be astonished at the number of times the red is holed, and, of course, the immense possibilities of the ‘all-in’ game are obvious to everyone. It is the spot practice, and nothing else, which has given the leading players their complete mastery over winning hazards; and though it is the fashion nowadays for even the most moderate players to declare ‘the spot’ tiresome to watch and not worth their attention, yet a little quiet spot practice will not be thrown away. Although the learner may not attain sufficient proficiency to justify him in going for the spot in an important game, still he will pick up almost unconsciously a notion of the right place to strike the object ball for a winning hazard, and, in addition, one or two little wrinkles as to ‘touch’ and ‘strength’ which will stand him in good stead in other parts of the table.
Another great point in winning hazard practice is that it directs the learner’s attention, forcibly and practically, to the dangers and disadvantages of misapplied side. In the first place, the hazard itself is rendered more difficult, and repeated failures will compel a learner to take pains to strike his own ball in the centre. And, in the second place, the run of ball 1, after impact with ball 2, will be checked or accelerated, as the case may be, to an extent which may lead to disaster. Young pool players, when playing from baulk on a ball at the top of the table with their player in hand, frequently experience the mortification of seeing their ball, after an unsuccessful shot, come back into baulk a helpless prey to the next player. It may very well be that they have not put too much force into their stroke, but they have probably struck it off the centre. In this, one of the commonest of pool strokes, it is of the last importance to avoid putting on side.
It is worth remembering, too, that it is not necessary, as so many amateurs appear to think, to make all winning hazards at forcing strength. As a matter of fact, the pocket is considerably larger for a stroke played at drop strength, although of course it requires some nerve to play the hazard in that fashion.
Losing hazards have been so exhaustively dealt with in Chapter V. that nothing need be said here concerning them; but there are two faults very commonly committed by amateurs which are fatal to accurate hazard striking, and the first of these is pointing the cue at one part of ball 1 and striking another. Some men habitually aim with the cue-tip pointing over the top of their ball, others again with the tip almost touching the cloth, no matter whether the stroke they intend to play be a follow or a screw, a centre stroke or a stroke with side. Those who are familiar with golf are well aware that in those places where grounding the club behind the ball is not allowed it is exceedingly difficult to hit the ball cleanly and truly, because there is nothing to guide the aim. Similarly, at billiards, if the cue be aimed exactly at the point on the ball that it is intended to strike, the stroke is more likely to be accurately delivered than if it be pointing at some other spot or be brought down or up, to the left or to the right, at the last moment. It is a rare occurrence to find a moderate player who aims as he should aim.
The second fault is the widespread belief among inexperienced players, that in order to impart the maximum amount of side to a ball the cue should move in a horizontal curve—that is to say, that believers in this strange theory (and they are legion), when they are attempting a stroke involving, say, right side, sweep the point of their cue to the right as they deliver the stroke. Students of Chapters III. to VI. will readily see that the theory is absolutely fallacious, and fully understand that, the straighter the cue is pointing along the path of ball 1 or parallel to it, the more power it has over the ball. But, as the theory is firmly maintained, it may be worth while to draw attention to it in order to emphasise the instructions contained in Chapter III.
In most billiard-rooms the balls receive somewhat severe treatment, and of necessity are constantly travelling to the makers to be adjusted or turned down. Therefore, it often happens that they are smaller and lighter than they should be. Now, such balls are more easily sent flying up and down the table, and they are not quite so liable to catch in the jaws of a pocket and stop outside as full-sized ones. Hence they are popular with free hitters; but in other ways they are very objectionable. Being light, they are more liable to turn aside over any slight obstruction on the table; and, as they start away after contact faster than heavy balls, it is a difficult matter to play quietly with them and keep the balls together. It may be that at first, with heavy full-sized balls, the breaks are neither so many nor so long; but perseverance will result in more command over the heavy balls than was possible with the light ones. The very fact that continual slogging with heavy balls is arduous work, and distinctly damaging to the top of the cue, will of itself induce a quieter style of play and more thought for the hereafter.
Simple as it may seem, very few men know how to practise. It is a common experience to walk into a billiard-room and find a player idly knocking the balls about—now a losing hazard, now a cannon, all too rarely a winning hazard, with no method, and with no attention to the run of the balls. Nothing is really more useless. To practise properly, one should have a distinct idea of what is wanted and how to set about getting it. Chapter VIII. clearly shows the great merit of the spot stroke as a means of practice. The combination of strength and accuracy is most important training. One or other position will probably prove more difficult than the rest. Practise that particular stroke till it is mastered—i.e. till not only is the hazard made, but position is obtained for the next stroke.
Many, of course, there must be who have not got the time or the patience for such practice as this, and to them I offer an alternative. Spot the red, put the white on the middle spot (the position after the balls have touched), play from the Ｄ, and see what the break will run to. At the outset the white long loser is an admirable practice stroke, for it must be played freely, and its successful manipulation will engender a feeling of confidence in long losers which will be worth a great deal. There are some players who find when they make this hazard that the object ball runs perilously near to the middle pocket; others find with their normal stroke that the ball usually strikes the side cushion about a foot or eighteen inches above the middle. Players of the former class generally gain position off two cushions; players of the latter class off three; but in each case the object is to leave a cannon up the table on to the red on the spot.
Long losers from baulk are most excellent practice, and would be more popular were it not for the nuisance of having to go and fetch the ball from the other end of the table every time. The new tramway arrangement, patented by Messrs. Orme & Co., whereby the ball returns automatically from the top pockets to the bottom of the table, does away with this drawback, and is therefore a distinct advantage where there is no marker.
There is an exercise, invented I believe by a weather-bound golfer, in which the red is spotted on the centre spot, and the player starts from the Ｄ and tries to hole the red in all the pockets in turn in as few strokes as possible. The red is re-spotted on the centre spot every time it is holed, and the player plays on each occasion from where his ball has run to. This game is really excellent practice, for it involves accurate winning hazard striking, combined with delicate strength and a knowledge of angles. I believe that 20 is considered what golfers would call the ‘bogey’ score; but I fancy it is placed a little too high, and I think 16 would be nearer the mark. As the learner improves he can lower the bogey to suit himself. To sum up, the whole art of successful amateur billiard-playing is almost all contained in the accurate delivery of the cue, division of the object ball being a comparatively simple matter.
Preparing to play behind the back: the wrong way
Chapters III., IV., V., and the valuable memorandum contributed by Mr. Pontifex, should be carefully studied. The learner will find that if he once masters cue delivery many other things will be added unto him. He will discover that it is just as easy to screw to any angle, when the balls are close together, by playing softly as by hitting hard, and will learn the valuable fact that screw and side are easier to apply softly, because with a gentle stroke he can make more certain of striking where he intends, and thus he will have found out the whole secret of screw. It is the spin on ball 1 which causes it to spring off square, and the force of impact has comparatively little to do with altering the angle of deviation.
And yet I fear that no printed instruction will teach everything in the way of making strokes, because the sense of touch enters so largely into the question of execution. A good player with a cue in his hand can show more in an hour than the best book will in a month; but the former is not always attainable, whilst the latter may be the student’s constant companion. Hence it will be seen how advantageous it is to play as much as possible with better players, and also to practise carefully the strokes recommended in a sound manual.
By all who are interested in the higher aspects of the game the following memoranda by Mr. R. H. R. Rimington-Wilson on breaks generally, and on top-of-the-table play specially, will be welcomed. He brings to the subject great experience, gathered from every available source, and to masterly execution adds soundness and accuracy of judgment, which give peculiar value to his remarks.