Just caught the last five or ten minutes of this. Fascinating! Neil deGrasse Tyson might be described as an heir to Carl Sagan, inasmuch as he’s a populariser of science, and a New Yoiker.
I’ll definitely be checking out the full interview at some point.
Several things stuck me, about Tyson (or should that be deGrasse Tyson?)*. First off I’m on his ‘team’, so to speak. His bit about open-mindedness reminded me of Dawkins’ thing about being so open-minded your brain falls out!
Returning momentarily to the Sagan allusion I made above, another thing about the astrophysicist that was less appealing than his very reasonable eloquence and knowledge was his rather booming slightly overbearing style.
Folk like Sagan, and in other areas of science, Attenborough, even Richard Dawkins, are (if you actually watch them in public discussion, as opposed to basing your views on the hearsay of their ‘adversaries’) pretty scrupulous in their attempts to be calmly and politely evenhanded, or reasonable. Neil deG&T, on the other hand, exhibited moments of what looked to me worryingly like controlling bluster in his responses to some of Stephen Sackur’s questions.
* Americans are big on middle names. Very notably so in public and intellectual life (one of the themes of this interview concerns the state of the latter in the modern US). But, although I’ve not seen it hyphenated, deGrasse Tyson sounds like a double-barrelled surname.
Another night of insomnia, with yet more snooker as my medicine. This 1996 match finds Hendry looking young, fresh, handsome, even. O’Sullivan looks a bit dorky, with his altar-boy pudding bowl hair. But I prefer this look to the later match I watched next.
This shot sums up the match, for me.
The pic above captures the balance of power in this match. It was a bit one-sided. Hendry pulled rapidly and decisively ahead, after the fourth set (two all at that point). A few flashes of Ronaldo brilliance were not enough to claw his way back, from 8-3 behind. Hendry dominated this best of 19 match.
2002, Ronnie’s hair stylist is still in the ‘90s.
After this four or so hour March, I tried to sleep. No dice! Sooo… another long ‘un. This time, still going with the fag-peddlers as sponsors, but now Embassy, as opposed to B&H! This one is the best of 33 frames, and in excess of six hours!
Does this pic indicate a re-run of Hendry style cold hard domination?
At the time of posting, as with the first of the two matches mentioned in this post, it’s two frames all. A long way to go. Will Hendry dominate again. The pic above came up when I googled the match, possibly suggesting an outcome with a whiff of deja-vu?
Or will I be mercifully enfolded in the arms of sleep? I do hope so…
Wow! Now that’s what I call a snooker match. Ronnie O’Sullivan and Mark Selby, two of my favourite players, slugging it out in a best of 19 final.
I’m not going to précis the entire match. Just watch it. What I will saying, in summary of the events, is that it’s what what could happily call a ‘come back special’.
I’ve always enjoyed snooker. Probably partially because I’ve watched it since my childhood; my father is or was a fan of the game.
Perhaps surprisingly, David Attenborough is also a part of the story. It was Attenborough, when running BBC2, who chose this working men’s sport as a part of showcasing the introduction of colour TV to the United Kingdom.
Attenborough, when running BBC2.
We may come back to the issue of class at some later point. Billiards has been portrayed as a posh man’s game. Pool is a brasher more American blue-collar pursuit. And snooker sits, perhaps, somewhere in the middle.
But here are some of the things I like (and dislike) about this game.
First, the table. I love the green baize (what if any difference is there between baize and felt, I wonder?). It’s like a mini battlefield. And as a wargamer I like that! It’s the terrain in which the combatants engage in a warfare that’s both physical and intellectual.
Then, the balls. I love those bright, hard, shiny orbs! And the choice of red, against green, for the little army of low value ‘grunts’ is perfect. The higher value colours could be various brass or ADCs (Aide-de-Camps), dotted around the battlefield, running errands for the commanders.
The beautiful baize battlefield of the snooker table.
Then there are the players and their magic wands, the cues. Snooker players are a funny bunch. Mostly they seem to be drawn from working class or what we class-conscious Brits might call lower middle class, or upper working class. The latter might be best exemplified by someone like Ronnie O’Sullivan; resolutely working class in terms of culture, but from an affluent (if shady) background.
Do such considerations apply to foreign players? One wonders about the Chinese and Thai players. I really don’t know!
Having mentioned the whole ‘working men’s culture’ thread, that brings in some other things. Mostly these relate to what I don’t like about the sport. These also concern the ‘showbiz’ and fiscal aspects of the game (not unique to snooker). So, whilst I don’t mind the silly nicknames, I’m not so keen on the player’s theme tunes. A recent trend I could happily do without. And the ubiquitous advertising, gambling being the most pervasive, pernicious and, frankly, repulsive.
Snooker players and umpires also have – in all the snooker I’ve ever seen, UK or elsewhere – dress codes, which are a mixed bag. That any people in sport should act as advertising hoardings I strongly disapprove of. But the tradition of dressing smartly? That’s alright. Rather like cricket whites it’s a tradition I find cosy and comforting, rather than oppressive.
Alex Higgins looking sharper than a razor blade!
There’s obviously the game itself, with its combination of bravura and strategy. I love flashy aggressive players, from ‘Hurricane’ Higgins and ‘Rocket’ Ronnie, to newer guys, like Trump. But then again, I also love the more measured tempi of guys like Neil Robertson and Mark Selby. There are a good number of what I deem to be duller players. In the gentlemanly spirit of the sport itself, I’ll refrain from naming anyone. They may be highly skilled. But I don’t enjoy watching them ‘at work’.
But the chief attraction of snooker, as with many sports (or indeed any human activities), is to do with something I just mentioned, skill. Watching the more flamboyant players when they’re ‘in the zone’ is a kind of Zen poetry.
And with this introduction, via my reference to Zen, there’s the calmness of the game. Crowds occasionally get a little rowdy, at certain junctures. But by and large they watch in rapt silence, as the gladiators fight hard, but silently. If one excludes the TV commentators (quite often on YouTube the commentary is missing), the clack of the balls, the numeric narrative of the umpire’s interjections, and the occasional burst of applause, are all that breaks the almost monastic silence.
In the end it’s the mix of skill, drama, aesthetics (of the game in particular) and pace/peace, that I love the most. It’s a game I can focus intently, or just bathe in its ambience. It can command attention, and it can soothe and relax.
‘Whispering’ Ted Lowe.
Whilst mentioning such qualities, and having consciously excluded them above, I feel it’d be churlish not to mention some of the commentators. Perhaps my favourite might be ‘whispering’ Ted Lowe (Clive Everton may be his heir?), whose soft-spoken delivery really is very charming. Especially in an era when the tawdry brashness of so much of our culture – the intrusions of adverts really throws this into stark relief – is pitched at such a glaring blaring level. As alludes to via Everton, Lowe has some noteworthy heirs, although the professional pundits of old are increasingly being replaced by former (and even sometimes current) players.
As I type this I’m watching a Trump vs Robertson match from 2020. And it’s great. Trump has the flash speed and power, and Robertson the cool, smooth methodical game. And – this might sound superficial; I’m a tad embarrassed confessing to it – they’re both trim and relatively (for the snooker world, perhaps not the acme of fashion) stylish.
Two trim stylish gents.
Certainly snooker is not as bad as darts, in which you can picture many of the players as drunk, racist, aggressive bigots. The kind of folk who might keep the worst of rough pubs in business. Sure, snooker has its cadre of tattooed skinhead porkers, evoking a culture I find total anathema. Along with the role of gambling in supporting the sport, this is an aspect of snooker I have real issues with. And I won’t pretend some of these relate to ‘issues’ I have with what is often popularly called ‘chav’ culture, but I prefer to call contemporary serfdom.
Scots dart player and former tyre-fitter Peter ‘Snakebite’ Wright.*
* Peter may be a very nice chap. I really don’t know! But his theme music is by a band called Pitbull. And he looks like a proper cnut.
But let’s leave such thoughts there! And instead, reflect on the the simple but satisfying aesthetics and mechanics of the game itself, the prodigious and entertaining skills of its best protagonists, and the range of responses it can provoke from excited awe to soothing and relaxed admiration.
For me snooker – not all snooker, mind; but snooker at its best – is a wonderful and almost therapeutic spectator sport.
8/1/‘22
3 am: when insomnia bites… snooker soothes!
Since first posting this I find I am in company with a certain Mr Osman. The only game show I like enough to watch regularly is his House of Games. He’s not ashamed of being suavely polite and clever. And he’s also an author. Apparently he chose the BBC Snooker theme when he appeared on Desert Island Dicks, on the most recent Boxing Day,
The car isn’t really 100% finished. But none of what I do ever really is. Still, it’s good enough for now.
Sitting on my Wah pedal, whilst I print ‘decals’.
Today I printed ‘decals’, for the numbers and a couple of generic dash instruments.
Cutting out the decals.
After quickly knocking out the decals in Adobe CS5 Illustrator, I cut ‘em out, and Pritt-sticked them into place. simple but satisfying!
Numerous views…
I might add a dash of bold bright yellow to the front of the ‘hood’, as stripes, or around the radiator housing. Hmmm!? But for the moment, I’m stopping here and posting this as is.
Do I bother trying to straighten the wheels?Trying to zoom in on the dashboard dials.Making the rear number follow the body’s contours was tricky.
This has never been about perfectionism or accuracy. It’s a generic ‘made up’ vehicle. And it was all never more than a bit of kiddie style crafting fun. Keeping the gremlins of anxiety or boredom, whilst convalescing, at bay.
Thar she blows!
And in that respect, even if no others, it’s been a success!
Today I got the wheels on, and did the rest of what I wanted to do to the body, inc the steering wheel. I could keep going. But the point of this little project is simple child like fun/creativity. Not perfectionism!
Needs the driving area sorting.
I’m happy with this little project. It was actually instigated by Teresa. Lor’ bless ‘er! She suggested a ‘copper wire sculpture’. But instead I did this.
Right, that’ll do!
Next step is to undercoat the model. And after that, paint her. British racing green, methinks. Again, I’ve considered snazzy paint ideas. But I’m going to stick with keeping things simple.
Far from perfect. But good enough for me.I’m pleased with how she looks.
I took it to the shed and then actually sprayed the undercoat outdoors. Under supervision from Teresa! To make sure I wear a mask, and look after myself. And the spray does give a lot of airborne materials.
Sprayed with undercoat.Rear view.
The next step, painting… I’ll get around to that when I feel ready!
Confined to my sofa-bed, in our lounge, and suffering from unspeakable insomnia, I decided to make a cardboard sports car!
Rather than making a real/specific car, I’m just making a generic hybrid. Tonight, in part one, I’ve made wheels and the basic body. Tomorrow (actually later today; It’s 1 am!) I’ll continue with the body work, and fabricate some sort of axles/chassis, lights, etc.
Viewed from the rear.
It’s like being a child again! (Building the cardboard car, that is, as opposed to the grindingly oppressive sleeplessness.) I remember watching my dad make a cardboard cut out roadster, as a nipper. Or did we work on it together? I no longer recall, alas.
Earlier in the evening.
Earlier we watched another Rathbone Holmes movie, and enjoyed a tasty porky stroganoff that Teresa cooked. staying home and taking it super easy. Hoping to shake this awful persistent chesty cough and whatnot.
We once had all the movies from the set as digital files, thanks to a chum. But we never really watched them. Having the physical DVDs – I guess we’re old school that way? – means we’re much more likely to actually watch them (they’re not included on Amazon Prime).
Dig that carved in stone ‘font’!
It’s Xmas day, and, having watched a Basil Rathbone Sherlock movie earlier (The Pooch o’ the Baskervilles), part of another DVD set I got for Teresa, we’re now watching She,
Shot in Israel and starring Arsula Undress, this is, it seems, where Rumpole got his ‘she who must be obeyed’ line from. Well I never! And you get of only Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, and the many faceted charms of Ursula, but also Wombles narrator Bernard Cribbin.
Too much! An embarrassment of riches. Some of the sets or are they ‘mattes’?) are great, as well.
Fab scenes! Colonial clobber meets Romans and… well, all sorts.
Can’t be arsed to synopsise the ludicrous story. It’s just an excuse for exotic locations, good old fashioned Boys’ Own style adventure, with nutty costumes and plenty of feminine allure, all in a distinctly old school non-PC way. We love it!
Christopher Lee in one of many of his more ‘exotic’ roles!
As Miranda – or is it her mum? – is fond of saying, Such fun!
