Player: Kirk Stevens Opponent: Jimmy White
Tournament: 1984 Masters Venue: Wembley Conference Centre, London Match situation: Semi-final, best of 11, Stevens was 5-3 down.
The 2024 World Championships are under way. Given the rate with which maximums are compiled these days (about one a tournament this season) I may end up further from the end of this project than when I commenced. Noppon notched one in the qualifiers, so look forward to reading about that in 2033.
Let us go back in time. The man in the white suit and arguably the emblematic visual of big ticket snooker in the 1980s was Toronto's own Kirk Stevens, a flamboyant boyband-ish type with charm and style to spare. Stevens found it difficult to get over the line in major tournaments, though he'd often run deep before getting dusted by a hall of fame level player, if billiards culture was crass enough to have such a thing.
This break in a word: echoey. The first sound of felt-on-ball rings out, with each return to table from the chair feeling slightly over-long. In short - it feels like they're not just playing at a conference centre, but in the middle of a conference on paper or shower-curtain rings. The deadness of space gives Stevens a phantasmic appeal as he struts his stuff like he's just stepped out of a Joe Longthorne support slot.
Player: Cliff Thorburn Opponent: Terry Griffiths
Tournament: 1983 World Championships Venue: The Crucible, Sheffield Match situation: Last 16, best of 25, Griffiths led 2-1.
Canadian heartthrob Cliff Thorburn usually comes up in the first 2 or 3 names when talking about maximums in snooker. Some think it is the first one, or the first televised one, but in truth it is neither. It is, however, one of the most sartorially elegant ones. The plain tie and the modest flare to the trouser surely gifted the British Colombian break-builder greater aerodynamics that preserved his stamina deep into the maximum. The referee wears claret.
We're in the second round of the big one, crammed into half of the snooker hall-cum-sardine tin known as The Crucible. Brown carpets. Go faster stripes and a big papier mache statue of a pack of reds. The understated class of it all seeps out of the screen. Audience members wear their Sunday best.
Griffiths' break shot here is legendary, almost perfect, theoretically impregnable. Thorburn, known as the 'Grinder', wisely plays back to baulk. Not for nothing did this match finish at 4am.
Player: Steve Davis Opponent: John Spencer
Tournament: 1982 Lada Classic
(invitational) Venue: Civic Centre, Oldham
Match situation: Quarter final, best of 9, tied at 2-2.
The first televised maximum takes place 42 years ago in a setting and situation so downright municipal that it is half surprising that the Mayoress, flanked by aldermen, doesn't appear on completion to congratulate Davis on his achievement. Yards from where Davis would momentarily master the art of disappearing resin spheroids, decisions are being made on bin collection and street sweeping.
Not that this blog intends to launch on a political footing, but this image of bureaucracy (Oldham Civic Centre is the seat of local government) has an interesting juxtaposition with this tournament's designation as the Lada Classic. The Lada. The state owned company of Soviet Russia. The ice is thawing, and across the Pennines we crane to hear the balalaikas ringing.
Back in the room. Spencer breaks. Absolute Horlicks of it. Catches the pack too thick and the cue ball rattles around the jaws and stays west of the black spot. He ruefully scratches behind his right ear. Looks like a dad who got to the car and realised he left the keys inside, but that's where he left an argument with the wife. His walk back to his seat is an all-timer.
There's a loose red on to right middle to drop back to a fairly tight black to bottom left. There's a tight pack and a smattering of debris to the left. The Nugget, our reigning world champion, gets to work quickly. He hunches his shoulders haughtily when he chalks. The ref has a quite reedy voice that will raise in pitch as the break continues.
Notable features of this 147:
Davis tries to gradually evolve the cluster of red balls but has a bit of a sticky situation on the 5th red, which he opts to double into the middle. This gives the whole break something of an 'exhibition' feel, even though it is the first one on telly, where the balls are scattered nicely and he just saunters around.
The commentators are pretty wired for this from about 50 points in. They're very good at interpreting silences as 'electric'.
One tricky red requires the long rest and we're still in the days where players did not have their own apparatus for extending their own cue - so they have to use the stiggy communal house long cue.
Davis ends up pretty poor on the final pink, more-or-less directly above it. He plays it bottom right with a ton of left to keep the cue ball down the table and ends up nicely for the finish.
Steve wins the Lada for the max break and goes on to the final. He hits the only 3 centuries in the entire tournament (in about 40 frames total) but loses the final to the Llanelli limpet Terry Griffiths.
It is also incredible to think that while performing this task, Davis could legitimately thinking about what his favourite track on Üdü Ẁüdüis.
Judge's summary: Difficulty 6, execution 7, style 6, situation 5. Time 11.02. Final notes: Steve Davis' only 147 in a WST-recognised event is a wonderful time capsule from the beginning of snooker's Golden Era, where tables were a strange shade of brown and the carpets were off-cuts from England's worst seaside hotels.
Steve said he abandoned the trophy winning prize vehicle in South Mimms services on the way home. "Bloody thing's a lemon", muttered
the Romford Red Demolisher outside of Wimpey.
