William had told his father that he was unlikely to win, but now it was in the bag, or to be more accurate, in the corner pocket. He was about to pot the last ball on the table and win the Lambeth station snooker championship, and end a run of six victories for Fred Yates.
Somewhat ironic, William thought, as it was Fred who’d taught him to play the game. In fact, William wouldn’t have ventured into the snooker room if Fred hadn’t suggested it might help him get to know some of the lads who weren’t too sure about the choirboy.
Fred had taught his charge to play snooker with the same zeal he had applied to introducing the lad to life on the beat, and now, for the first time, William was going to beat his mentor at his own game.
At school, William had excelled on the rugby pitch in the winter as a wing three-quarter, and during the summer as a sprinter on the track. In his final year at London University, he’d been awarded the coveted Purple after winning the Intercollegiate Championship. Even his father managed a wry smile whenever William broke the tape in the 100-yard dash, as he called it, although William suspected that “re-rack,” “maximum break,” and “in off” weren’t yet part of his father’s vocabulary.
William checked the scoreboard. Three games all. It now rested on the final frame. He had started well with a break of 42, but Fred had taken his time, eating away at the lead until the game was finely poised. Although William was still leading by 26 points, all the colors were on their spots, so that when Fred returned to the table, all he had to do was clear the last seven balls to capture the trophy.
The basement room was packed with officers of every rank; some were perched on the radiators while others sat on the stairs. A silence fell on the gathering as Fred leaned across the table to address the yellow. William resigned himself to having lost his chance of becoming champion, as he watched the yellow, green, brown, and blue disappear into the pockets, leaving Fred with just the pink and black to clear the table and win the match.
Fred lined up the object ball before setting the cue ball on its way. But he’d struck it a little too firmly, and although the pink shot toward the middle pocket and disappeared down the hole, the white ended up on a side cushion, leaving a difficult cue, even for a pro.
The crowd held its breath as Fred bent down. He took his time lining up the final ball which, if he potted, would take him over the line: 73–72, making him the first person to win the title seven years in a row.
He stood back up, clearly nervous, and chalked his cue once again as he tried to compose himself before returning to the table. He bent down, fingers splayed, and concentrated before he struck the cue ball. He watched anxiously as the black headed toward the corner pocket; several of his supporters willed it on its way, but to their dismay, it came to a halt just inches from the edge. There was an exasperated sigh from the crowd, who were aware William had been left with a shot even a novice could have pocketed, and they accepted that a new name was about to be added to the honors board.
The contender took a deep breath before glancing at the honors board, to be reminded that Fred’s name was printed in gold for 1977, 1978, 1979, 1980, 1981, and 1982. But not 1983, thought William, as he chalked his cue. He felt like Steve Davis moments before he became world champion.
He was about to sink the final black when he spotted Fred standing on the other side of the table, looking resigned and dejected.
William leaned over the table, lined up the two balls, and hit the cue ball perfectly. He watched as the black touched the rim of the pocket, wobbled precariously over the hole, but remained tantalizingly balanced on the lip, and failed to drop. The stunned crowd gasped in disbelief. The lad had buckled under pressure.
Fred didn’t squander a second chance, and the room erupted when he sank the final ball to win the frame, and the championship, 73–72.
The two men shook hands while several officers surrounded them, patting both men on the back, with “Well