The End of an Era

Since Butler’s national championship runner-up run for the second year in a row there is a little known secret about me that I have recently exposed to the world. Most of my friends had no idea of how much of a fanatic I am about a certain billiard game called Snooker.

The Beginning

My father introduced me to the game in 1982 when Jay Orner came to our house on Jan. 2, 1982 and set up a 4 ½’X9’ Snooker table in our basement. At the time I had no idea the game was so big with my family. Seems not only did my Dad play but my great Uncle Harold, my uncle Bill and my cousin Ronnie were all into playing this game with the 15 red balls and six colored balls of yellow, green, brown, blue, pink and black.

Once Dad had the table put together himself, some of his friends and my family would play hours on end on the table. At the time I tried to grasp the game as much as I could but I didn’t have a fondness for it. I begged my Dad to get the regular pool balls so I could play regular 8-ball and rotation because at the time I could play those games and enjoy the table. Mainly because before I could play on the big table I had to show him I had respect for the game and could take care of a table by playing on the miniature table he had while growing up in Franklin.

Then one afternoon I came from my junior league basketball game. My Dad and great Uncle Harold were downstairs playing. They would end up playing way into the night. I sat there and watched every game that day. I watched Uncle Harold continuously beat my father that day.

Actually what I watched was my uncle playing a cat-and-mouse like game with my Dad. I found it interesting how he could break off the reds and in such a way he would have the cue ball back behind the “D” and behind either the yellow, brown or green balls. My Dad would be perplexed in trying to find a way to hit a red ball and avoid surrendering four points to Harold.

Dad escaped by hitting a red ball from such a unique position, my uncle would then come to the table and score five or six red balls. After each make of a red, he would make the black or pink and continue to rack up points on the table. Then he would leave Dad with another impossible shot to hit a red. Dad would either escape or miss the red ball completely. Thus he would surrender the four points and the table again. This is where my uncle would then completely takeover the game make the rest of the reds, hit the black or pink after each one. Then he would go through the rotation sequence (yellow, green, brown, blue, pink and black) to finish off the game.

It was by watching that day I began to like Snooker more than regular 8-ball because I loved watching the strategy being employed by my uncle. Not to mention watching him plan not only his current shot, but begin placing the balls around the table for future shots. Even while he sat and watched my Dad or my uncle Bill take turns at building breaks I observed my uncle Harold systematically preparing for what he was going to do when he got back to the table.

I figured it to a sports coach during a timeout or going to into halftime making adjustments to make his team better and have a better chance to win the game.

From that point on I was “hooked” on snooker. I put “hooked” in quotation marks because that’s the name my Dad and uncles called it. We didn’t say “Hey let’s play some snooker.” It was always “hook” because they weren’t interested in making a lot of points on one trip to the table. They all enjoyed taking turns finding ways to “hook” the other and have them try to make impossible shots just to touch a red.

My Dad would help me practice specific shots and we would play a few games on a given Saturday or on a night I didn’t have much homework. On the name plate he had engraved “This table made especially for John & Rob Rueff.” At that point I knew I was to take care of that table even after my father was gone.

Finally when Uncle Harold came over or when Uncle Bill would visit, I was allowed to play a couple of games when we played partners. Of course normally I would get in a few shots but it was Uncle Harold or Bill bailing us out for the wins.

Secretly (if that’s what you want to call it) I played on that table whenever the opportunity arose. Still when it came time to play my Dad, I never could win. It frustrated me. I continued to practice and play games by myself. I would put the ball in specific situations and work on getting better.

Like most kids, who played basketball in Indiana, I played pick-up games at the local playground courts until the parks management came and turned off the lights. While my friends would go home, have or go to a girlfriend’s house or hang out with themselves, I returned home. I showered and immediately went downstairs to the basement to “Rueff Arena.” I would spend about two hours a night again practicing different shots or even taking my favorite cue and another cue play games against myself – being an only child and my Dad already asleep I really had no other choice. Matter of fact I didn't go to either junior or senior prom. While everyone else was dancing the night away I was playing snooker with my Dad or against myself.

I believe to this day the reason I was as accurate with my jump shot on the basketball court can be attributed to my practicing and getting good hand-eye coordination playing on the snooker table with the smaller pockets.

Friends would come over and see the table and want to play. One of the rules was we would play one game of snooker and then all the 8-ball or whatever “regular” pool game they wanted. It was fun showing them a different game of billiards that they had never heard of before coming to my house to play.

When I was home during holiday breaks or the summer while going to school at Butler University I again played on the table. Dad and I would again renew our rivalry and play for a few hours. Still every time it seemed I had him beat one of two things would happen. I either fell apart on my own or he would roar back and “hook” me on the pink. I would not be able to hit the pink and it would cost me six points and then he would make the pink and the black for the win. We would finish our play with me still trying to figure out what I had done wrong. I mean I was on that table for hours on end throughout my life compared to him and he still was able to find ways to beat me. It was frustrating.

Finally I broke through with my first win on Dec. 27, 2002. Not only did I win once, I won three times that afternoon. I continued to win a more consistent basis. Call it changing of the guard if you will.

My addiction to this game was fueled more with the Internet. One night while surfing the Internet I found a snooker game online called “quick snooker.” Not only did I download to my computer, I downloaded it to my father’s as well. We both began playing on pretty much a daily basis. He played it more than I did and since I got married and moved out of the house I found myself playing “quick snooker” on those occasions when I felt the urge to want to play for it for real at my parents’ house.

After my mother died in 2007 I made it a point to visit my Dad on a regular basis. Thursdays became our night to watch television (mainly professional wrestling), eat ice cream and every once in a while play snooker.

I don’t know if my Dad looked forward to Thursdays as much as I did or not. I am pretty sure he did though because if it got close to 9 p.m. and I wasn’t there yet he was quick to call me and always ask “You coming over or not so I know to leave the door unlocked for you?”

Then came Sept. 9, 2010 a Thursday and the night my life changed forever. I have already written about this in a previous blog post and I am not going to rehash it. I don’t think we were going to play snooker that night, but I was pretty sure we were both set to indulge in “Rueff Size” bowl of ice cream.

Everything happened so fast after my father’s unexpected death. Basketball season was right around the corner and I had my schedule of officiating games and of course going to Butler games at Historic Hinkle Fieldhouse or watching the away games on television.

The Decision

During the basketball season I had an early game at Greencastle. That night instead of going home, I went to a local pizza place and got “my” kind of pizza (pepperoni, sausage, green peppers, ham, mushrooms and pineapple). I took the ‘za and went to the original Rueff Manor and to “Rueff Arena.” The Dawgs were on the radio that Friday night and while I listened to the Dawgs dismantle the Detroit Titans I uncovered the snooker table, took out my favorite cue and another one and played against myself. After listening to the game and playing several games against myself and pretty much breaking even, I stopped playing for about an hour and just walked around the house. My wife, Wendy, and I had contemplated remodeling the house and moving our family into it.

As I walked through the house between what had now become 3 a.m. to 4 a.m. on a Saturday morning I remembered all the good times we had in that house. It was moments of laughter and tears. It made me realize I couldn’t live in that house full time again. It was as if my parents were telling me that I needed a house of my own for my family to create our own special memories. Thus I told Wendy I would rather build a new house to fit all of our needs instead of trying to make a 30-year-old house work in that capacity.

We decided on a place to build and a builder. From that point any opportunity I have had to get to the house by myself or have a friend over and play snooker.

Taking My Obsession to the Next Level

On April 4, Butler’s miraculous run came to a crashing end as the Bulldogs lost to Connecticut in the national championship game. At last it sunk in what had transpired back in September and I fell into a momentary lapse of delayed depression over my father's unexpected death (at least that's what someone called it). It was like reality had sunk into me. I was miserable and not getting along with people including my family.

One night I had a good friend come over to my parents' house to discuss things and we decided to play a game or two of snooker as well.

It was during this match we had an interesting play scenario on the table.

My friend had fouled potting the cue ball while attempting to hit the blue. The blue was inside the "D" and neither one of us knew if I could go ahead and hit the blue even though it was inside the "D" even though it was the ball. Could I hit it straight or would I have to hit the cue ball off a cushion to hit it.

The play had me scouring the Internet where I came across the United States Snooker Association (USSA). I e-mailed their contact information off the website; I posted the scenario on its Facebook site and its forum section.

The USSA’s executive director, Alan Morris, e-mailed me with the answer to the scenario. Even though the object ball was inside the “D” the cue ball could play it straight on and not have to worry about banking off the rail for it to be a legal hit.
It was because of this scenario I printed out the rules for snooker (which we did not have at all) and put them into a three-ring binder to referred to from now on in case a situation such as that ever develops again.

Alan also informed me the World Snooker Championship was being played at a venue called The Crucible in Sheffield, England. Morris even sent me the links to watch the matches. Needless to say I was hooked. Except to go to the gym at night my body never left the couch where I have my laptop set up or the chair upstairs where the desktop computer is located. I tried to watch every match if possible.
I really got frustrated when the link would freeze during matches I was really interested in watching during the fortnight stretch. I began to enjoy watching the play of Mark Selby. Watching the “Jester from Leicester” reminded me a lot of my uncle Harold and how he played the game and the mental nuances that went with it. He also set a new record for most century breaks with six in his second round match against snooker legend Stephen Hendry. The Scot also holds a record as the only person to ever win seven world championships.

Selby would lose in the next round to Ding Junhui in the round of eight and exit the World Snooker Championship prematurely after such an impressive performance against Hendry. When I saw him play against the seven-time champion I really thought Selby would win the whole thing. He had played the best of any of the other players I had watched to that point.

I became infuriated when at the worst possible moment my web stream of the BBC feed froze. It was during the final between John Higgins and Judd Trump during the 33^rd frame, Higgins needed to snooker or “hook” Judd Trump on the pink. If he did that, Higgins would also need to make the pink and the black to win the frame and the more importantly the championship.

When it returned to real time there was Higgins raising the trophy in victory. He had masterfully snookered Trump on the pink. Trump missed the pink and Higgins then potted the pink and the black for the win. I was able to watch it on YouTube a few hours later.

It was also through watching the streaming of the tournament I was able to pick up on the jargon of snooker that I had never heard prior to watching the two-week tournament. Some of the terms I learned was potting, which means making an object ball. Another word I learned was break. Normally in American terms of billiards that’s how you begin the game. In snooker it actually means how many points you score in one visit to the table. The break as we know it is actually called the break off. The baize is the cloth in which you play snooker. Not the cloth or the felt but the baize. I loved hearing Rob Walker has he began to introduce the players during the world championship and say “Let’s get the boys on the baize.”

I also learned “pipped” means beat and also “bottle” means to take guts or can also be used as a synonym for what CBS/ESPN college basketball commentator Bill Raftery calls “onions.”

Suddenly snooker had overtaken me much like Butler basketball has and always will. My enthusiasm for it also carried over to my four sons. Toward the end of the world championship tournament I was joined regularly by one or two and on a couple occasions all four of them watching the matches on the Internet with me. They would eat their breakfast and I would have my morning cups of coffee as we all learned about the game and watched the world’s best play for the championship.

They have become interested in the game of snooker as well. We play “quick snooker” on the computer against each other. Andrew and Luke both are excited about the opportunity to one day play on the big table.

Once we decided to build the new house I made it a point to Wendy as she designed it that I needed a room for the snooker table. We have had many an argument about where the table would be located once we moved into the house. It’s been a part of the play room, part of my office, part of one side of the unfinished basement and the other part of the unfinished basement by the mechanical room. The last place mentioned is where the table will be located

I finally got to Orners and set the date for them to come to my parents’ house and disassemble the table, move it and reassemble at the new Rueff Manor.

I also got some input from Morris as to what I needed to make the table into a top-notch piece to enjoy playing on it for the future. Alan commented that I needed to get felt with a directional nap and also get the smaller 2 1/16” balls that did not have the numbers on the colored balls yellow through black.

Also during this I realized the rail rubber along the table had become hard as rocks. If the table was going to play at a high performance and be used for the Fabulous Rueff Boys to practice to one day play at The Crucible in Sheffield, England the rails needed to be replaced.

The great thing about going to Orners I truly enjoy is I get to talk about my two biggest passions after God, my wife and my sons – snooker and Butler basketball. Tom Orner ranks as one of Butler’s all-time assist leaders and also led the team in scoring one season back in the late 1970s.

The Final Match

We closed on the new version of Rueff Manor last Friday morning. We also have found a family in need of renting my parents’ house.

How appropriate that on a Thursday night I played on the baize one last time in the house I grew up in from 1981 to 1998. Tonight many a dream of winning imaginary snooker tournaments played on that table through the years was remembered. A lot of great games against my Dad and various family and friends as well.

Once again playing against myself I took out my two favorite cues – a 15 oz. and a 16 oz. slightly over sized cue (an inch longer than the standard 57-inch cue). I couldn’t find a quarter or coin to flip to see which one would breakoff first. I still had the pea bottle though and decided whichever one drew out the highest number would get the breakoff. Fifteen-ounce cue pulled out an eight while 16 drew a seven in the best of nine showdown.

The Final Showdown Commenced.

I really got comfortable quickly with the 16 cue and jumped out to a quick 2-0 lead. With the 15 in the third frame I made it 2-1. With the 16 I pulled out a win and made 3-1 at the mid-session break.

I noticed two things about my game as I went back upstairs to the kitchen to fix my “Rueff Size” bowl of Caramel Surprise and Moose Tracks along with a cup of Diet Mountain Dew. My game with the mechanical rest really needs to get better and I need to learn to build consistent breaks. My highest ever is 39. In the four games played during the first session my highest break was 22. That came with the 16-ounce cue and the bulk of it in rotation.

I believe some of my lack of break building comes from watching my mentors play and see them pot a red and then a color and pot a red and then purposely snooker their opponent. We never really went for break building.

I watch Selby, Higgins, Trump, and the rest of the snooker players during the World Snooker Championship and the Australian Goldfields and I want to be more like them. Oh, don’t get me wrong I love to “hook” but break building and putting my opponent on the defensive seems a lot more fun.

While I ate my ice cream I sat downstairs on the floor and thought about the times my Dad practiced with me. I vividly remembered the close calls of almost beating him and then of course the time I did beat him. So many great memories on that table and I doubt my Dad even knew how much it meant to me.

After the break I took the 15 cue and made a roaring comeback to tie the match at 3-3. I had no clue what time it was and at this point I didn’t care. I was playing snooker on my table for the last time in my parents’ house. I really didn’t want the match to come to an end.

In the seventh game I used the 16 cue and had the 15 in the trouble. It was sort of like the situation I mentioned in the World Snooker Championship final between Higgins and Trump. The 15 needed a snooker on the pink and then pot the pink and the black to win.

I tried as best I could to get the snooker but was unable to accomplish the feat. Finally with the 16 cue I potted the orange (man I can’t wait to get the regulation snooker balls for my 40^th birthday). Then came what can only be called the shot of the night.

Having potted the orange/pink the 16 had won the game but if elected could either just hit the black or try to pot it. The black ball was on the cushion directly from its spot. The cue ball was angled to the right. With the rails as hard as they had become I wasn’t sure my chances to send it to the far corner pocket. To be honest I had no thought I could pot it in the side pocket. I hit the cue ball dead center with no English. It hit the black square and the black ricochet off the cushion with enough pace that it did fall into the side pocket to end the game.

In the next frame it was all 15 cue as I jumped out to a 13-0 lead and then 28-4. It was a blowout and more importantly as they like to say when a match is tied going into the final frame I had a “decider.”

Decider

It was late and I thought about playing just to get it over with, but my desire to finish this table off right would not allow me to do so. Again my lack of break building was evident. It was 16-16 when with the 15 cue I made a break of seven potting a red and the orange. After I failed to pot a red with the 16, the 15 broke nine potting the final red, the orange and the yellow as that was the beginning of rotation.

When I came back with the 16 looking to pot the green the 16 was down 32-16. The green was in such a position and the cue ball angle allowed me to have a solid bank shot into a side pocket. No need for English again just a solid hit into the center of the cue ball and the green would be potted. I hit the ball dead center; the green caromed off the rail and sailed into the side pocket perfectly.

Now it’s 32-19 and 22 points on the table. I didn’t need to snooker the 15 on brown. I looked at the lay of the table. I could try and pot the brown or I could graze the brown and send the cue ball back down the table and place it behind the blue. I decided on the latter.

It worked nicely as the cue ball stopped right behind the blue, which blocked the brown. I switched cues and decided I needed to attempt to swerve the cue ball again to hit the brown. I missed it by a millinch. The thing is though after the shot I could see the track mark the cue ball left on the felt. Did you know the cue ball has been guesstimated with that type of friction to be at more than 400 degrees?

That miscue with the 15 was worth four points and now it was 32-23. The 16 potted the brown for 32-27.

Now with the blue in sight I needed to hit the cue ball just a little left of center to make the blue go right into the bottom corner pocket. As I followed through with my stroke (to compare it to shooting a basketball) it felt good. The cue ball rolled down the baize in the direction I had intended and it hit the blue ball in the right spot. The blue now began to roll toward the pocket and just as it got to the cusp of the pocket it stopped. IT STOPPED! It was like that perfect jump shot you have on the basketball court. It feels good leaving the fingertips and just as it gets to the rim it falls short off the front of it. That’s what this shot was like.

Thus the 15 had an easy pot of the blue and it was 37-27 with the orange and black remaining.

Surveying the table I had an opportunity to pot the orange and angle right for the black. This time though I didn’t hit like I intended and it left the 16 with a golden opportunity to sink the orange and the black for the win of the match.

With the 16 cue I hit down below the center of the cue ball to make a draw shot and force the cue ball to come backward upon impact of the orange. The cue ball did just that to pot the orange into the side pocket and makes it 37-33.

It came down to this final shot. The cue ball positioned now to where I needed to cut it to the right just a tad to make the black go left and into the pocket for the win. It’s sort of like those times when you’re in the driveway playing basketball by yourself. You dribble the ball around the driveway counting down the clock to the last possible moment to hit the game-winning shot. This was exactly that situation. One I had practiced about as many times as that same scenario on the driveway growing up in Indiana.

I walked around the table not once, not twice but three times wanting to make sure I had the angle of what I wanted to do with the ball. I hadn’t played a great frame up to that point, but I had played well enough during rotation to put the 16 cue in the spot to win. Deservedly so since it was the 16 cue that jumped out to the 3-1 lead during the first session and then of course was the cue I had used to make the shot of the match back in the seventh frame to make it 4-3.

Finally after making sure there wasn’t any chalk dust or other impediments that could hamper the progress of the ball, I lined up the shot. I set my bridge with the cue on top of my index finger. I used to slide the cue under my index finger but of late and I have found myself more comfortable with the cue over the finger except sometimes when playing off the rail.

Anyway as I continued to prepare for the shot, I needed to decide the pace of the cue ball to impact the black. Do I hit away and take the chance of the black popping out of the pocket and not going in? If I hit it too soft though I could cause the black to finish right at the nib of the pocket? I had to hit with enough pace to avoid that at all cost or the 15 wins.

Angled to the right, I hit the ball with a fairly decent pace. The cue ball hit the black just to the left. The black ball began to roll. It had decent pace and it looked dead center into the pocket. PLUNK.

Game over – 40-37. Cue 16 wins 5-4 and with that the final match was completed at 4:01 a.m. Friday morning.

Now the table is covered. It waits for Orners to come Aug. 8 to dismantle it and move it to the new residence and new version of “Rueff Arena.” When it’s ready to be played on again it will be like a new table – new baize and new rails. Thanks also to Alan Morris I have the right dimensions to set the spots on the table along with the proper radius for the "D" and placement of the baulk line.

More importantly the table awaits new memories to be made by myself and the future “Four Horsemen of Snooker” – The Fabulous Rueff Boys.