#welsh open

SLOW DOOOOWWWNNN

This is a screengrab of the Eurosport livestream of Shaun Murphy’s match with Josh Boileau at the 2017 Welsh Open. The person in the upper-right with the milky-white forearms is ME. 

How did I get here?

Well, I’d wanted to go to the Welsh since it moved to Cardiff because 1) I’d been to Cardiff before and LOVED it, and 2) the Welsh was around my birthday (the 22nd) and I wanted to get back into a thing I’d been doing where I’d travel around my birthday. Things didn’t work out last year, but this year - with money in place and a greater sense of urgency since the country of my birth got fucked sideways in November, sending me into a psychological tailspin - was going to be the year. For those not keeping track, this would be my first ranking tournament, after going to qualifiers in Barnsley a couple years ago and an edition of the Seniors in Portsmouth a couple years before that. (Also that Judd/Ronnie exhibition at Goffs last year.)

The pleasant surprises started not long after I got my flights and announced on Twitter I’d be going: I got a DM from that guy in the photo up there offering tickets and passes for the days I was there. Shaun and I became acquainted through my efforts promoting his work with Snookerbacker on a new UK amateur system, but I didn’t expect he’d be such a mensch, and I should’ve known better. When the time came, I rustled up some Canadian thank-you gifts and flew to Gatwick, then took the train out to Cardiff (going past my brief home of Bristol, which I’d intended to visit but ended up not visiting, which can be put down to time and a pang of melancholy telling me it may be too soon).

I was to be at Motorpoint Arena for the first three days because I wanted to see as many players and matches as possible and didn’t want to miss anyone because they lost. That would end up being especially wise, considering how many top players fell in the first two rounds (including that guy at the top), often a result of Best-of-7s. I liked the idea of being able to make my way around the venue watching what I wanted of matches going on at eight tables, though this was trickier in practice considering the creakiness of the temporary stands and doors and the different entrances in players’ eyelines. But everyone did what they could under the circumstances, except when they didn’t. 

The first day was probably the most eventful day in my mind. I had finished some work late the previous night at the hotel. Having received my laminate for the players’ lounge from the nice man at the World Snooker desk (thanks, Smurf), I went up to see if I could settle in and upload my file there. Turns out there were a lot of couches in front of matches on tv, coffee/tea, a (cash, duh) bar, the Media Centre beyond - and not enough wifi for my unwieldy file. Fair enough. I went off to the lovely Cardiff Central Library and did the upload. Upon returning and enjoying the Higgins/Baird match as well as the more Welsh-popular Page/Weston match (won by the rookie Page, starting his couple days of fame), I got an email saying my work needed to be redone because the client had sent a final “final version” of what I had to work on. Could I have the remix done by tomorrow morning? Ugh. That’s how the rest of my day at the snooker was spent sitting with my laptop connected to an outlet in an out-of-the-way corner of the players lounge. I tweeted Matt Huart (@ProSnookerBlog, whom I’d met in Barnsley before his WPBSA gig) to see if I could get any table/outlet space in the Media Centre, but he couldn’t swing it. I’d alerted my benefactor Smurf as well, who officially met me IRL with a hug in my chair - and didn’t succeed with the Media Centre either before his first match. So I remained, which was fine. I sent out a DM to Neal Foulds, whom I’d also become acquainted with on Twitter and was of course working for Eurosport, saying that if he had a minute to say hi he wouldn’t be able to miss me. Not long after, he came in and we had a great chat about Twitter, the tournament and various things around snooker that I didn’t know. Then we each had to get back to work. It was more than a little surreal getting my remix done as top players, friends and family went by, but I’ve had worse workplaces. My work was done by the end of the last match, and I made my way back to the hotel, first stopping at a takeaway. As I left with my food to continue on...Ronnie O’Sullivan walked by with his own takeaway. G’night, JV. 

I got to see Ronnie in his more usual habitat the next day, though he wasn’t at his best beating Tom Ford, nor when he was upset by Mark Davis later. I was thankful I’d already seen him in Goffs near the height of his exhibition powers. It was also great to see Michael White doing well on home soil, especially as this hasn’t been a great season for him so far. A little later, I found myself in a back row with my benefactor watching his mate Mark Allen operating a bit more slowly than usual. Shaun had felt obligated to watch him after he’d watched Shaun on a back table the previous night - and it was Pistol’s turn to pay for dinner. 😊 We talked weight loss, my work and of course getting the sport set right. Afterward, he introduced me to Mark and the boys went off for their meal...at Nando’s, as it happened (Mark’s pick).

Learning that Ali Carter was playing Zhao Xintong on a back table, I took the chance of streaming chunks of the match on Periscope. Anyone following me on Twitter knows I’m a big proponent of Periscoping tables that don’t get on tv or streams, despite some ridiculous quasi-rule by World Snooker that you’re not supposed to because of “rights” or something, although those are rights to matches NO ONE AWAY FROM THE VENUE CAN SEE and only several people attend. Anytime I ask someone go give it a go, they demure, not wanting to get into trouble. Evidently “they” told Mark Williams not to do it. But I went ahead and did it anyway. The most drama actually involved my devices having enough battery power - it was late in the day, and in the end I used my phone connected to my laptop open on the floor. 😂 Ali clocked me early on (SB, who’s working on his book, says he clocks everyone at his matches), but no one gave me any trouble about Periscoping. In fact, Zhao’s club, Vics Snooker Academy, was one of the few dozen viewers. Since I was Shaun’s guest, I apologized to him for breaking World Snooker rules (no, WS: he didn’t know ahead of time), but I still feel it was a worthwhile thing to do. 

Work would sneak its way back in my final day. I’d gotten an interview request from back in Toronto and the most solid wifi I’d have for it would be at my hotel at Gatwick, so I had to leave for the train at a certain time. Early on, I got to meet Dominic Dale, who was transitioning from playing to his comms gig for BBC Wales (a gig many of us hope he’ll have more often for more broadcasters). I’d bumped into him at an elevator in Barnsley and at a door in Cardiff the previous day, but it took his girlfriend Kerri (another Twitter acquaintance) to finally make it official. When other people around the lounge learned I was from Toronto, they’d mention the usual Canadians like Cliff and Kirk. (Notably, Mark King’s father Bill talked with me about Jim Wych and I got to tell him about his 6-Red tournaments.) Dom, true to form, asked about Maureen Seto (who’d once tried to get me to hold a cue properly and lost patience almost immediately) and Ontario fixtures Ed Galati and Terry Davidson. I don’t know why that kind of blew my mind. Speaking of blowing my mind and making things official, when Dom was away, Kerri let me in on what was at that point a secret and flashed me her new engagement ring, which Dom had presented on a cake the previous (Valentine’s) night. I had to stay quiet about it while she phoned her parents, but it didn’t take long after that before it went public.

It became clear I’d have to leave for the train while Shaun was playing his match, so I was able to give my thank-you gifts and say goodbyes beforehand. He had been so great making sure everything was cool for me and that I could ask any questions or get advice about the area (one flaw in the trip was there wasn’t much time to spend in Cardiff outside the venue), and only later did I learn he was dealing with a case of bronchitis. That might have been a factor in him being one of the top seeds to fall in that match in that screengrab at the beginning. Boileau got out to a fast lead, but Smurf was starting to catch up when I had to sneak out and hurry to my train - WHICH WOULDN’T ALLOW ME TO STREAM THE REST OF THE MATCH. 😂 I had to learn of his loss the old-fashioned way, on the World Snooker live scores. But I did make it to my hotel in time for my Skype interview and the plane home the next morning. 

In the end, Stuart Bingham (the first player I saw when I arrived, standing at the elevator) beat Judd Trump (whom I wanted to win - Bristol!) in the final, which I watched as usual from my apartment in Toronto. I’d left behind a debit card, a pin and my favourite cork travel mug; but had gained great memories and a fresh brain not quite as full of dread. Some of those memories include the Pundit Fishbowl, the Vodka Slushies (no, I didn’t get one!), Hossein Vafaei Ayouri and Igor Figueiredo hanging out together and scoring some upsets, finding I couldn’t walk up three flights of stairs and answer Shaun’s question about what’s going on in the U.S. at the same time, Thepchaiya Un-Nooh’s ridiculous breaks, some guy named Trevor who kept charging his phone by my work station, sitting alone with Marco Fu three couches apart watching a match and saying nothing for at least a half-hour, the people who wouldn’t be the slightest bit contrite when their phones went off, Adam Stefanow’s stripey waistcoat back, Willo’s can’t-possibly-be-15 protegé “Action” Jackson...