Chapter V: p. 164). Place ball 1 for the half-ball hazard, and play the

stroke in the usual way, when ball 2 will stop near the left middle pocket, and it is probable that either a hazard or cannon will be left. The one serious danger of the stroke is that ball 2 should run into the middle pocket and the break be lost; even then a miss in baulk would leave its player with the best of the deal; besides, the mishap can be guarded against by being careful not to play on ball 2 fuller than half-ball, and with rather less strength than is required if a middle pocket loser were desired. But if the hazard be made into the right top pocket, then ball 2, after contact with cushions 6 and 1, would stop near the right middle pocket on the opposite side of the table from ball 3.

This type of stroke or break should be played as indicated, so long as ball 2 strikes cushion 2 first; when ball 2 is so far up the table that (when the half-ball losing hazard is played) it strikes cushion 1 first, then the hazard should be made into the right top pocket. This will be at once seen by placing ball 2 on the pyramid spot, ball 3 being as before. Place ball 1 on the left spot of the =Ｄ=, and play the usual half-ball hazard into the right corner pocket; ball 2 will return from cushion 1 towards ball 3. Place ball 1 on the right spot of the =Ｄ=, and play into the left corner pocket, and ball 2 will return towards cushion 2 away from ball 3.

Diagram I.
]

Again, with ball 3 as before, but ball 2 below the middle pockets, with a hazard from baulk right and left, ball 1 in hand. If the right middle pocket loser be played, place ball 1 for a fine rather than for a full stroke, in order that ball 2 may be cut towards ball 3; if the left middle pocket be selected, place ball 1 for a full rather than for a fine stroke, so that ball 2 after impact with cushion 1 may return to the left side of the table, and admit of bringing ball 3 into play.

Fig. 1
]

An excellent rule is to play known strokes in preference to inventions of the moment. Those who have practised the examples previously recommended will know with tolerable accuracy where ball 2 is likely to stop, at any rate in the commonest sort of plain strokes, and it is well to profit by this knowledge. Thus with the balls as shown in fig. 1, where 2 is the red, and 3, 3 are positions for the opponent’s ball, it is better, at any rate for those who are not considerably advanced, to play the half-ball losing hazard into the left corner pocket, than to endeavour to secure a chance of a top of the table break by making the cannon. For the hazard is more certain to most persons than the cannon, and if the stroke is made balls 2 and 3 must almost inevitably be left in play. Similarly in the positions shown in fig. 2, although the cannons from 1 to 2 and 3 are perfectly easy, yet it is better to play the known losing hazard 1 from 2 (which is supposed to be the red on the spot) into the right corner pocket. Ball 2 will then be left over or near the right middle pocket, into which a hazard will be left, or if the stroke has been played without enough strength there may remain a cannon from which the balls should be gathered at the top of the table.

Fig. 2
]

With balls 2 and 3 so left that there are plain losing hazards into the middle pockets whilst at the same time, ball 1 being in hand, a cannon is as easy or easier than either hazard, there is some difference of opinion as to which stroke a moderate performer should play. In case of being within two points of game the cannon may be chosen as rather the easiest, but except in that case we recommend playing the losing hazards. For at the worst there are two easy strokes on the table against one if the cannon were played, totalling five against two. If, however, the balls were so placed that one of them was too far up the table for a plain hazard, then it is possible that the cannon might pay better.

Fig. 3
]

For the class of players to whom these few hints are specially offered it is, we believe, sound advice to say—do not vary your strength of play greatly, accustom yourself to a free No. 1 or No. 2, and do not ordinarily depart from it; avoid extremes of strength and the use of side, specially with winning hazards; master the plain half-ball stroke, and many other things shall be added to your score. Do not concern yourself more than you can help about your adversary’s good or your own bad luck, and do not think it incumbent to explain for the instruction of spectators (some of whom at any rate presumably know more of the game and understand it better than yourself) the reasons of your failures.

Now in addition to the players just referred to—and they form the great majority—there are those who can devote considerable time and attention to the game, who can play the spot stroke in the sense of knowing how each position should be treated, and can usually make from five to ten spots, besides having a fair general notion of the game. Such persons represent the better class of club play, and from among them at rare intervals a few appear whose form approaches that of the professional. For their special behoof little need be said; they have acquired and practise unconsciously the principles already recommended; in order to improve in the matter of breaks they must work on professional lines, and may, within the limits which their powers prescribe, follow professional play. That is to say, it is not desirable to try to prescribe a separate style of break for persons who are fairly grounded in the grammar of the game, even though they may never attain great excellence. As a rule, they owe the length of their scores, which are often considerable, to small genuine breaks connected together by providential bounty; every now and then in a score they are obliged to give sole attention to making the stroke, and what is left is therefore due to luck, which may be good or bad. The truth of this becomes apparent if they are set to a break which must be thought out and which does not often admit of adventitious aid, such as the spot stroke or a nursery of cannons. They will rarely make more than ten or twenty consecutive strokes, and how often not more than five. Nevertheless, their profit will lie in trying to follow the lead of the masters, modified, as may be required, by personal proficiency.

Preparing to play behind the back: _the right way_
]

And here, lest it may be justly said that the interests of the vast majority of billiard-players and of our readers are in danger of being somewhat neglected in favour of a small minority who alone may reasonably aspire to professional form, we have much pleasure in introducing a paper by Mr. A. H. Boyd, who is well qualified to deal with the subject, on ‘Every-day Billiards.’ From his paper, which is commended to the careful attention of readers, it may be gathered that he has successfully passed through many of the sorrows of the self-taught student of the game, and is now enabled to attain to a measure of his legitimate aspirations.

EVERY-DAY BILLIARDS

BY A. H. BOYD

As a great deal of the instruction contained in this volume may be too scientific for the ordinary amateur, it has occurred to me that a few simple hints, from a moderate player, who has experienced, and is daily meeting, difficulties which possibly a brilliant performer hardly understands, may be of some assistance to those who, like himself, are fond of the game, appreciate its fascinating variety, and are honestly anxious to improve.

The correct method of playing almost every stroke that is likely to occur in a game has been so lucidly laid down in previous chapters, that my efforts will be limited to pointing out where moderate players are apt to go astray, and to dealing with a few salient points, in the hope that I may be able to show what to avoid, rather than what to do or how to do it.

By the moderate player I mean the average player as found in the average club billiard-room, a man who is capable of running up 20 or 30, and who has on certain happy days passed the Rubicon of 50.

I believe the use, and particularly the abuse, of the expression ‘power of cue’ has led to more slipshod play, and done more harm to young players, than anything else. In ninety-nine billiard-rooms out of a hundred a steady, unpretending player, who makes simple strokes with tolerable certainty and with fair strength, is considered a far inferior performer to the gentleman who plays _every_ hazard with side on his ball, who delights in extravagant screw shots, but who is supremely indifferent to the subsequent career of the object ball. ‘Power of cue’ unfortunately, as understood by ordinary billiard-players, means _want of command_ of cue. The mere power of imparting side, or making screws, though valuable enough in itself, falls very far short of ‘power of cue’ as rightly understood. The real meaning of the expression is the ability to combine the various elements, such as side, screw, follow, or stab with varying strengths, so as to convert a forcing shot into a soft screw, or a gentle stroke into a fast and fine shot, always with a view to improved position.

Without the power of control or combination, the power of imparting side may be and very frequently is positively harmful. An enormous number of young players with a certain amount of aptitude for the game become so enamoured of this showy gift that they insensibly drift into the habit of playing every stroke, however simple, with side, and become absolutely incapable of striking their ball in the centre, thus increasing their difficulties at the outset. It is comparatively easy to strike a ball in the centre as often as may be desired; it is next to impossible to strike it on the side in the same place a dozen times running. Hence, players who habitually use side constantly miss simple shots, because the amount of side they put on is continually and involuntarily varying.

The worst case I ever met was that of a man who had allowed the habit to grow upon him so far that he could only strike his ball on the right side. The natural consequence was that half the table was practically closed to him: he would not attempt a jenny into the left-hand top pocket, and his long losing hazards were of course very uncertain. Many others there are, however, who, even when playing from hand, evince a decided preference for playing to a particular side of the table, and it is evident that, although possibly they don’t realise it themselves, they have more command of one side than of the other. If this inclination is felt, it should be fought down at once by playing for the opposite side of the table; and a little resolute discipline of this kind will soon eradicate the fault.

Curiously enough, moderate players rarely use side for following hazards near a cushion, although a liberal use of it converts an extremely difficult stroke into a comparatively easy one. The explanation, I imagine, is, that when they began billiards, they were told to hit their ball high in order to follow, and it is of course a difficult operation to put side on a ball that is struck near the top. They, therefore, do not choose to increase the risk of a foul by aiming at the side of the top, and take some pains to strike their ball on or near the vertical centre line. Did they but know it, the same pains expended upon the same object, when playing ordinary losing hazards, would rapidly improve their game.

It is easily understood that from near a cushion a pocket is a very small target, and the margin of error in aim reaches the irreducible minimum. So that this follow is rightly considered by moderate players who play it in the way I have described as difficult, dangerous, and hardly worth attempting. If, however, there is plenty of reverse side on the ball, and it strikes anywhere on the shoulder of the pocket, it is sure to go in.

Another fault very commonly committed is, where there are two ways of playing a stroke, men take the way they fancy rather than the way which will pay them best. Nothing stands more in the way of improvement than this habit. Very likely games may be lost by trying for a little more, and spectators are often too severe on what they consider as want of proper caution. But let them say what they like. If a player is honestly anxious to improve, he can afford to let the particular game take care of itself, and even if he lose a dozen games running, patient practice will bring its reward in the end.

I do not wish to be misunderstood. I am not advocating ‘playing to the gallery,’ merely for the sake of bringing off a showy stroke, but playing out on purpose to try for position. There is, of course, a time for everything. In a match involving a stake, or when competing in a club handicap, a player should throw no chance away, and play carefully and cautiously, especially near the end of the game _with the lead_. But in an ordinary game he should play out and try whatever comes. Though many shillings may be thus lost, it is comforting to reflect that they are really the fees for learning, and they will ultimately prove to have been well spent. Nothing is more melancholy than to watch a couple of men who have devoted many hours daily for many years to their favourite game, poking about with safety misses, white winners and double baulks, and spinning out a game of 100 to a weary length. In all those years they have not added one stroke to their battery, and they will go on to the end of the chapter, unimproved and unimproving, confirmed cushion-crawlers.

Just as at whist, there is such a thing as playing to the score, so there is a time to be bold as well as a time to be cautious; and many a match has been lost by over-caution. I once saw a game in a club tournament, where one of the players was immeasurably superior to the other, and, although he had given his opponent a long start, he had caught him 100 from home. He then took it into his head that his proper tactics were to play for safety on every occasion. The result was what might have been expected. His antagonist took a clearer view of the situation, saw that the game was desperate, and played out every time after the other’s safety stroke. There were many occasions when the better player, if he had taken the least risk, would probably have run up a nice break, and possibly have finished the game; but he waited and waited, and his antagonist got home. Clearly, with 100 to be made and playing on level terms, his proper course would have been to play his usual game, when his superior skill must have brought him in an easy winner. A player must remember that it is not enough to hamper the enemy’s chances of scoring; he has _got to make the points_ himself.

The four-handed game, which is a very popular institution with the cautious, is one of the very worst schools for a young player with any enterprise. He will be drilled into everlasting safety, and if he is at all ambitious of playing a good game, he should avoid it as he would the plague. On the other hand, he should never lose an opportunity of playing with better players; for, although at first he will find the rapid scoring of his opponent very disconcerting, still, in time, the feeling will wear off, and the necessity for doing better will of itself induce improved play.

The tactics of the over-cautious school lead one to consider the question of ‘leaves’ as generally understood. The hard-hitting, slap-dash player, after having sent all the balls flying in various directions, will often bitterly bewail his luck if nothing is left after what he considers a brilliant stroke; and amateurs are prone to look for this chance-leaving as a fairly earned reward of their skill. The less one looks for this sort of thing the better. A leave which has been carefully planned and successfully engineered is more meritorious than a dozen of such, and will, in the end, bring a more certain reward. Nothing is more mortifying to the player who is honestly trying to place the balls than to find, as he often will at first, that time after time he has just failed, perhaps by a few inches, to attain the desired position; while a hard-hitting, careless friend is merrily scoring all round the table after strokes which have apparently hopelessly scattered the balls. Curiously enough, a large share of this particularly exasperating form of luck falls to the lot of the careless. I once saw a man make 62 without a fluke as popularly so-called, and yet every leave was the result of accident rather than of design. This is what one must be prepared for, and suffer gladly. Don’t be cast down or disgusted if the adversary drives a ball anyhow to the baulk end and finds an easy losing hazard left. It is all the more annoying because one cannot call this sort of thing by its true name—viz. a fluke.

Another form of annoyance is the fluked safety, which will sometimes run almost through an afternoon. It is very hard to bear, especially when the adversary takes spurious credit for playing a wonderfully safe game. If under these trying circumstances the temper can be kept, things will not only right themselves eventually, but a reputation for good-nature and saintliness may be earned.

That these things worry is not wholly discouraging. Unless one is absolutely indifferent to the game they must be felt, and the keener one is the more must their injustice be resented. But, after all, they teach patience and coolness—two very valuable allies—which have many a time pulled a game out of the fire, after it has seemed utterly and irretrievably lost.

Careful students of Chapter V. will have realised that perhaps the most important thing for the learner to devote his attention to is the winning hazard; but that stroke, at once the most difficult and the most important at billiards, is sadly neglected by the vast bulk of amateurs. Seldom, or never, is a break of over 40 made which does not involve a winning hazard, which must be accomplished in order to continue the break. All strokes are largely a matter of confidence, and this is especially true of the winning hazard. Unless it is played with the confidence which practice alone can give, the stroke seldom succeeds. Here pool comes in as an excellent training school. It is wearisome drudgery practising these strokes simply; but in the friendly rivalry of pool, with the added zest of a prospective sixpence, the winning hazard becomes quite attractive.

In a long spot-barred break a spectator, if his attention has never been directed to this point before, will be astonished at the number of times the red is holed, and, of course, the immense possibilities of the ‘all-in’ game are obvious to everyone. It is the spot practice, and nothing else, which has given the leading players their complete mastery over winning hazards; and though it is the fashion nowadays for even the most moderate players to declare ‘the spot’ tiresome to watch and not worth their attention, yet a little quiet spot practice will not be thrown away. Although the learner may not attain sufficient proficiency to justify him in going for the spot in an important game, still he will pick up almost unconsciously a notion of the right place to strike the object ball for a winning hazard, and, in addition, one or two little wrinkles as to ‘touch’ and ‘strength’ which will stand him in good stead in other parts of the table.

Another great point in winning hazard practice is that it directs the learner’s attention, forcibly and practically, to the dangers and disadvantages of misapplied side. In the first place, the hazard itself is rendered more difficult, and repeated failures will compel a learner to take pains to strike his own ball in the centre. And, in the second place, the run of ball 1, after impact with ball 2, will be checked or accelerated, as the case may be, to an extent which may lead to disaster. Young pool players, when playing from baulk on a ball at the top of the table with their player in hand, frequently experience the mortification of seeing their ball, after an unsuccessful shot, come back into baulk a helpless prey to the next player. It may very well be that they have not put too much force into their stroke, but they have probably struck it off the centre. In this, one of the commonest of pool strokes, it is of the last importance to avoid putting on side.

It is worth remembering, too, that it is not necessary, as so many amateurs appear to think, to make all winning hazards at forcing strength. As a matter of fact, the pocket is considerably larger for a stroke played at drop strength, although of course it requires some nerve to play the hazard in that fashion.

Losing hazards have been so exhaustively dealt with in Chapter V. that nothing need be said here concerning them; but there are two faults very commonly committed by amateurs which are fatal to accurate hazard striking, and the first of these is pointing the cue at one part of ball 1 and striking another. Some men habitually aim with the cue-tip pointing over the top of their ball, others again with the tip almost touching the cloth, no matter whether the stroke they intend to play be a follow or a screw, a centre stroke or a stroke with side. Those who are familiar with golf are well aware that in those places where grounding the club behind the ball is not allowed it is exceedingly difficult to hit the ball cleanly and truly, because there is nothing to guide the aim. Similarly, at billiards, if the cue be aimed exactly at the point on the ball that it is intended to strike, the stroke is more likely to be accurately delivered than if it be pointing at some other spot or be brought down or up, to the left or to the right, at the last moment. It is a rare occurrence to find a moderate player who aims as he should aim.

The second fault is the widespread belief among inexperienced players, that in order to impart the maximum amount of side to a ball the cue should move in a horizontal curve—that is to say, that believers in this strange theory (and they are legion), when they are attempting a stroke involving, say, right side, sweep the point of their cue to the right as they deliver the stroke. Students of Chapters III. to VI. will readily see that the theory is absolutely fallacious, and fully understand that, the straighter the cue is pointing along the path of ball 1 or parallel to it, the more power it has over the ball. But, as the theory is firmly maintained, it may be worth while to draw attention to it in order to emphasise the instructions contained in Chapter III.

In most billiard-rooms the balls receive somewhat severe treatment, and of necessity are constantly travelling to the makers to be adjusted or turned down. Therefore, it often happens that they are smaller and lighter than they should be. Now, such balls are more easily sent flying up and down the table, and they are not quite so liable to catch in the jaws of a pocket and stop outside as full-sized ones. Hence they are popular with free hitters; but in other ways they are very objectionable. Being light, they are more liable to turn aside over any slight obstruction on the table; and, as they start away after contact faster than heavy balls, it is a difficult matter to play quietly with them and keep the balls together. It may be that at first, with heavy full-sized balls, the breaks are neither so many nor so long; but perseverance will result in more command over the heavy balls than was possible with the light ones. The very fact that continual slogging with heavy balls is arduous work, and distinctly damaging to the top of the cue, will of itself induce a quieter style of play and more thought for the hereafter.

Simple as it may seem, very few men know how to practise. It is a common experience to walk into a billiard-room and find a player idly knocking the balls about—now a losing hazard, now a cannon, all too rarely a winning hazard, with no method, and with no attention to the run of the balls. Nothing is really more useless. To practise properly, one should have a distinct idea of what is wanted and how to set about getting it.