SnookerEd25 wrote:Belatedly, the piece I lost on Friday morning. My re-written take on John Dunning's finest hour, and other musings from the tournament. (copied and pasted from a Googledoc, on this occasion! Lesson learned...)
The Strange Case of Davis, Martin and Dunning
No, not a firm of solicitors but the three (yes, count ‘em - THREE) players who contested the final of the 1984 Yamaha Organs International Masters.
This was a memorable tournament for me in more ways than one; firstly, after four years or so of watching - and becoming steadily obsessed by - the game of snooker, this was the first tournament I can remember viewing in its entirety. The event ran during the last week of February and whether it coincided with a half-term holiday, or whether I was absent from school with some sort of sickness, I can’t recall; but I did manage to watch most of (if not all) of the coverage. My father had recently invested in a video recorder, and was thus able to tape the late night highlights for me to view before the afternoon’s play got underway. This was the way forward - and I was loving it!
The next thing that made this tournament stand out in my mind was the unique format. All the competitions I had come across so far used the standard knockout route to the final, but since its inception in 1980 (as the British Gold Cup - I have little or no recollection of the earlier incarnations), this event had utilised a Group System. The previous year had seen four groups of four players, with the top two in each advancing to the semi-final groups. The two winners of these then contested a straight knockout final, in which the cagey six-time World Champion, Ray Reardon, overcame the up-and-coming young sensation from Tooting, Jimmy White (9-6) to take the first prize.
For the latest outing, the number of players competing had been enlarged to nine groups of three, in which eighteen qualifiers joined the top nine seeds to descend upon the Assembly Rooms in Derby and do battle for the title, and a Yamaha Electric Organ (the reward for compiling the highest break over the seven days of tournament play).
Another innovation came in the event of a tie within a group; the initial method to determine the standings would be frame-difference (frames won, against frames lost). If the players could still not be separated, the points scored during the frames would be accumulated and whoever had garnered the most would progress. For some reason, high breaks were not taken into account (although with centuries being at a premium in the early eighties, anyone making one would probably have come out on top in the points scored stakes). Thankfully, this situation did not occur, but it did lead to an interesting situation in one of the early matches; a player (I can not remember who) had conceded when far behind on points but with balls still on the table, John Pulman (then ITV’s lead commentator) stating “well, he really shouldn’t have done that, with points scored in the frames potentially counting for so much in the event of a tied group”. Subsequent matches were almost all played out right down to the final black, another anomaly compared to the games I had been used to seeing.
Most of the groups came to a straightforward conclusion with a clear winner; only two had to call upon the mathematicians and both of these were decided on frame-difference without having to take into account the points scored within. In Group 2, the number six seed, Eddie Charlton beat John Virgo but surprisingly lost to qualifier, Paul Medati (1-2). With Virgo seeing off Medati, Charlton advanced to the semi-final groups courtesy of the frame he took in his defeat (the other matches in the group finished 2-0).
An identical situation occurred in Group 9; no.8 seed Bill Werbeniuk had beaten promising teenager Neal Foulds (who a few weeks later would really announce his potential by sending Alex Higgins home early from the Crucible), but went down 0-2 to Doug French. In the group decider, Foulds saw off French 2-1, but the frame he dropped proved vital in sending the latter through.
Poor Doug French. I have rather a geeky knowledge of obscure early-80s professionals, courtesy of hours spent poring over results hidden away in the small print of the back pages of the Guardian, or Snooker Scene, or the much-maligned (though much-missed) teletext service. Players such as Frank Jonik, Gino Rigitano and Bert DeMarco, who perennially slogged away in the purgatory of qualifying competitions, hopeful that just once they would find that spark of form that would enable them to secure a valuable result and take them into the spotlight of televised tournament play. Alas, for the aforementioned three, it never happened and I can’t recall any of them (along with so many others) ever getting the chance to show what they could do under the television lights.
But Doug French did. He secured his moment in the sun here, and I am ashamed to say I have no memory of his contribution, even though by taking a semi-final spot (and with the whole competition played in a one-table format) he would have had significant time on the screen. He must have surprised himself by qualifying in the first place; one of six players in the final stages who had to negotiate two rounds of qualifying to secure their spot. With Cuetracker unable to supply a birthdate for him, and without even so much as a World Ranking until the last of his twelve seasons as a professional (and that of 426, in the new ‘open era’), I suspect he entered this event as a ‘non-tournament professional’, the eighties equivalent of the modern day ‘top-up player’. But take a bow wherever you are, Doug French, for grasping your fifteen minutes of fame with both hands; and please accept my apologies for my failing to remember any of them.
It was another Doug, the more celebrated Mountjoy, who figured prominently in the next memorable moment for me. Midway through his first group match, against the Irishman Billy Kelly, he found himself in a tricky snooker, and failed in his attempt to escape. To my bemusement, the referee promptly picked up the balls from the table and re-set them in their original lie. I was outraged. I looked aghast at my father, and demanded some explanation. He stared back, just as bewildered - and disappeared to find our copy of the well-thumbed little green pocket bible, ‘the Billiards and Control Council rules to the game of Billiards, and other table sports’ (to give it it’s full title), a tome handed down to him by his father (and possibly by his father before him, given that to my young eyes it looked a book older than time itself). Well, I forget whether we did ever get to the bottom of it, but I had just had my first taste of what I now know to be the ‘miss rule’ (or, as the late referee John Street always insisted it be called the ‘foul and a miss rule’). Then little-used, and very much at the discretion of the man in charge, but now an essential (though still, to my mind, frustrating) part of the game.
Doug did win that mini-match, but didn’t qualify from the group, drawn as he was alongside the dominant figure of the day, Steve Davis. Already a two-time (and reigning) World Champion, the nugget didn’t drop a frame in easing into the last four (well, technically, last nine, but nevertheless the semi-final stage).
But there were surprises aplenty, given the cut-throat nature of the format; the biggest casualty being the ‘people’s champion’, Alex Higgins, who failed to emerge from a group containing Warren King and Jack Fitzmaurice; the Australian King winning both his matches to advance. Kirk Stevens, the no.7 seed, beat player/promoter Mike Watterson (better known as the man who brought the World Championships to the Crucible) but fell to dangerous qualifier, Willie Thorne (world no.18) in a tight group - all matches went the three frame distance, but Thorne won both of his to proceed. Tenth seed David Taylor, the Silver Fox, beat Australian-Ulsterman Paddy Morgan but lost to unheralded Yorkshireman, Dave Martin who also saw off Morgan to go through. And in Group 6, another upset was brewing…
No.4 seed Tony Knowles headed this group, with portly Liverpudlian (and future Slimmer-of-the-year) Les Dodd, and 7-1 outsider John Dunning alongside him. Dunning was a throwback to the early days of the revitalized professional game, and was in his thirteenth season as a pro’. He had been a World quarter-finalist in 1974, when the revived championship was in its infancy, and played at the Crucible twice in the early eighties, losing on both occasions. By now, he had dropped to 33 in the world (but would finish the season at 52, and drop steadily thereafter). Approaching his fifty-seventh birthday the following month, he had slipped into virtual semi-retirement and quipped on the eve of the event : “I only get into the tournaments they can’t keep me out of!”; Knowles was expected to top the group comfortably and looked well on his way to doing so as he opened by beating Dodd to nil. When he followed this up by taking the opening frame comfortably against Dunning, the writing looked to be on the wall for the old-timer. But aided by all his know-how, and some increasingly cunning safety play, he ground out the second on the colours to tie things up at 1-1. Knowles, usually an unruffled character, started to get visibly agitated by some unfortunate runs of the balls early in the decider and at one point showed his frustration to the audience by making to snap his cue over his knee. Although he laughed this off, the Boltonian was losing his composure - and his experienced opponent knew it. Shortly afterwards, Dunning had wrapped up the frame and it was he - not Knowles - standing on the verge of the semi-finals. He knew that he only needed to take one frame off Dodd to get there - even a 1-2 defeat would see him edge through on frame difference - and, having taken the first on the final black, celebrated his achievement by comfortably wrapping up the match with a break of 65. His joy only slightly tempered by a confession made afterwards : “My daughter won’t be very happy with me; Tony’s her favourite!”
Another ‘obscure’ player I do remember seeing was Mike Darrington, yet even here the memory plays tricks after so many years. I could have sworn I saw him playing against 1979 World Champ, Terry Griffiths; but Cuetracker tells me he was in the group from which defending champion Ray Reardon emerged, so it must be that other redoubtable Welsh World Champ who I saw him against. No problems for Ray here, progressing comfortably past Mike and the Canadian, Mario Morra (who, like his compatriot Kirk Stevens, had something of a penchant for white suits and outrageous flares).
The aforementioned Griffiths rounded out the semi-final lineups, seeing off the runner-up of the previous year, Jimmy White and Scottish team captain Eddie Sinclair. And even with some of the big names failing to progress, the last four (or three, or was it nine - even I was beginning to lose track at this stage) seemed predictable with three former World Champions heading the groups :
Group 1 : RAY REARDON, Eddie Charlton, Dave Martin
Group 2 : TERRY GRIFFITHS, Warren King, John Dunning
Group 3 : STEVE DAVIS, Willie Thorne, Doug French
Group 1 looked to be a straight fight between Eddie Charlton and the man he would probably consider his nemesis - Ray Reardon. In fact, Dave Martin beat them both, rendering the final contest between the two relevant to statisticians only. For the record, Charlton would have probably taken some comfort from a 2-0 victory, but Martin had become the first of three finalists.
Steve Davis predictably came through his group, dropping only one frame along the way (to Willie Thorne) but Group 2 became the most exciting of the three and had the mathematicians reaching for their scorecards once again.
The group opened with Warren King taking the points in a 2-1 win over Dunning, leaving the veteran on the verge of elimination. When Griffiths then beat King by the same score, it left Terry in the driving seat going into the final match. Any victory over Dunning would see the Welshman take his place in the final. A 2-1 win for Dunning would see the dreaded frame score accumulation come into play as all players would be tied on points (2) and frames won (3). As it turned out, Dunning took both (very close) frames - the latter going down to the final black - to hold his nerve and contest his first major final, alongside the mighty Davis and fellow outsider Martin.
The final was to be contested as in the group stages, each player playing the others with the same criteria used to break any stalemate. However, the matches were now extended to best-of-five frames, with all five to be played until a mathematical winner had been decided. Alas, for the two underdogs, there was to be no fairytale ending as the ruthless Davis saw them both off comfortably. Martin and Dunning got proceedings underway on the Sunday afternoon and Martin soon opened up a two frame lead. Dunning gave himself some hope by taking the third but Martin sealed the points in the fourth and an unassailable 3-1 lead. Dunning kept things just about alive by taking the last of their five on the black, but knew he would have to beat Davis (formidable in itself) by a big margin and hope that Davis could then beat Martin narrowly to keep him in with a chance.
He kept things interesting by opening up with a break of 70 against the reigning World Champion, but Davis predictably turned the screw thereafter and ran out a comfortable 4-1 victor. With the frame differences reading Dunning 3-7, Martin 3-2 and Davis 4-1, John bowed out gracefully leaving the others to battle for the championship in the final match.
Unfortunately, an enjoyable tournament ended on a bit of a damp squib as breaks of 72 and 57 saw Davis open up an unassailable 3-0 lead (he had edged a relatively close second) and with it the title. John Dunning had started the week with little expectation but had finished it falling just short of an unlikely triumph. Nevertheless, at fifty-seven years of age he remains the oldest player to contest a major final and ended as the sentimental crowd favourite. I think he would have been pleased with that.
The last word has to go to the wonderful John Pulman, whose plummy tones and perfectly timed delivery was a staple of ITV coverage throughout the eighties. I don’t remember this particular incident, but it was referenced recently by Dave Hendon on his excellent podcast and regards the destination of the electric organ mentioned at the start of this piece - the reward for the High Break prize.
Kirk Stevens took the musical honours with a modest contribution of 107; in fact there was only one other century over the course of the week - a 104 from the eventual champion, Davis. At one point, as he progressed, it was possible for him to tie Stevens’ effort of 107. As co-commentator Dennis Taylor informed the viewing audience that Davis was on course to match Kirk’s break, and therefore share the prize, Pulman took a dramatic pause, before memorably intoning :
“And what does one do, I wonder … with half an organ?”
This is a terrific post SnookerEd! I'm so glad you took the time to write it out again. When you said you'd lost it the first time around, I had no idea of the scale of the loss.
Thank you.
by SnookerEd25 » 31 Aug 2020 Read
