Southend U3A

January 2023

In The Lap Of The Gods - Pete Norman

[My sincere apologies to those who do not share my enthusiasm for this sport]

The prospect of spending months living underneath a table would be daunting to the best of us . . . but somehow, they did it.

The thought of spending months living underneath a table, inside a box, would be way, way, way beyond daunting to the best of us . . . but they did it.

Above the box, supported on 8 massive legs, are 5 enormous lumps of slate, which are kept at the optimum temperature by the heating tubes in the box. Surrounding it all are 6 stringed pockets and the whole thing is covered in a thin green baize.

In two of its dimensions the box is quite large – 12 feet by 6 feet – but the third is the real killer . . . it is only 4 inches deep . . . and it contains rows and rows of heating tubes.

Apart from a spider, who else would be able to live in such a space?

Well, that question is not quite as easy to answer as it might seem, you see these are not really people in the true sense of the word – they are what you might call ‘people-esque’. They are the same(-ish) shape as us . . . but there the similarity becomes very hazy.

The only people ever to give them a name, call them gods but, as those people have never actually seen them, this cannot be treated with any realistic merit. Their name is invoked whenever a snooker shot goes horribly and expensively wrong and the player slams the butt of his cue on the floor and walks back to his seat, trying hard to control his anger, muttering to himself, ‘The snooker gods have got it in for me!’

Gods they most certainly are not but it would be utterly pointless for me to try to put into words what they really are, or, in fact, what they actually look like – if they do, in fact, exist at all – and of that I am not truly convinced.

Apparently, there are three of them. I cannot tell you their names because their given names are so intricately constructed that I would neither be able to spell them nor make any reasonable attempt at pronouncing them. I shall, therefore, call them A, B and C – or, to make things a little easier for you – Alfred, Bertram and Charlie.

Alfred and Bertram are the seniors, who, being millions of super-eons old are, supposedly, in control of this scientific investigation. In reality, however, Charles, who is only thousands of super-eons old, is the one who actually does any work. He has a passion for all things scientific and will spend the long periods of time in-between matches involved in complex experimental pursuits, most of which appear to contain the word ‘quantum’.

The old boys, however, find such nonsense unintelligible and tedious. They much prefer to spend their time in gentlemanly pursuits, often played with devices somewhat similar to our own playing cards and small piles of what might possibly be some form of currency. Pursuits such as these could occupy their addled brains for a very, very long time indeed.

I have struggled for some time to come up with a way to convince you how three beings – who are, apparently, much the same size as ourselves – could not only fit into the tight confines of this box but also survive in there for long periods of time. Only Charlie would have any chance of explaining this conundrum to us all but then, even if he did, then none of us would have a clue what he was talking about. The closest I can get to an explanation is that you must consider the principles of quantum physics. Our terrestrial scientists propose that a quantum particle can, somewhat amazingly, exist simultaneously in two completely different places. However, Charlie has been studying all things quantum since long, long, LONG before the Big Bang burst upon our universe and he would propose that any particle can exist, simultaneously, in an almost infinite number of completely different places.

Now, do not even try to get your head around that one – I certainly cannot – but in his super-quantum world any molecule that makes up these gods can exist absolutely anywhere. Therefore, a part of them might exist on a tropical seashore relaxing with a pina colada, while another part might be riding down the rapids in the Grand Canyon . . . but their favourite place of all when the snooker matches are being played is in the bar overlooking the tables, where they can drink and follow every pot of the ball while still enjoying a game of what we might call ‘cards’ in their box underneath the table.

Charlie is an avid snooker fan and, as the rest of us do, he has his personal favourites. Most of those are members of an elite group, which is known commonly as ‘the top sixteen’. However, he also admires some of the up-and-coming players, who are normally summarily dismissed before the real gladiatorial contest begins. It is on occasions such as these that Charlie occasionally takes matters into his own hands and creates subtle situations to influence the current state of play.

A simple tool is to release pheromones into the air space above the green baize which attracts all manner of flying insects. The occasional bluebottle landing on the cue ball can break the concentration of even the most hardened player. He did once try to attract a wasp but when one stung the referee’s hand, he decided it might be more prudent to stick to less harmful creatures.

Another failure was attracting a pigeon, which flew around the auditorium for ages before it was finally captured and removed – but that only had the effect of entertaining the crowd, it did not in any way influence the game.

He had more success with the manipulation of the movement of the balls themselves.

Now, the rules of snooker are relatively straightforward and for the benefit of those unfamiliar with the game it goes something like this: each player uses a long stick to hit a white ball to make a red ball fall down one of the holes; then he tries to do the same with a different coloured ball; then he will try to repeat this as many times as possible.

Charles knows that the only way to give his favourite a chance against the expert is to somehow break this chain of play.

In a quantum world, almost anything can happen. Even if an expert player chalks his tip to perfection, settles at the table comfortably, lines up the cue on the correct line, with the correct amount of side, screw, stun, backspin or whatever and then strikes the cue ball with the perfect weight . . . there are times – very rare times – when the cue ball leaps into the air and smashes randomly into anything in its path. At times like this it is probably quite fortunate that the player is not able to see an ethereal shape hovering over the green baize and punching the air with his fist.

Charlie had enjoyed hours of fun throughout the snooker season and his subtle interference had altered the balance of the players’ ranking tables and had financially ruined several small bookmakers but he also knew that one of the certainties in life – together with death and taxes – is that every good thing has to come to an end.

When the last match of the season had been played and all the players had gone home to the families that they had deserted for most of the year, the vast halls that had hosted them reverted back to other uses. The gods, however, had no interest in concerts, theatre or other such cultural entertainment.

The three – Alfred, Bertram and Charlie – all sat down to consider what they should ‘study’ in its absence. Screen after screen of internet pages drifted aimlessly in the air about them until, finally, Charlie snapped his fingers. The wild jumble stopped and a single word – ‘Wimbledon’ – filled the screen.

Charlie studied the various associated screens and thought, now, how much fun could he have making quantum affect a large fluffy ball?