and I sensed that some thing was amiss shortly after entering the Idle Hour Tavern on the square in Clay Center, but we couldn't fathom what it was. Fred is a "tube bender," that is, a neon artist and sometime sign-maker from Salina, and he and I were enjoying idle hours on one of our bi-annual trips from Salina to Clay Center to shoot snooker.
     For those ignorant of this pastime, snooker is a pool game shot on tables that sometimes appear to be the size of airport runways. The game starts with red balls in the rack and numbered balls from two to seven on designated spots. For most of the amateurs who play it, snooker is not a challenging game; it is an impossible game—a cantankerous and hard-headed old man of a game that rarely reveals the sunny-side of its disposition. There are no "ducks," that is, easy shots in snooker. Every one is contested by narrow pockets, lots of “green” between cue and object ball, and rules as rigid as a straight jacket. Penalties for infractions make the Inquisition seem like a slap on the wrist: at least four and up to seven points can be potentially deducted for each foul. And there are many ways to foul, not the least of which is the situation associated with the game's namesake: when the path from the cue to the object ball is blocked by other balls, you are SNOOKERED!
     In fact, according to Fred Ferretti writing for Gourmet magazine (May, 1990), the term “snookers” was a slang corruption of the French word “neuf,” or new, and was descriptive for greenhorn cadets in the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich, England. This usage was applied by Sir Neville Chamberlain (no, not the statesman who got diplomatically snookered) to a modification he had made to the game of “black pool” while at a British officers' club at Jubbulpore in a tea-growing region of southern India. Chamberlain related the story: "One of our party failed to hole a coloured ball close to a corner pocket and I called out to him, ‘Why, you're a regular snooker.’ I had to explain the definition of the word, and to soothe the feelings of the culprit I added that we were all, so to speak, snookers at the game, so it would be very appropriate to call the game ‘Snooker’” (Gourmet, May 1990, 146).
     Still, there is much about the game that rises above the level of frustration imposed on the hapless souls who seek to master its challenges. For example, near the end of the game only numbered balls, worth twenty-seven total points, remain to be shot in rotation and pocketed for the last time. If one can go on a “run” at that time, there is the possibility of being like the long distance runner who just catches the leader at the wire. A run at any time is very satisfying for most players because with this game one can be shooting relatively well, that is, consistently rattling the rims of the pockets, but having little in the way of points to show for it (consistently making red balls worth one point each and not the obviously higher-value numbered balls, which can be shot only after a red ball is pocketed, is another way of not filling one's pockets). Snooker, too, teaches and demands concentration. Televisions oozing slime and juke boxes blaring obnoxious music are piranahs eating voraciously at the game's continuity and enjoyment.