Sunday 22nd December 2008 - a typical afternoon of festive sporting indulgence: Arsenal drew with Liverpool. India humbled England. Man Utd beat Liga de Quito to win the Club World Cup and David Beckham was unveiled at AC Milan.But I elected to dedicate my afternoon to a chubby baby faced 26 year old from Harlow. Around eight hours after I'd sat down, Shaun Murphy clinched the most dramatic of victories, 10-9 over Fu Ka-chun, (or in the Western media 'Marco Fu') to win the UK Snooker Championship.
There's an old saying in snooker; "every pot a pint of blood". It refers to putting every modicum of thought, cunning and tactical nuance into a shot. Last night was one of those encounters. The final ball was not potted until 12.21am.
It was a bizarre first frame. Murphy went ahead with breaks of 26 and 36 leaving Fu needing 3 snookers to stand any sort of chance. Most players wouldn't have bothered leaving the chair. Indeed the ever-controversial Ronnie O'Sullivan had earlier conceded a frame when he was only 23-0 down. But the un-assuming Happy Valley resident (yes that really is a place in Hong Kong) was up in a flash.
And when Murphy found the cue ball heading towards the middle pocket Fu only needed another 4-point foul to be back in the frame. Unfortunately for Fu, he then fouled with his waistcoat handing Murphy the first frame.
Nerves dominated the following 18 frames with both players making uncharacteristic errors. "That's probably the worst game we've played throughout the tournament" said Murphy after the match.
But this didn't detract from the spectacle. As with much that is broadcast on TV today - being good, and being good on TV are two very different things. Quality is very much subservient to entertainment. John Sergeant was clearly never a great dancer. But he made great telly. X-Factor winners are never truly talented. If they were they'd have found success through the traditional pre-Cowell route. Instead, they make brilliant TV.
Similarly the final frame was far from text-book snooker. There were errors galore in the 32-minute decider. Eventually it all came down to a pink in the far left pocket - effectively championship ball. Murphy has a reputation for his consistent long potting but, like in penalty shoot-outs in football, this is one of the few times when talent counts for very little.
Murphy took his time. Then attacked. The pink flew. It missed by a mile. Hitting both sides of the pocket cushion it re-bounded back towards the Englishman, and dropped neatly into the middle pocket.
Six or seven hours practice a day in the months leading up to the Championships. Forty-six frames within the tournament itself. And the title is won due to that most mysterious of anomalies - luck. Such is sport.(Images used courtesy of: http://image.hotdog.hu/_data/members1/497/676497/images/sajat_fotok/murphy5.jpgg
http://chaobreederxl2.proboards80.com/index.cgi?action=calendarview&thread=40)



The biggest shock came in May when Justine Henin announced her immediate retirement from professional tennis. She's the first incumbent No.1 to quit - having spent 171 weeks at the top with 41 singles titles, including seven Grand Slams, to her name. But a knee injury, a general lack of sharpness and a probable lack of desire had transformed the Belgian into a beatable player. In a world of double handed big hitting I'm pretty sure we'll never see quite as sexy a one handed back hand again.



