He’s done it a hundred times in practice.
He’s done it a hundred times in public.
Now he’s going to set it down on disc,
For posterity to marvel at.
Ladies and gentlemen!
Pray silence!
The maestro is about to begin.
Frame eighty-eight!
Fats Waller to break!
Game on!
The cue ball sizzles up the table.
Five, ten, fifteen times it returns to baulk.
The pyramid begins to crumble.
Suddenly an opening appears.
In goes a red. Yes!
In goes a black. That’s right!
That one touched the side of the pocket. Mercy!
He’s got a kick!
I’ll say he has!
Clean the white ball please, John.
He’s regained position.
This black, and one more red and black,
Will leave his opponent needing snookers.
Who is his opponent by the way?
In they go!
Now he can relax.
The pace accelerates.
The balls begin to fly.
The colours crash to the backs of the pockets.
The cue ball moves at his command.
His right hand explores the extremes of the keyboard,
Delighting in its creative daring.
His left hand lays down a solid bass,
Every note struck with perfect accuracy.
At last he’s on the colours.
It’s academic now.
Yellow, green, brown, blue, pink and Smack!
In goes the final black.
What shall we call the tune, Fats?
I don’t know ……
Fistful of keys?
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