Читать книгу Life in the Frame - Ken Doherty - Страница 12

In order to turn professional in the late 1980s you had to come through the Pro Ticket Series. These were a number of tournaments that had their own ranking list from which the top 24 contested play-offs to get on the main tour. I went into them full of confidence. I’d been doing well in pro-am events, felt happy about my game and was building a good reputation so I fancied my chances of turning pro in time for the 1989/90 season, as did my supporters.

But it all went wrong. I got to the quarter-finals of the play-offs but lost 5-1 to Dave Harold, who is still a very difficult player to beat, and that was my dream crushed, or so it felt. I would have to wait a whole year to try again while players like my friend Stephen Murphy had made it on to the tour. For them it was the most exciting time of their lives, for me a huge disappointment. Maybe I’d got carried away with my own reputation, or what I thought my reputation was.

Pat Caulfield, my mate who travelled with me, said that there was another way on to the circuit, by winning the World Amateur Championship. To get into that I’d have to win the Irish amateur title and that felt like a huge step backwards. I’d left Ireland to go and live in Ilford, so I considered it an embarrassment to go back, my tail between my legs, like I’d failed.

I was very down about losing to Dave Harold. I’d been so excited about the prospect of turning pro and it hadn’t worked out. But I knew I still loved snooker and wanted to make a go of it. I had to snap myself out of the sulk I was in. When Pat first suggested playing in the Irish Championship as a way of getting into the world amateurs I turned round to him and said, ‘Fuck the Irish Championship.’ That’s the frame of mind I was in but it wasn’t the right attitude. So I went back to Ireland, entered the amateur championship and won it, beating Anthony O’Connor in the final. That meant I could go to Singapore for the World Amateur Championship but I was to make a foray to another foreign location before that.

When I was at the Isle of Wight playing in the Pro Ticket Series, a guy came up and introduced himself. His name was Curly Mick (obviously a nickname) and he explained that he’d seen me playing and wondered if I’d be interested in entering the World Under-21 Championship, which was due to be held in Reykjavik, Iceland. I said I hadn’t heard of the event and in any case I couldn’t afford to go. I’d earned £2,500 at Prestatyn for winning the Pontins Open but I wanted to hang on to a bit of money to tide me over. He offered to pay for my flight and hotel so of course I jumped at the chance to go.

I ended up winning the title, beating Jason Ferguson 9-3 in the final. The whole event was an adventure. I’d barely been anywhere outside Ireland and the UK before, so it was an eye-opener. It also exposed me to what could come my way in terms of attention if I did join the pro ranks. The matches were shown on Icelandic TV so when we went out to a bar we’d be recognised, which wasn’t something I’d anticipated. I was signing autographs and felt like a star. It was great fun.

There was a player in the tournament called Ollie King, who was a good-looking lad and so got quite a bit of attention. He was in the toilets in one nightclub having a pee and some fans rushed in after him to get his autograph, so he was urinating with one hand and signing his name with the other.

I’d never had any sort of attention before and I realised that snooker was a sport that could give you a certain profile and earn you admirers. It made me even more determined to turn professional and be a part of that world. I wasn’t interested in fame for the sake of it but to be admired for your profession, for your skill, was something that appealed, just as I’d admired footballers and guys in snooker like Alex Higgins.

I went to Singapore for the World Amateur Championship full of confidence having already won the world junior title. I shared a room with Anthony O’Connor and beat him in the last 16 before making it to the final, where I defeated Jonathan Birch 11-2. He didn’t take the defeat too well. In fact he cried his eyes out. He’d been tipped for great things as England’s next great amateur star who could possibly rise to the top of the professional game but I hammered him and he didn’t like it. Well, why would he?

Singapore is a country I might never have visited but for snooker. I made some great friends there and experienced a different culture, which I always enjoy. But the trip was also an important one for my career. It made me realise that losing to Dave Harold was a blessing in disguise because it enabled me to play in the world junior and world amateur championships, and winning the two of them was a real boost of confidence. It also gave me more stature in the snooker world. I was the best amateur player on the planet and so the guys in the professional ranks would have to sit up and take notice of me when my time came.

I’m still the only player in the game’s history to have won the world junior, world amateur and world professional titles, which is a proud achievement. I’m amazed that it’s a record that has stood for over two decades. But back in 1989 I had no idea that Crucible glory awaited me. I just wanted to be part of the professional scene and my amateur victory meant that this was now going to happen.

Having won the world amateur title, I was invited to play the former world champion Fred Davis in a play-off in July 1990. If I won that I’d be on the professional circuit. It was exciting because this was my dream. I was confident because Fred, though one of the legendary names in the sport, was in his late seventies by this time and I would be a heavy favourite. As it turned out, Fred decided to retire, so I didn’t have to play him and turned pro automatically.

My professional career began in September 1990 at the Norbreck Castle Hotel in Blackpool. This was the year before the game went open so there were still only 128 players on the circuit. I didn’t care how many there were – I was just excited to be taking these first steps. There was a wave of anticipation following me because I was world amateur champion and people were looking to see how I’d do. It was hard not to get caught up in that and I maybe put myself under a bit of pressure by listening to people making predictions and building me up.

I got off to a terrible start. I lost my first qualifying match 5-2 to a player called Jason Smith. A couple of days later I lost another qualifier, 5-1 to Dave Gilbert. It was a real baptism of fire. I’d had that arrogance of youth and assumed I’d just go in there and roll these guys over but they were seasoned campaigners who played hard match snooker, keeping you out with effective safety, and I wasn’t ready for that. I hadn’t done my homework and felt like I’d walked into a brick wall. It was gruesome. I learned a lesson because I’d fallen into the trap of believing the hype. I wasn’t giving my opponents the respect they deserved and it backfired on me.

In the end, I qualified for two events, the Mercantile Classic and European Open, and then later in the season I reached the Crucible, all of which helped me to rise to 51st in the rankings after my first season.

Looking back, I was very naive in my expectations of what life would be like on the professional circuit. I thought it would all be red carpets, cameramen everywhere and glamour. Instead, it was freezing cold Blackpool in wintry October with hardly anyone watching as you slugged it out in the qualifiers in small, soulless cubicles.

I’d been hitching lifts to pro-ams for a while with Mark King and his dad, Bill, who would start coming to tournaments with me even if Mark wasn’t playing. Bill drove me from Ilford to Blackpool in those early days, and he was a real character and great company. He was a bit of a ducker and diver, an Arthur Daley type who sold stuff out of the back of his Volvo, like tracksuits, alcohol and cigarettes. Bill became a father figure for me and he knew about the game so as well as looking after me, we could talk snooker. He was good to have around – apart from when we shared rooms. He snored so much he was like a big grizzly bear. But he would always have tales to tell about his army days in Egypt and kept my spirits up, helping prepare me for games and keeping my confidence high.

With Bill on board I didn’t have to worry about getting to tournaments. I’d just hop in the car and he’d get me there. It took some of the early pressure off and allowed me to concentrate on my snooker. Because he was older, he was a calming influence and ensured I didn’t go off the rails. Had I gone around with someone of my own age they’d probably have wanted to be checking out bars and chasing after women. Some of the guys in Ilford were like that but not Bill. I liked doing those things but realised I had to wait until after tournaments and not do it before or especially during a competition. Bill kept me on the straight and narrow in that respect.

I’ve seen so many good players, even when I was a kid starting off, with bags of potential who just wasted it. They didn’t put in the hours practising because they wanted to be out partying. Some of them thought they’d made it before they actually had. Even when they turned professional they thought they’d arrived, not realising that in fact they had to work harder than ever to keep improving. There is always something to strive for in sport. Even if you reach the very top and become world champion, you still have to work hard to stay there. That’s what the likes of Steve Davis and Stephen Hendry did. They were not only fantastic snooker players but had an unshakeable desire to remain at the top and keep winning titles. When they won a tournament they put it to the back of their minds and got on with the next one. It’s a great shame to think that so many talented young players have pissed away their opportunities by drinking, messing about and not giving the game the respect it deserves. Sport is about hard work and you truly only get out what you put in. The worst thing in life is to look back and think about what could have been. As a young player I could recognise that and knew I didn’t want to fall into that category. Having made sacrifices to come over to the UK I wanted to give my pro career my best possible shot.

My first TV match was against Eddie Charlton at the Mercantile Classic in Bournemouth. It was fitting because Eddie had been the first professional I’d ever played, when I was a kid. I beat him 5-2 but it was a weird experience playing in an arena with the bright TV lights and the cameras moving around. I couldn’t believe how much they moved when you were on a shot. It was off-putting because I wasn’t used to it and it’s the same for the young lads today who experience that for the first time. But it wasn’t overawing. I enjoyed it and wanted to keep coming back for more. Jimmy White beat me in the quarter-finals but I knew I’d be back. Although it took some adjusting to playing in the TV arena, I felt I would be comfortable there. I preferred it to the Blackpool cubicles.

To reach the Crucible I had to win five matches, although my first opponent withdrew. In the final qualifying round I beat Cliff Wilson 10-5 to get through to play Steve Davis, who beat me 10-8. After a slow start to the season my performances had seen me rise to 51st in the rankings. It wasn’t the best campaign considering all the things I’d been tipped to do as world amateur champion but at least I had recovered from those early defeats and given myself something to build on.

My second season, in 1991/92, was more successful. I won the qualifying event for the Masters, which got me through to Wembley for the first time. I reached two ranking tournament semi-finals and the Irish Masters final, and although I missed out on the Crucible when Peter Francisco beat me in the qualifiers, I rose to 21st in the rankings, with a great chance to break into the top 16. Players today don’t seem to make that sort of breakthrough as quickly but I think that’s because of the way standards have risen. There was more dead wood around when I turned pro but the guys in the qualifiers are much tougher now.

Going up the rankings is all very well but you don’t really arrive in any sport until you’ve won something. My first ranking title came in my third season when I captured the 1993 Welsh Open. It remains a very special moment in my career. I still have the draw sheet on the wall where I practise and it’s weird looking at some of the names on it, most of whom no longer play on the tour.

The Welsh was my first success but it could have been the Grand Prix at the Hexagon Theatre in Reading, one of the established events screened on the BBC. In 1992 I beat Willie Thorne, Steve Davis and Terry Griffiths to play one of my idols, Jimmy White, in the final. I lost 10-9 but it was a cracking match. As you can imagine, the atmosphere was electric and I more than held my own. I made a huge break to force the decider but never got a really good chance to win it. Even though I ultimately missed out, I loved the experience of playing in the final. I felt that this was where I belonged – in the big time. I don’t remember being nervous, or at least not so nervous that I couldn’t hold my cue. I competed well but just came up short in the end.

However, it was only three months or so until I put things right in Newport. I started off my Welsh Open campaign by scraping past Steve James 5-4, then beat Gary Wilkinson 5-3 and had two good wins, over John Parrott and James Wattana, to reach the final. There I was up against Alan McManus. Alan was one of the best players of the time and very tough to beat. We had a right old scrap but I managed to beat him 9-7 and picked up a cheque for £27,000. I know that isn’t a fortune compared with the bigger tournaments but it was the most I’d ever won and to get my hands on a trophy was a lovely feeling, just the best you can have as a sportsman.

I was only 23 and didn’t have a big entourage with me. It was just me, Pat Caulfield and Bill King. We went to the post-final reception and then had a drink in the hotel. I don’t think the final was broadcast in Ireland but they were still proud as punch when I took the trophy home the next day. So many people had talked about me as a potential tournament winner but until you actually do it there’s always that bit of doubt whether you’re really up to it. Even then there weren’t loads and loads of tournaments and each one was very difficult to win. It was a tough era with Stephen Hendry as top dog, Steve Davis still playing very well, the likes of Parrott and White, McManus, Wattana and some of the old guard like Terry Griffiths, Dennis Taylor and Alex Higgins still hanging on. To win a tournament from that sort of field was an achievement to be proud of. It was a new era for snooker because it had just gone open. Anyone could now be a professional if they paid a membership fee and entry fees, so the circuit expanded from 128 players to around 700. Hendry had taken Davis’s mantle and revolutionised the game in terms of the way it was played. Then you had Ronnie O’Sullivan, John Higgins and Mark Williams, who were all teenagers at the time, breaking through.

Those early days on the professional circuit were great times. I had come over to the UK with just £500 in my pocket, thinking it would last me a long time. Suddenly I was earning big money at a time when snooker was still second only to football on television. I’d been offered a management contract by IMG when I turned professional. They would guarantee me £25,000 per year regardless of what I earned on the table, but I ended up making a lot more than that. It was an insurance policy and it meant I didn’t have anything to worry about, which was a great help because I could focus on playing. I’ve always been pretty level-headed and although the money excited me, it didn’t go to my head as it has done to some other players. I didn’t go out and buy a flash car. My first motor was a Ford Escort Eclipse. The first thing I wanted to buy was my own place, so I bought an apartment in Dublin.

I’d had a Halifax account, which I’d opened with the £500 I’d brought over with me. After a couple of years there was something like £60,000 in it. I couldn’t believe it was actually mine and kept looking at the statements to check it was right. I didn’t even have a credit card, just a bank book, and I’d take out money when I needed it. If I was tempted to go mad and start splashing the cash around, then I’m happy to say that I resisted. I can understand why other players do go a little crazy because most are working-class lads who have never really had much money and the snooker authorities don’t give us any advice about what to do when we start earning large amounts. We’re not advised about making investments or anything like that – we have to figure it out for ourselves. I think this is why so many players have been ripped off by so-called managers over the years, because they have more money than they know what to do with and put their trust in people who want to exploit them. Fortunately, I’d always been good with money and knew that just because I might earn £200,000 one year, it didn’t mean I’d earn the same amount the following year.

After three years with IMG I signed for CueMasters – later 110sport – which was then run by Ian Doyle and subsequently by his son, Lee. They appealed to me because they knew the game inside out. They were already looking after Stephen Hendry and several other players and they were good at finding sponsors and making you money off the table.

I built up a good relationship with Ian Doyle and John Carroll, who ran things for the company on the circuit, from the start and have been with the company ever since. Even when contracts were up I didn’t have to sign a new one. It was taken for granted that I would stay with them and that suited me because it meant there wasn’t too much legal stuff or formality. Ian would always say that whenever I wanted to leave I could and that he wouldn’t hold me to any contract. We trusted each other and, even more importantly, we liked each other.

Stephen Hendry was the no.1 for Ian. This was understandable as he’d mentored him from a young age and Stephen was winning everything at that time. It was obvious that Stephen was the star of the stable but it never bothered me like it did some of the other players. Some of them couldn’t understand it but I’d tell them that, to me, I was top dog, not Stephen, and that they should look at it the same way. A lot of other players just bitched about it because they didn’t like the fact that Ian was the sort of character who liked the sound of his own voice. It annoyed a lot of players but that’s just how he was. He was larger than life and players should have thought about what he was actually doing for them off the table, not what he was saying to the press.

I didn’t always see it like that, however. When Steve Davis beat me 6-0 at Goffs in 1997 Ian called me a lazy bastard in the newspapers and said I didn’t put the work in. That got my back up but he did me a favour because although it hurt and our relationship hit a low ebb as a result, it inspired me and I went on to win the World Championship. Ian knew what he was doing all along. He knew how to motivate his players, the things he could say to trigger the reaction he was looking for. He was meticulous as a manager, involving himself in every aspect of your career and your life, but he was good for me and I have much to thank him for. I don’t always agree with everything Ian says but I like him a lot and we’ve had a great relationship. He has a good heart. He still loves snooker even though he’s pretty much retired. I’m glad I signed for him.

My victory in the Welsh Open and encouraging performances in the other events meant that I joined the elite top 16 – the group of players excused from having to qualify for the major tournaments – after only three seasons on the tour. It meant I was no longer a member of the game’s supporting cast but now a leading player in my own right. Now the other top players were looking at me more as an equal than a rising star.

With my confidence high and my career on the up and up, I set my sights on achieving every snooker professional’s dream: winning the World Championship.