Interview: Jimmy White

I arrived at the Royal Surrey Snooker Club in plenty of time. I could feel my heartbeat racing.

A tall, older gentleman greeted me and led me down a long corridor, decorated with portrait pictures of luminaries from snooker's 'golden age' from the 1980s to early 90s. All were displayed in impressive, ornate frames that would not have looked out of place in the National Gallery.

As we reached the top of the stairs, a huge space filled with poker tables opened up before my eyes.

"Jimmy, it's the guy from Eurosport for you!" he said.

"Hi Jimmy," I called out.

The Whirlwind got up from his game of his cards and came to greet me. His handshake was soft and gentle, while that of his manager Kevin Kelly was considerably firmer.

White had asked what I would like from him, and I explained I had in mind a simple, general chat recorded over a frame or two.

"Oh no! I can't," he exclaimed. "I've just sent my cue to Parris (the cue makers) to get it re-tipped."

My heart sank, but any disappointment was tempered by the elation I felt at being in his company.

Fearing that this could be my one and only chance to play the great Whirlwind, and charged by my editor to actually beat him, I spoke up.

"You can use mine!" I said.

With a loud bellowing laugh, White responded. "No, I can't. I've got to have my own cue to play."

And so we talked while he played cards, his large hands with fingers like thick pork sausages holding a winning set splayed out perfectly like a peacock's plumage.

I understood that he needed his cue to play. Long gone are the days when he would borrow a different cue each time he visited Zan's club in Tooting as a young schoolboy.

Even when players started refusing to let him borrow theirs (probably through resentment at his natural ability and skill) he once resorted to using a walking stick he had acquired after breaking his ankle through a mistimed hurdle of a ticket barrier on the tube from fare-dodging. He could still pot balls with it like nobody else though.

But those days are gone. Your cue is like an appendage - an extension of your own body - and using anyone else's just isn't the same.

Much to my relief White allayed my disappointment by offering an open invitation to pop down and give him a game anytime.

These days, White is down at the club practising four to six hours a day, everyday. No longer can he survive on a mere couple of hours at the practise table as he did in his prime.

With it being a game of touch and feel that requires immense focus and concentration, you have to keep at it. Especially with the super-quick modern cloths.

The hours put in appear to be reaping rewards. Jimmy qualified for the first two tournaments this year, which is no mean feat given the number of rising young stars in the game, and only narrowly missed out on the recent Bahrain Championship.

With the sharp increase of time spent in training it's a good thing he is still enjoying it. "That's the main thing," he said.

I could sense he still has a competitive edge from the card game he was playing. His ability to spot any errors in his playing partner's dealing while I fired a barrage of questions at him was uncanny.

Jimmy has his own private practise room at the Royal Surrey club, which is resplendent with classic memorabilia.

The walls are covered in an array of pictures including stylish black and white photographs with him and his old mate Alex 'Hurricane' Higgins and many others.

There are blown up poster-sized images from front-page glossy lads mags and computer game endorsements, plus giant-sized prize-winning cheques for vast sums.

Visiting sparring partners to his abode at present include David Gray, Barry Hawkins and Tony Drago - who provide good quality match practice for upcoming visits to Sheffield, with qualifiers for the UK Championship, and Masters on the horizon (barring the possibility of a wildcard entry for the latter).

White won the UK Championship, his biggest ranking tournament success, back in 1992 and described how if he got through the qualifiers in the first week of December he would progress to play Ronnie O'Sullivan which would be "a dream come true".

How strange to hear such an ambition, when not that long ago 'The Rocket' would have used similar words about the prospect of playing the great White himself. But such is the precocious ability of the current world number one that even the most glowing of tributes from the former world number two do not seem misplaced.

There's also the qualifiers for the World Championships, snooker's biggest prize, in the north Wales coastal town of Prestatyn, to look forward to.

White has played on-and-off at the Pontin's holiday camp there for over 33 years and as my family home is now in the bordering county of Conwy we made general chit-chat about the area.

I recalled a story in the local paper that he once visited a Royal British Legion in Llandudno to do a little practise but was refused. A league match was taking place and as one of the players had travelled some distance a suspension in play, even for Jimmy, was not deemed appropriate. White took the opportunity to put the record straight. He understood and accepted the decision as opposed to feeling aggrieved as reported in the press.

Seizing the chance to increase my chances of playing him once again, with a wry smile I explained that should the scenario happen again he'd be very welcome at my old club, the Crosville Social.

After subliminally mentioning the World Championships earlier with reference to the qualifiers I tentatively broach the subject once more but this time referring to the past rather than the future.

"Ask me anything you like," he said, picking up on my unease at raising the sore subject. "Relax!"

On the disappointment of losing the 1992 final 18-14 after leading 14-8, and again in '93 when he was thrashed 18-5 with a session to spare, he simply shrugged off the reminder aside saying, "Well, he played well did (Stephen) Hendry".

I detaied the agony I felt the following year when I watched on, sometimes peering through the gaps of my fingers such was the unbearable tension. Again he lost, in one of the most dramatic finals ever, 18-17 after missing a routine black off the spot in the deciding frame.

White remains philosophical. "It's only sport though, these things happen", he said. He reminded me that he is "not finished yet" and that the question of how he feels about the World Championships and those finals should be reserved for when he has stopped playing.

When it comes to recent changes in the game he believes the absence of tobacco sponsorship and the smoking ban itself are no bad things with youngsters looking up to snooker stars as role models.

And White believes the massive popularity the game now has in China needs to be utilised as far as sponsorship deals are concerned - although he draws the line at the idea of the World Championship ever moving away from the Crucible.

Before leaving the Royal Surrey club I was invited to a game with a prodigy of Jimmy's by the name of Jake Gill. As I entered Jimmy's magical haven the promising 17-year old was doing the 'line-up' before his father Colin, who welcomed me as I first entered the club, racked the balls up.

I lost the match 2-0 but by no means disgraced myself. By the time we were finished another media outfit had arrived to film and interview White.

After packing my cue back in its case I went back to thank White and his manager for being so generous with their time.

"It's a dream come true," I told him. White responded with his customary farewell greeting which was also the phrase my father used to teach me the left-to-right positioning of the green, brown and yellow. "God Bless You!" he said.