Ronnie O’Sullivan is the number one word at the age of 47. Photo: NurPhoto
It’s hard to know which word is more extraordinary. Coming into this week's UK Snooker Championship as world number one, exactly 30 years after becoming the youngest ever winner of a snooker tournament. Or be so confident that just before you turn 48, you will still be among the absolute elite of any sport.
“Stay in the top eight? I could do it in my sleep, easily… I could do it with one hand and one foot,” grins Ronnie O'Sullivan, between surveys of the world of snooker, which he has largely ruled for three decades, and caring for the multicooker. stuffed with vegetables.
“But that’s already something,” I venture.
— «What's happened?» — he says.
“Going to York is still one of the favorites in the tournament that you first won in 1993.” I can't imagine such a period in any sport. Never.”
“It’s either something… or it doesn’t say much about the opponent,” O’Sullivan replies, before emphasizing the brilliance of some opponents and the difference between a quarter-final or semi-final and being caught up in the necessary emotions. mustard» to win the Triple Crown tournament. This, he stresses, now means exploring the depths of his physical and mental determination.
“I'm not surprised that I became number one in the world,” he says. “If I thought I was beaten and couldn’t do better, I just wouldn’t play. No chance. But while I can find ways to compete, it's not a bad life. Takes me out of the house. I'll pick tournaments where I'll dig deep and the rest I'll play for fun. I make it work.”
Not that any visitor would instinctively know that he was in the home of the undisputed king of snooker.
There are two drawers of cues in the corner of the room, but there are no other visual clues to his career. His partner, Laila Rouass, stops by to say goodbye before going for a walk with their dog. “She [the dog] loves Ronnie,” Rouass says—and this is a scene of ordinary domestic life.
O' Sullivan with his partner Leila Rouass (left) Photo: Jeff Spicer/Getty Images
“What did you expect? Trophy cabinet? Temple? laughs O'Sullivan, before explaining why he prefers few reminders of an activity that constantly oscillates from daily work and social pastime to obsessive passion and ruthless tormentor.
“For me, players are sent away from the post to the post,” he says. “I'm not ready to put all my eggs in that basket because I think in sports they think about the players.
“I got rid of all my trophies. Everything is lost. I had to make a mental effort… to find a place where I could do without snooker. It's only here because I want it. You don't want to be a needy snooker player and let people look after you, mate. It’s like in “Braveheart” — you are ready to die for your freedom.”
The «they» O'Sullivan refers to are the sport's authorities at a time when China has introduced exhibitions, recently scheduled for a World Snooker Tour event in Northern Ireland. Players were duly threatened with penalties, which could include fines, bans or even expulsion if they took part. The WST says it must protect the interests of the entire tour, which includes 130 players from 20 countries.
O'Sullivan believes a crossroads has been reached and wistfully recalls a line from the film Senna, where the Brazilian talks about the thrill of «clean racing» as a child driving go-karts, before the unwanted politics of Formula 1. invade.
“Those were the best years for me,” says O’Sullivan. “When I was a kid, I cleaned my cue, ironed my shirt and shined my shoes. I won't even put on a nice suit [now]… because [some] venues are so bad that I wasn't ready to put on nice clothes. So I chose the sloppiest pair of pants, the scruffiest pair of shoes, and the scruffiest shirt. They put logos left, right and center. Everything good is destroyed. It goes in my backpack and when I get there I take it all out. Everything is crumpled up and I just put it on. I do not care. I still look good. It is what it is.”
A young O'Sullivan, dressed to impress. Photo: Mirrorpix
O'Sullivan still hopes to extend his unprecedented longevity for another ten years, but that will depend on his schedule. “I’m not just thinking about next week, I’m thinking about 10 years,” he says. “I'm not a hamster. I don't get on a hamster wheel and keep pedaling until I run out of steam and die. And then they get a new hamster.
“I like to take care of myself. [Stephen] Hendry and [Steve] Davis probably played a lot when they didn't want to. Their managers said, “You have to do this, you have to do that.” That man was my father—he's gone—and I was really just my own boss.”
It's almost impossible to overstate Ron Sr.'s paternal influence.
O'Sullivan's hero and mentor was convicted of murder in 1992, and Ron Sr.'s last words in the courtroom after receiving a minimum 18-year sentence were simply: «Tell my boy to win.»
O'Sullivan pictured with his father Ron Sr. (right)
His boy somehow did it more than once, memorably beating Hendry 10-6 at the British Championships the following year by four minutes off 85 before visiting Gartree Prison with the trophy.
O' Sullivan was only 17 at the time. He's 47 now, and I wonder if he'll want to watch that last shot again. “If you want, stay,” he says.
O'Sullivan not only plays, but is also a regular Eurosport studio pundit, so there is one obvious question. What does Ronnie's expert think about fresh-faced Ronnie?
“I look good,” he says. «Confident. Measured. Instinctive. That first red was quite good. It's seeball, potball — a bit like Luca Brecel. I was never nervous. I like playing in those situations. It was all about Hendry. I was a young guy, just turned pro and had a good week. I went to the venue. Nobody bothered me.»
O&# 39;Sullivan with the 1993 British Championship trophy
However, the longer O'Sullivan looks, the more guilt he finds.
However, gradually the situation became worse, he says. “Look at that long arm on the bridge. I got away with it, but bad habits were already accumulating. When I was 14 years old, you will see that my hand is held tightly. My play got worse from that tournament over the course of six or seven years. For me it just reminds me of the worst years. What happened next…»
Those «worst years» have been documented like never before in a stunning new documentary in which Ron Sr. and O'Sullivan's mother, Maria, speak publicly for the first time about the impact of incarceration.
With Ron Sr. described subsequent tournament appearances on television as «like a visit» from his son, so it is not surprising that O'Sullivan's relationship with the sport changed.
“I needed to succeed for different reasons — to try not to make him feel responsible or guilty for not living up to my potential,” says O’Sullivan, who describes the period from 17 to 24 as “the trauma years.” . And despite everything he has since rebuilt his life and smashed every snooker record imaginable on such a grand scale, he still doesn't feel completely safe. “Even though everything is fine and much better now, I still keep it in the back of my mind,” he says. “I think, damn, it was real. I could easily go back to this.» It still pisses me off. Now the question is, “How can I not let this consume me?” How can I play a game and then go out to dinner and just park?” I am just learning. It was complicated. If he [Ron Sr] hadn't left I might have had a much healthier attitude towards snooker. Maybe not.”
Be that as it may, O'Sullivan “acted” some parts of his career. Like when he later took a year off and somehow ended up working on a pig farm with back-to-back world titles.
“If I was a Nike athlete or a team sport and was paid by Ineos, I would probably lose my career,” he says. “I could do what I liked, when I liked. It was all part of the damn fun for everyone. What is he going to do next?
The documentary, which premiered in Leicester Square this week to a diverse audience of fans ranging from David Beckham and Ronnie Wood to Mary McCartney and Owen Farrell, is now ending. O'Sullivan's seventh world title. He then tearfully told his children, «I can't do this anymore… it's going to kill me,» but it is unknown how close he came to retirement in the 18 months since that epic triumph.
O'Sullivan with David Beckham at the premiere of the documentary. Photo: Joe Hale/WireImage
«Most of the desire was gone,» he says. «I just genuinely didn't want to go near a snooker table. I had achieved something so big. I lived for 18 months just hating it. I didn't go for about six, seven, eight months.» on the training table.
«I'd go to the club and look at the table and think, 'I can't get my cue.' I've never done this in my entire career. I thought, «Damn, maybe I've had my moment.» I thought, “There is no compulsion. I want to keep playing for the next 10 years if I can,” so I just quit. Then in August [of this year], I thought, “It’s time for me to go to Shanghai.” If I still feel like I don't want to go near the table, it might be game over.» But then I started to enjoy trying to get my game back into good shape.»
He duly won the Shanghai Masters with crushing wins over John Higgins, Mark Selby and reigning world champion Brecel in a decisive return to form.
O'Sullivan's eyes light up as he describes snooker in its simplest form: the angles and endless possibilities, the feel and smell of being in the club and that impossible quest for mastery and perfection that his father says continues to this day.< /p>“I’m happiest in the club: switching off my phone, playing snooker and messing around,” he says. “The most interesting thing is when there is no TV or anyone else, and you figure it out. I'm probably a bit of an engineer. It's not just brute force. I want to know why the ball went the way it did.
“For me it’s like flipping a switch. Once it switches, we can operate on autopilot. It's like night and day. You know it's there. You think, «Damn, I'm dangerous,» and the other guy doesn't know until sometimes it's too late.»
The downside is the agony of getting in and out of that exalted state, especially at the World Cup in the indescribably intense and intimate Crucible Theatre. That was evident in the visceral locker room footage of O'Sullivan unleashing his psychiatrist Steve Peters and friend Robbie Huxley as Judd Trump cut his lead on the final day of the 2022 final. “I feel bloody broken… I just don’t want to face it… I’m scared, mate,” says O’Sullivan. To which Peters responds: “You really need to go and play with the attitude again.”
O'Sullivan somehow regrouped to do just that, and his account of this historic final session provides a rare insight into true sporting greatness.
O'Sullivan became world snooker champion in 2022. Photo: Oli Scarff/AFP
“I wasn’t going to allow myself any doubt,” he says. “Don't blink. I was just going to commit, commit, commit, commit. Let everything else take care of itself. It was about courage. Play with a winning mindset. Think like a winner. Act like a winner. Walk like a winner. I can play shit. I can live with this. But I wasn't going to think about anything other than what the champion was thinking. It was, 'I'm going to grab this.'»
O'Sullivan admits he «didn't like what I saw most of the time» when he watched the documentary, but stresses that often he actually felt completely different emotions than the emotions that were released.
“I saw the film on the way to China, and they were interviewing the people who made the documentaries and how it basically pissed them off,” he says. “As soon as I heard this, my feelings after watching became quite normal. What I felt and what I saw are completely different. When I saw myself, I thought, “Damn, why are you doing this?” But I actually knew how I felt. And it was quite a pleasant feeling. I could go and get a job doing podcasts. I could work for Eurosport. I can go and do other things in China, but I will never have that feeling.”
And what is that feeling? «On your own. Under the most extreme pressure. Your back is against the wall and you have to go out and perform. It's the ultimate pressure. I want that height. I love to compete. I love to play… I love snooker.»
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The UK Championship is broadcast on Eurosport and Discovery+ from 25 November to 3 December, presented by Radzi Chinyaganya with analysis by Jimmy White and Alan McManus
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