Snooker Loopy

After a good dinner of John Dory (he'd had a good innings), sauteed potatoes, minted peas washed down with a rather fine bottle of Chablis I settled down to satisfy my audio visual requirements. I watched some tv. 

The snooker was on. It was reassuring in these days of reality-talent-DIY-cooking shows to see something so simple as a tv-shaped game of snooker on the telly. Everything looked the way it did twenty odd years ago when I used to watch it avidly. 

Ronnie O'Sullivan, the greatest player in the history of the game, was playing a blinder. He was virtually unplayable. There was no sign whatsoever of a celebrity panel voicing their opinion on proceedings. The winner was decided by who won the most frames and there was no ability for viewers to change the result by voting for their favourite. 

All very strange. Is it any wonder poor Ronnie is bored off his tits?