Nick Metcalfe reflects on the history of the World Snooker Championship and the Crucible Theatre, where pilgrims flock to witness another 'marathon of the mind'.
I'm in the final now, you know.
Good luck, mate.
It happened in black and white.
He's beginning to annoy me.
Snooker from the Gods.
Winner, winner, chicken dinner.
*****
It says something about the profound impact the World Snooker Championship at the Crucible has had on so many of our lives that all it takes to recount some of its greatest tales are a few short soundbites. Oh, don't worry if one or two have slipped your mind, there'll be a reminder at the end.
The annual 17-day tournament in Sheffield - "the marathon of the mind" as commentator Clive Everton so brilliantly christened it - really is one of the great constants.
While so many events have left free to air television over the years - like the Open Championship, England Test matches, Formula One and the Ryder Cup - there's one great springtime tradition that remains blessedly unchanged and available for everyone.
And it really is a gruelling marathon for all concerned. Players, officials, fans. With the exception of this year, for sadly obvious reasons, we really do live and breathe snooker from the middle of April until the May Day bank holiday. Starting at ten o'clock in the morning and often lasting until the witching hour. And we wouldn't want it any other way. It's an immersive experience that is quite unlike anything else in sport.
Because of the natural longevity of most snooker careers, the players have a great permanence about them too. They've been there in our living rooms for decades. Even the ones who eventually stopped tend to pop up in the commentary box.
In the eighties, John Virgo was a top player, and did impressions of his fellow stars on the side. Now, he still warns us when the cue ball might be dropping into a pocket. Dennis Taylor waggled his finger to say "I told you so" after winning the most famous snooker match ever played in 1985. Two generations on, he tells us about old players he's caught up with lately or golf matches he's taken part in. Then there's Steve, Stephen, Ken, John, Neal. No surnames required.
So much repeatedly changes in all our lives. Places, people, homes, jobs. But not JV, Dennis and the others from Planet Snooker. They wouldn't dare take them away.
For those who go to the Crucible, which has hosted the tournament since 1977, it feels more like a pilgrimage than a mere visit. We fondly remember our first time. We wax lyrical about the last. And we're always planning for the next. It's probably close to being an addiction actually.
You can feel the history there, even when it's empty. Alex Higgins crying for his baby. An ashen-faced Jimmy White sitting in the losing corner time after time. Ronnie O'Sullivan smashing in a 147 in five minutes. It's all happened there, 'in that room' as Shaun Murphy has put it. The venue helps to give the event a context and meaning that no money could ever buy, and frankly it's why many of us would see a move away from Sheffield as sacrilege.
Many people only meet at that place every year. Never mind Christmas, see you back here next spring. Families sit in the same seats for decades. The arena is so cramped that if the tournament was starting up now, it's hard to believe the venue would even be considered. There aren't even a thousand seats there. But the Crucible has an ambience and atmosphere all of its own, that makes it a treasured, iconic home for the game.
Those fans who attend the event are only a small minority of course. For most people, it's just a great television ritual. The rhythms are so comfortingly familiar, with the conclusion of the tournament as much a part of the British sporting year for millions of viewers as the Six Nations, FA Cup final and Wimbledon.
For ever and a day, the peerless David 'it's wages time' Vine guided us through the action from the presenter's chair. For the last 20 years we've been in the very capable hands of the exemplary Hazel Irvine.
It's such a staging post in our lives, too. I grew up watching Steve Davis dominate throughout the eighties. I sat in a university bar when White missed that black in the final frame against Stephen Hendry in 1994. By the time I started work, the fabled Class of 92 - O'Sullivan, Mark Williams and the other Higgins, John - were winning titles for fun. I saw the Stuart Bingham fairytale and that incredible Higgins v Williams final in 2018, surely the greatest of them all, from the press seats.
I know many of you reading this will be the same. You'll probably have forgotten some jobs. You'll struggle to place some faces from the past. But watching Graeme Dott outlast Peter Ebdon in the 2006 final that finished at one o'clock in the morning - oh, you'll know where you saw that all right.
We all know sport is a triviality - heaven knows, this coronavirus crisis has certainly hammered that message home - but it feels so relevant because we've all invested so much time and emotion into it.
We'll miss the event enormously over the coming weeks. And we just hope we get to enjoy the tournament a few months from now instead.
The World Championship and the Crucible have been a perfect match. Long may both reign.
*****
I'm in the final now, you know - Terry Griffiths to David Vine after reaching the 1979 showpiece.
Good luck, mate - BBC commentator Jack Karnehm before Cliff Thorburn potted the black for a first Crucible 147 break in 1983.
It happened in black and white - Steve Davis reflecting on that deciding frame against Dennis Taylor in the 1985 world final.
He's beginning to annoy me - Jimmy White after losing, yet again, to Stephen Hendry in the 1994 final.
Snooker from the Gods - Clive Everton describing a magnificent 1999 semi-final between Stephen Hendry and Ronnie O'Sullivan.
Winner, winner, chicken dinner - Stuart Bingham after beating Shaun Murphy to win the 2015 title.