Inside The Crucible

By Bryn Palmer
BBC Sport at The Crucible

When I told a friend I was heading to Sheffield to spend a day at the Crucible, his response was incredulous: "You saddo. I'd rather cut my own eyes out."

Each to their own I guess.

The Crucible is snooker's most famous venue

But having spent day 11 of this year's championship inside snooker's most revered arena, I have to say he's missing out.

It's claustrophobic, intense, riveting - just as I hoped.

Everything looks slightly smaller than on television - the table, the balls, even the players - or maybe that's just Anthony Hamilton.

The diminutive "Sheriff of Pottingham" began his fourth Crucible quarter-final on Tuesday, against the "Merlin of Milton" Stephen Maguire.

But my interest initially was in other last-eight encounter, Shaun Murphy against Matthew Stevens.

Both players are studies in concentration, neither giving much away in their facial expressions.

They are assured and deliberate, no sudden movements. The standard was high, the tension acute.

What you don't see on TV is how close the cameras are to the players. There are two cameramen at one end, orange extension leads attached to their backs as they move their apparatus in and out to get close-up shots.

They are barely three feet away from the table, and add to the sense of confinement.

Within 15 minutes of the session starting, a gentleman of advancing years in the second row has nodded off.

606: DEBATE Saj Chowdhury's Crucible column

He is given a nudge by his partner, but a couple of frames later, his head lolls forward again, before a burst of applause brings him round.

Murphy takes the final frame of the session to draw level at 4-4, shakes hands with Stevens, the players leave the arena and the lights are switched off on that side of the arena.

But some seasoned Crucible watchers stay put, and are rewarded a few minutes later as the dividing screen is drawn up and they get to see the final frame on the other table.

Hamilton lines up a tricky shot

There is a slightly lighter tone to proceedings here, with Maguire a more expressive presence.

He bounces round the table with small, quick steps, and jumps up and down next to a red he has just left hanging over a corner pocket, pretending to force it in.

Later, having asked referee Jan Verhaas to clean the white, he promptly leaves it out of position on the black. "What's the point in cleaning it, eh?" he quips.

That drew a smile from Hamilton, who sits in his chair, stroking his nose, looking a million miles away.

Sartorially, you feel, Maguire has the edge. The only one of the four not to wear a bow-tie, he opts for an open-neck black shirt, and the red back to his waistcoat adds to his "On Fire" moniker.

Hamilton goes for a striped grey shirt, a pink and grey bow-tie, and pink and blue tartan on the back of his waistcoat.

He also wears a white armband around his right elbow, presumably to keep his shirt off the table when he's cueing.

But "The Sheriff" punches his fist on it as he exits after dropping the final frame of the session to fall 5-3 behind, even if the gesture appears a bit Henman-esque from where I'm sitting.

A little over an hour later, spectators are filing in again for the much-anticipated afternoon session featuring John Higgins and Ronnie O'Sullivan.

Higgins has just popped into the media centre to snaffle a copy of the Daily Record to while away the last half-hour before play is due to begin.

Two bottles of Highland Spring - one sparkling, one still - are placed on the players' tables, with a cup of hot water brought out for Ronnie.

The beaming MC, Richard Beare, welcomes everyone to the Crucible, and reminds spectators of the house rules (no smoking, eating or drinking in the arena; if they need to leave, do so at the end of a frame).

He asks for, and gets, a round of applause for the BBC commentators, presenter Ray Stubbs, and studio analysts Steve Davis and John Parrott.

There then follows a five-minute pause while spectators can purchase an earpiece giving them access to that commentary, before the referees are introduced.

And then in they come: Mark Selby, "The Captain" Ali Carter, Higgins, and finally O'Sullivan, who gets the biggest cheer.

"The Rocket" is fidgety at the table. He twice gets down to play his opening shot, changes his mind each time, chalks his cue again, takes on a different red, misses it, returns to his seat, clasps his cup in both hands.

Higgins is quickly into his stride but after three good pots, referee Johan Oomen has trouble re-placing the pink in the middle of the pack, with the pink spot occupied.

O'Sullivan is a bundle of energy around the table

He spends several minutes trying to get the position exactly right, first asking Higgins if he is happy with it, who in turn asks Ronnie, who shrugs.

"Ask the commentators, they'll tell you," says The Rocket, motioning towards the booth above me. "Come on ref" shouts a spectator, playfully.

But Higgins remains patient, and proceeds to complete a 91 break to take the opening frame.

It is the little details you notice: O'Sullivan's middle finger on his left hand flickering before each shot; Higgins rubbing his hands on his towels every time he returns to his seat; the referee craftily moving a potted red from the end pocket to the middle in anticipation of a big break.

When Ronnie is at the table, Higgins stares ahead impassively. But O'Sullivan can't help but keep his eyes on the action, watching every shot with a doleful look, or fiddling with his finger nails.

As the players depart for the mid-session interval, the cloth is brushed down, and spectators start chattering.

Eirian Williams - refereeing the Selby-Carter match - immediately pops his head round the screen to deliver a stern "Sshh".

It's that kind of place, the Crucible.

More like a library at times, where you daren't even breathe too loudly. But a sporting theatre where careers are made, dreams are shattered, and drama is the watchword.