One For The Splattman!

A friend I made through playing pool died a few weeks ago.

His nickname was Splattman because his second name was Platt and it rhymed and also because it’s a rule that all pool players must have nicknames. Hence the bizarre looks I sometimes get from work colleagues when I’m chatting to one of my Surrey pool-playing mates on the phone and I go off on tangents about Nosher, Noggsy, Spindle, The O, Strivdog, Petulance, Textbook, Bullet, Slippery or Shaggy.

The Splattman played for Berkshire and he was always a determined player on the table and he often beat more talented players because of his sheer will to win. His story of becoming a county A Team player was a triumph of will over ability in the best sense of the phrase, but win or lose he’d always have a pint and a chat and a joke.

One of my friends even gave him a new nickname at one tournament we were both playing in when he realised that with his big specs and his prominent nose he looked like me. When I told Splattman the rest of the boys thought he looked like me and he’d been christened ‘Brooksy’s dad’ by the Surrey contingent, he pondered for a moment before commenting that he didn’t realise his looks had gone so far downhill. Funny fucker…

Anyway… there was a big national tournament at the weekend and my former team made the semi-finals and in memory of the Splattman many of the people at the event were sporting little badges bearing a picture of a pint of Guinness, which was his favourite tipple, and the message ‘One for the Splattman’.

As I’m in semi-retirement I didn’t go to the event at the weekend but a friend furnished me with one of the badges last night and I belatedly had a couple of pints for you.

Rest in peace mate...