The one Ronnie

Ronnie O'Sullivan's back story is well known.

But we learnt something new about him last night. There have been hints. In interviews, both in print and on tv, he does not read a script. Answers are not in his head. His feelings speak.

Often he is blunt. He can be offensive. Too spicey for some. Amongst the genteel dawdlings of snooker, he comes across as a rebel. But seen objectively, he is merely an honest man. With himself and with others his assesments can be devastating - usually, they are accurate. The only time he seems to miss the mark is when he plays well; he doesn't know how to say it.

Instead he chooses to be humble, to pass praise to his opponent, or to play down his talents. Crowds gasp, Ronnie shrugs. Yeah I cut a woman in half - so what? The implication to his nonchalance is always that he knows more about snooker than us, so if he doesn't tear off his waistcoat and dance on the table after winning, neither should we.

Fair enough - we can't claim to be better judges of snooker than he. But we do know humility when we see it. We know what affection, maturity, and empathy look like. And we saw it last night.

Ronnie won the UK Masters, blowing his 19 year old off opponent Ding Junhui off the table. All that's in the papers.

What they didn't find the space to write was the dignity Ronnie showed in victory. He shocked Ding, pummelled him, mauled him. Ding was so devastated he thought the match was up to only up to 9. He went to shake Ronnie's hand, looking weak, despondent, on the verge of tears. But the execution wasn't over - the match was up to 10. Ding had just run a marathon with a boulder on his back. And now he was expected to keep going.

Ronnie put his arm around Ding and explained the situation as they walked to the dressing rooms. They looked like brothers at a funeral. Ding's confidence was in a coffin. Ronnie was would soon return and lower the rope.

The next frame was a formality. Ding stood up, bent over, took his shots. But he had nothing left. The crowd, boisterous, aggresive, partisan - unusual in snooker - were fed up. Some got on his back. His eyes rimmed red, his towel squashing periodically to his cheeks, Ding sat and watched Ronnie finish while some in the crowd moaned. They had just seen what Dennis Taylor dubbed 'one of the finest displays of snooker' he had ever seen and still they weren't happy.
Ronnie told them where to go.

"Listen mate," he said, walking around the table, facing down the bigmouth, "if you don't like it, go home." The big brother taking on the bully, and all in that cool, urbane cockney accent.

"If you don't like it, go 'ome."

The crowd roared their approval. A few more shots and the frame and match were safe. Ronnie just had to clear up. Another loudmouth. Ronnie faced him down too. This was Keane Viera stuff, wonderully prickly, exciting sport.

After the match Ronnie went straight to Ding and embraced him. His concern was genuine and warm, it was apt. It was a one guy saying to another - listen mate, I know how it is. Keep your head up.