The Brotherhood of Bald-Headed Snooker Players

Father Ebdon raises his cue

in solemn benediction.

"May Steve Davis be gracious

unto you, Brother Bingham".

Cowled night owl Brother Brecel

secretly brews Duvel:

distinctively hoppy

strong-assed golden ale.

In the monastery tower,

Brothers Dott and Hawkins

take pot-shots at the seagulls,

sick to death of all the squawkins.

The last Judd Trump is blasting out.

Nothing for it but to pray

to that most holy trinity:

the Worlds, Masters and UK.

B.R. 27.01.2023

Clockwise from top left: Father Ebdon invites you to chalk his cue (quite forcefully, by the looks of it); Brother Bingham has a handy T-shirt he can look down at if he ever forgets which sport he's playing; Brother Brecel stares into the yawning black abyss of  a corner pocket and comes to the realisation that everything is ultimately pointless; Brother Dott takes a seat and looks on incredulously while his opponent Father Ebdon takes a whole five minutes to compile a break of 12.