breaks over a hundred, or centuries as they call them, that they
began calling me the 21st Century Boy, and started to play a jingle.
It was the sort of music my grandfather would play (I think the song
was 20th Century Boy—but imagine that, changing it for me?). It was
all good fun.
We didn’t come here for fun, though; we came here for money.
The organisers covered all the hotel bills, including food and drink,
They covered all our transport, including fights, but by day seven no
money had been paid. By our reckoning there must have been around
£20,000 according to the number of 147’s. We began to doubt they
had the funds, not expecting my doing so well.
I refused to play further until we saw some money. All kinds of ex-
cuses were given by the organisers, and this person after that person
said they had to consult their superior.
40
An Offer we Couldn’t Refuse 41
About 9pm, we were invited to meet a certain gentleman in the hotel
lobby. He had two body guards, and a couple of lackeys in tow. He
was going for the gangster look, alright. Probably because he was a
gangster. He had sunglasses on, gold chain around the neck, Rolex
watch, etc.
Scott and David Noble, didn’t waste time studying him. They were
too busy examining the two steroid kings either side of him, trying to
ascertain the level of violence they could infict. A threat enhanced
by the bulges in the left hand sides of their jackets—the tell-tale signs
of Glock 9mm’s.
We were a captive audience.
The gentleman introduced himself as ‘Mr, Fernandez’, a business
man and owner of the hotel. He spoke in Spanish and a lackey inter-
preted. (It was actually Portuguese, but who can tell the difference?)
He claimed that one of his employees further down the food chain
had overstepped the mark, and promised too much money. This, he
claimed, was a great embarrassment, a great shame, especially as he
could not possibly honour what had been promised. Times had been
hard recently. However, as a sign of good faith he was willing to pay
us $15,000 US right here, right now, as long as I continued to play for
the rest of the week.
Well, there wasn’t much choice, was there? Although, Scott did try a
rather sheepish, “Well, what do you think lads?”
Now don’t get me wrong here. Scott was as tough as they come and a
brilliant boxer. At school, he’d taught so many of us the ropes. But
here, with those two pumped up and tooled up, he had no chance.
I quickly agreed to accept the cash, and another lackey opened a suit-
case and placed it on the table. We didn’t have the effrontery to count
it, and averted our gaze looking at ‘Mr. Fernandez’ directly in the eye.
A couple of minutes later, they had left in a haze of handshakes and
smiles.
This had been a blow. It was much less than had been agreed. Plus we
42 Steiner and the Hypnotic Cue
had hoped for a bank transfer in pounds. Now we were landed with a
wad of cash. Keeping it in the room safe was out of the question.
“The second we leave that room, we’ll be robbed,” Scott prophesied
to the nodding of heads.
There was only one thing for it: a money belt. (It seemed like a good
idea when we purchased it from the hotel shop, but Scott did look a
little daft lying on the beach with a money belt.)
Then the rationalisations started.
“Well, it’s money we didn’t have before.”
“Hendry covered everything—no one’s actually out of pocket.”
“If you think about the fights and everything else, it’s not been too
bad a deal.”
“A free holiday in Brazil. Now that’s gotta be good.”
“The Masters is just next week, and you’ll win that.”
We consoled ourselves, but in our hearts we knew we had been naïve
and caught out like wee boys in the big city; intimidated by local hoods.
The next day we hastily agreed that in future demonstrations we
would demand 70% of fees up front by bank transfer before entering
the country. This didn’t always work out, but we never got ripped off
again as in Brazil.
We never saw our host again, although his two security turned up at a
couple of my shows.
CHAPTER 14
Master of the Craft
We few in relative silence to the Costão do Santinho Resort, in
Florianopolis for the Brazilian Masters, relieved to be out of the
grasp of ‘Mr Fernandez’. The adventure was continuing, but our little
hiccup in Rio knocked the wind out of sails. Over the last few days,
Scott spent a little less time on the beach and more time on the phone.
David Noble became enmeshed in his own dealings. We didn’t see him
much.
Sitting beside me, David Noble spent most of his time tapping into his
laptop, ‘making contacts and setting up deals’ as he termed it. Our ap-
proach was two pronged—try to promote snooker around the world
and enter every competition possible. Back home, Hendry would or-
ganise my tour card. Eventually, Noble snapped out of this and went
over the Masters.
The real danger man was Shaun Murphy, defending champion. He
had whitewashed Graeme Dott in the fnal and destroyed Stephen
Hendry in the semi: fve games to one. Of course, I knew something
that David Noble didn’t and I was confdent of winning. I had learned
not to be too confdent, but overall I was very relaxed as we descended
into Hercílio Luz International Airport for the three day tournament.
I was pitched against a local champ, whose name I couldn’t pronounce
in the frst round. I quickly disposed of him.
That didn’t generate too much interest, but when I dispatched Peter
Ebdon (dubbed the most boring man in snooker) in the Quarter-fnal,
the eyes of the world were upon me, or so it seemed. The TV crews
tried to interview me, but I didn’t know what to say, so I let David do
most of the talking, and he didn’t do much.
He kept repeating this maxim he devised:
43
44 Steiner and the Hypnotic Cue
“Keep yourself scarce.
Maintain the mystery.”
(Well, he claimed he invented it, but I saw him reading a book: The 48
Laws of Power, and I was sure he just copied it from there.)
By the time I had thrashed Judd Trump, the media was in a frenzy.
I, or should I say we, were a lot richer as I had notched up three 147’s.
The atmosphere in the arena was electric when Shaun Murphy en-
tered to defend his title. It was quite hot, but not that hot as the air
conditioning kept things comfortable, but as I shook his hand I no-
ticed a trickle of sweat running down his temple. He was very nervous,
and had only nine frames to hold his title, retain his pride and earn
$40,000.
I had nothing to lose. What a great position to be in.
I started to hypnotise him with the cue.
Nothing happened! Nothing!
He refused to be mesmerised and would not look my way. I concentrated
harder. He started
to get pulled towards me, but at the last second he
pulled his head away. What kind of will power did this man have? No
one was able to resist. I was sure I could even have got Fernandez to
comply.
He must have worked out my secret before the game, But how? He
must have seen the YOUTUBE clips—perhaps it was obvious from
that. Maybe he had special insight, like the Yoga Teacher.
I couldn’t count on throwing him off his game, but I knew I could still
play well enough to beat him.
He got the toss, which meant he had fve breaks to my four. There was
potential danger in this.
For the frst time since the Higgins game, an opponent took a game
from me. 75-33. I got the second with a break of 92. I was nervous
Master of the Craft 45
alright. This was the frst time I had gone under a hundred since the
Higgins game. I had lost the third, but narrowed it to 67-61. I took
the fourth and so it continued. In the eighth, I managed a 147, and
the audience exploded in applause. This unnerved Murphy somewhat,
but he had the break and the advantage.
The game looked like a repeat of his frst. He potted some. Snook-
ered me. Missed a couple of shots. I potted some, but had to resort to
snookers. He was ahead, but there was little between us. Then came
my stroke of luck, the white followed the blue into the pocket. It was
a devastating blow to Murphy whose head immediately dropped. He
knew the game was mine.
With those extra four points, I went on the rampage and pushed the
game beyond him.
The audience applauded for about ten minutes.
They positively screamed as I was presented with the trophy.
The raucousness descended into a chant ‘Destruidor, Destruidor’
(which I learned meant ‘Destroyer’).
Wow! In just a couple of weeks I’d picked up a couple of nicknames—
Destroyer and 21st Century Boy—how cool is that? Neither would
stick, but it was better than school—the best I got there was Shiner.
But what’s a few nicknames compared to hard cash and trophies?
CHAPTER 15
Duality of Opposites
I returned home to a hero’s welcome. I was in every paper and TV sta-
tion; Yahoo even had me listed on their news section. I splashed out
big time for presents for my friends and family. The money didn’t last
long. In the end, I had done a three way split with Scott and David.
Hendry received his cut of the top.
Small shakes to him.
Scott returned to work and that was that. It sad was to see him fnish
like that, but he claimed his family came frst.
David Noble seemed to manage fne, even turning up at Rileys to earn
a few bob.
But he was incessant in his organising.
It soon paid off. He managed to secure for me some sponsorship deals.
Of course he then requested his cut be raised to 15%. No problem—
the money was rolling in.
A few days later, Hendry called us to his house for a meeting. He had
important news. He wouldn’t discuss it on the phone.
I got the train down from Elgin and David Noble drove up from Dun-
fermline.
Hendry’s gifts lay in the world of snooker, not words. Still he tried the
old, and very tired, “I’ve got some good news and bad news,” speech,
which, like all of these openers, had no real ‘good news’. You would
think, wouldn’t you, that someone, somewhere could come up with a
better line that than one?
The gist of it was that they were not giving me a tour card. I needed to
earn it. I thought I had. But no, that was a non-ranked competition.
Then, he said, there was a bizarre accusation: Murphy had com-
46
Duality of Opposites 47
plained that I had to hypnotised him during the game. I froze; a
cold sweat trickled down my back; I had been found out. Would I be
banned?
But Hendry told us that it had been rejected out of hand. I breathed
a sigh of relief.
Unluckly for me, it had made the Association reticent about giving
me a tour card. They wanted no hostility or controversy on a Main
Tour.
“What’s the good news?” I asked.
“Well … , ” he replied, “the word is you will get an invite to the Mas-
ters at the Alexandra Palace … that’s the big one. They have also
suggested joining the European Tour as an amateur and getting a tour
card in the qualifers.”
We left.
Thinking time again. I was mad.
So, Murphy had all but fgured it out. Luckily for me, the story was
so incredible, no-one would believe it.
What other surprises were in store? What of Chris and the girl? Chris
was fne, but the ‘Illuminati’ girl concerned me. Would she blab to the
others in the ‘Biggest Coven in Dunfermline?’
I also balanced this against my run of success. Everything I had want-
ed was coming to pass, despite the hiccups.
Driving to the train station, David Noble could see I was troubled by
my thoughts.
“Don’t worry,” he soothed. “I really have got some good news.
“Oh?” I responded with a tone of hope in my voice.
“Listen, I’ve been working for weeks now on setting up contacts and
getting things going. Just look at the sponsorship. There’s more to
come, let me tell you.”
48 Steiner and the Hypnotic Cue
“Uh-huh. . . ”
“Well, that Brazilian deal wasn’t just a one off.”
“But … “
“I know that it wasn’t great, but I’ve put together a number of deals
just like it—with sponsorship to follow.”
“Where about?” I enquired.
“All over the place … all kinds of countries … you are a sensation.
You’re famous world-wide. They want to see you play.”
“That’s great.”
“Too right it is. Now if you agree, we leave in about three weeks for
Uzbekistan.”
“Where’s that?”
“Way over there—near Russia—look it doesn’t matter. We’ll be there
for about a week and then Turkey and then China …”
“Wow … and then to … ?”
“There’s a few things in the pipe-line—almost about to seal some deals.
But, I tell you now, the chances are we won’t be back here before
Christmas.”
“And all of them have offered big sponsorship deals?” I asked barely
believing the good news—sponsorship—money for nothing.
“Yes, in Turkey a bank there called ‘Garanti’ have offered £150,000
just to sport their logo for three weeks and travel around the country,
and play a few games here and there.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“So, up for it then?”
“Oh … Yes.”
I was up for it all right.
CHAPTER 16
In the Bleak Midwinter
The next few months passed in haze of airports, hotels, venues, and
applause butted together with some sightseeing. The money poured in.
I got into the habit of doing TV interviews. Often the interviewers,
who were usually very nice looking young women, woul
d ask the ques-
tions in English, and then say something to the camera in their own
language. I never said too much, but my confdence grew. I soon for-
got about the ginger girl with the dyed black hair and Murphy—what
could they do when I was abroad?
I also got into the habit of understanding the banking business.
Much of the time the promoters and organisers refused to pay us
by international transfer to the account we had set up in Scotland.
So, more often than not, the frst port of call in a new country was
to a bank. It was often tedious, but in some banks the process was
smoothed along by an ‘important person’. We discovered there was
many a ‘Mr Fernadez’ out there. Fortunately, we didn’t really get
ripped off, although a few payments for 147’s did not always materi-
alise.
David reminded me that all these bank accounts were a good thing. It
meant we could avoid a lot of tax when we returned home, if we gently
trickled the money into our Scottish Bank Accounts.
I had already paid tax on the sponsorship deals I had back home—I
couldn’t believe how much they robbed me!
David further explained to me the joys of becoming a tax-exile in
Switzerland.
Well, this was something for the future. In the meantime, it was well
into December and we headed home for Christmas.
49
50 Steiner and the Hypnotic Cue
Christmas in Scotland was brutal.
It was dark, wet, gloomy and depressing. The glamour of the last few
months made home seem very bleak.
In some ways I enjoyed it. It was nice to be around people who spoke
the same language. For months, Noble was the only person with whom
I had proper conversations.
It was also good spending money. We couldn’t really buy anything, as
we were ‘living out of suitcases’. Although I did buy a Omega watch,
James Bond style, in Istanbul.
I set my sights on buying a car, but, of course, I couldn’t drive. I didn’t
even have a provisional licence.
I wasn’t all that popular in the media anymore having spent three
months abroad. Things change fast. David and Hendry did their best
to get me back into the limelight.
I felt a bit down, but then I thought of the money. That cheered me
up no end.
I popped down to Fife for a few days with Scott and told him all about
our adventures.
Back in Elgin, I phoned up David Noble to see if he could arrange
another tour somewhere.
No was the short answer.
The long version was he needed a break. He had to spend time with
his family over Christmas and New Year.
He also pointed out that we could only continue to showcase abroad
on the back of winning competitions. Hendry had managed to get me
a place on the Masters, and I had better get trained up, as I had not
faced serious competition since Shaun Murphy.
With just a few weeks to go, it was back to Auchterarder for intense