Long lines are the bane of Rex's existence; he despises them, but that is the life of an adult. Finally, when it's his turn, he signs his name and pays the fee. His ban from snooker ended yesterday, just in time for the world championships. Rex never was the number one player in the world; the most he managed was reaching the second spot during the 1982-1983 season. He had been runner-up four times, in 1974, 1980, 1982, and 1983, with losses of 18-17, 18-16, 18-15, and 18-6—the last one being a devastating loss to Julian. He has won the Masters and the UK Championship, two big events, several times, but the grand event of all has escaped his grasp multiple times. Not a single day passes without him thinking of it.

"Oh look, if it isn't the Rocket," Rex's blood began to boil again once he saw him: Cornelius 'The Viper' Thorncroft, the snooker tour organizer whom everyone must refer to as the big boss.

"I'm not in the mood for your comments."

Thorncroft faked a hurt expression. "Is that any way to talk to an old friend?"

"Friend? You banned me for 12 months!"

Cornelius chuckled. "You got drunk and beat up the referee after you lost to the Sphinx 13-1 last year, not to mention your gambling."

"I bet on myself to win!"

Cornelius laughed again. "And look how badly that turned out for you. Look, Rex, you should simply retire. You're old, and you won't be able to compete properly. The game's changed. Younger people are coming. It's the end of the '80s. Next year, it's the beginning of the '90s. There's no room for you dinosaurs anymore."

Rex scoffed. "You're one to speak. You're 75 years old. What are you doing being an organizer? Go home, put your feet up, sit back, relax. You're here pretending you're a hot shot when you could have a stroke any minute!"

Cornelius laughed at his remark. "I am the single greatest thing that has happened to the sport. I have improved it so much that it is thanks to me people get to watch snooker on TV."

Rex lit up a smoke to calm himself from lashing out; he knew he would be banned for life if he even gently pushed Cornelius.

"Oh, and Rex, there will be no more smoking or drinking in tournaments anymore."

Rex's eyes widened. "What the fuck!?"

"You heard me. We are going to make snooker a real sport. We're attracting young people to the sport, and it won't get the bad reputation of before. No more drunkards playing the game. From now on, there will be only professional, sophisticated men. No more temper tantrums, spilling alcohol, and dimming the whole arena in smoke."

Rex was disgusted. "Then what the hell are we gonna drink, then? Tea!?"

"No, just water, as in any real sport," Cornelius smirked. He was loving this interaction.

"You're insane, you snake. We're still being sponsored by a cigarette company, but we're not allowed to smoke!? You're ruining the culture of the game! God knows what else you've changed."

"We also got rid of the abysmal flowers in the arena."

"You son of a bitch!"

Cornelius laughed hysterically.

"Damn you, snake. You just want money. You're making all these changes just so you can get money from some businessmen. If this was all to benefit snooker, I would bite the bullet. But you're only doing this so you can get more money. Why else is the prize money exactly the same as last year, huh!?" Cornelius grinned.

Rex was shaking with rage. "Of course, there it is, the Viper."

"Damn right. I'm the top dog here, and I get all the money for myself."

"You greedy bastard, you don't give two shits about us players, all the work we put in. You don't care. We're just slaves. Julian is the only one you care about because he makes you money! And he only makes money because you keep shoving him down everyone's throats!"

Cornelius leaned towards Rex. "No, Rocket, he is a winner. You're a sore loser. He doesn't miss a black off its spot for months, while the day you don't miss a black off the spot means you probably didn't play snooker. And your kind is about to go extinct. Your sloppy hitting-the-balls approach won't work. I have an army of young, skilled, talented players that will gut you. Soon, there will be an army of Julian-quality players that will make me rich, and you, my dear Rocket, will be penniless." Cornelius patted Rex on the shoulder. "You won't even qualify. Mark my words." And he left.

Rex stormed off and headed to the practice room where many rookies were. Rex took a cola since drinking had been prohibited, and he was able to calm himself. He observed the rookies. "Let's see who I'm up against." He carefully eyed their skills. After having a family of snooker players and playing since he was five, Rex developed an eye for talent, and what he saw shook him. In practice matches, the newbies were clearing up the table in one go, barely missing.