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How Ronnie O'Sullivan is trying to run off 'them demons'

The Rocket's father will be out of prison and watching on TV as his son aims for a fourth world title
Ronnie O'Sullivan
The emotionally fragile but gifted Ronnie O'Sullivan will be defending his world title from 18 April to 4 May at the Crucible in Sheffield. Photograph: Martin Godwin/Guardian

The Rocket fizzes down the hushed corridors of the Royal Automobile Club on Pall Mall in London, a controlled explosion that induces shock and awe among the venerable members. "Hello, mate," Ronnie O'Sullivan grins while defying the club's supposedly impregnable dress code of "suit-and-tie" in jeans, grey T-shirt, black leather jacket and matching stubble.

It is hard to resist, especially when the most distinctive feature of O'Sullivan's charming but fragile character is that you do not need to waste time with small talk. A simple response – "How are you, Ronnie?" – launches the first missile of truth. "I'm OK," he smiles, "but I definitely still have difficult thoughts. They've been coming again recently."

O'Sullivan, at the RAC to publicise the start of his world championship defence in Sheffield on Saturday, laughs when asked if those thoughts represent his old "demons" – as if the very word nuzzles his vulnerabilities. "Yeah, them demons," he says, as he remembers a past that had taken him from depression and drink to the Priory and Prozac, from a father still in prison 17 years after murdering a bodyguard of the Kray twins to his own majesty with a cue being overshadowed by controversy.

"It's to do with how I am," he says of his enduring battle with the black moods that still engulf him. "When I can't play the bread-and-butter shots that make the game simple, I lose my rhythm and think, 'This ain't good.' All season I've been struggling with them feelings. I become nervous inside because I'm not sure what I'm going to produce next."

He hesitates as he ponders a more debilitating inertia. "I lie there some mornings and think what's the point of even getting out of bed? I end up lying there until one in the afternoon. I'll struggle up, have a cup of tea and that's pretty much it. Those are the days you just lose."

Such raw honesty is unusual in conventional sportsmen – but O'Sullivan shows hope. "I'm a little better," he says thoughtfully, " because, in the past, I used to drown my sorrows. Now I don't. I face them front on. I'm ready for them."

O'Sullivan is a fanatical runner and its impact on helping him cope with depression is profound. "Running clears my mind, and gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Once I've had a run I can hit some balls for a couple of hours and by then it's the afternoon and I think, 'Yeah, it's been a positive day, really.'"

His face lights up when he describes meeting Tirunesh Dibaba, the great Ethiopian who won gold in the 5,000m and 10,000m at the Beijing Olympics. "I had all my questions written down and I showed her my running programme. She was shocked. She couldn't believe my mileage."

Did Dibaba know much about him? "She wasn't too up on her snooker but her brother was. He's big into pool. And she's invited me to stay in Ethiopia with her. I'd love to do that."

Out of wide-eyed respect O'Sullivan did not explain to Dibabe how running helps him pyschologically. But he is clearly feeling fitter in mind as well as body.

"And I haven't had a drink for over a year now. Since I went to the Priory in 2000 I've had a few slips along the way but, this time, I think I'm staying off the drink for good. I'm also off the Prozac. Fuck that. I got rid of 'em. I'm not saying they're bad, and they did help me, but I'd rather not rely on some pills to get me through the day."

Beyond his family problems and character, O'Sullivan's intensely ambivalent relationship towards snooker has always unsettled him.

He is almost certainly the most talented snooker player in history. At the 1996 world championship he racked up a maximum 147 in a record 5min 20sec, sinking a ball every nine seconds. At the same tournament he lived up to his claim that he could beat the Canadian Alain Robidoux left-handed – and won with his wrong hand. He is also infamously volatile, whether assaulting Mike Ganley, world snooker's current tournament director, again in 1996 at the Crucible, or smashing his cue to smithereens at the Masters earlier this year.

He gazes around our gloomy surroundings in the bowels of the RAC. "Here's my problem," he says, staring at the randomly scattered balls and green baize. "Snooker can be very isolating. Imagine spending your day in a room like this?"

O'Sullivan looks sad for a moment and it is obvious why the three-times world champion has long been British sport's most fascinating but troubled star. He has always exuded poignance as much as the kind of rollicking charisma which meant that, an hour earlier, the confused doormen's urge to bar him entry for not wearing the requisite club uniform had been drowned out by echoing cries from the new world championship sponsors, betfred.com. "Ronnie's here!" Grown men had shouted huskily when they saw our dishevelled hero. "Ronnie's here!"

The Rocket seems oblivious to it all. He is too busy exploring why snooker sometimes threatens to unravel him. But then he brightens. "There are positives too," he smiles. "Snooker's not a job. It's not like I have to go through the London rush-hour every day. That would drive me fucking mad. I couldn't cope with that."

He shrugs wryly when asked what he would like to have done, had he not been so gifted. "I'd like to have been Fred [Done]," he says of Britain's richest independent bookmaker, the ageing owner of 250 betting shops and the founder of betfred.com whom O'Sullivan hailed as the new saviour of snooker.

"I ask Fred: 'What makes you get out of bed in the morning?' He says it's the buzz. It's always a new day for Fred – with new problems to solve. Snooker ain't like that. It's the same thing over and over again. That's why I'd love to be Fred – or Alan Sugar. They'd throw me off if I went on The Apprentice, wouldn't they? But I like Sugar. He sees things other people can't. My dad's another one of them visionaries."

Even when his minders can be held back no longer, having failed to divert him by glowering at their watches every five minutes, O'Sullivan can surprise. He has already dodged the rest of the media upstairs and his getaway car is waiting for him outside but he still lingers. "That was lovely," he says. "Let's talk more tomorrow."

World snooker's publicist sounds doubtful. "Ronnie often says that," he warns. "Don't bank on it."

But the next evening, at home in Chigwell, the man they call The Essex Exocet reflects on another good day. There is also exhilaration in his voice. "My dad's having week releases. He comes home from prison for a week and then goes back inside for 28 days. It'll be like that until he gets out for good next April.

"His first release, two months ago, was weird. Sometimes I'm at an airport and I think, 'Bloody hell, this is hectic!' Imagine how strange the world must seem after 17 years inside. So it was a bit awkward the first time. I didn't know what to expect and I was worried. I was thinking, 'How's he going to adapt?' But once I realised he was going to be all right, well, mate, it's just fantastic."

O'Sullivan suddenly looks younger than 33. "We're in each other's pocket when he's on release and I'm so happy. My mum's Italian and she's always in the kitchen, doing the food thing, dah-di-dah, and when my dad came back and we had our first meal together it reminded me of when I was seven and we always had huge bowls of pasta and salad and bread. It's good them days are coming back."

Can they discuss his depression? "I've always had those conversations with him. And it's great he can see I'm moving forward. He came and watched me run and said, 'Fucking hell, Ron, I didn't realise you could run like that. I'm proud of you.' He thinks, 'Well, my son has his down days but he's an athlete as well.' My relationship with him has reformed and the bond with my kids is there. Lily is three and little Ronnie is nearly two. For my dad to give his grandson a cuddle is great. He's a strong man and he's come through it so well. But he's always been on top of things. When he was inside years ago he was the one who said, 'Ron, this internet thing is gonna happen! Get involved in it. Trust me, go with the times.' He has that vision."

His dad might be an internet visionary but I still steer O'Sullivan to the now mildly passé Myspace website and, specifically, to an obscure group of Polish jazz and hip-hop musicians. Northern Star People claim, while advertising downloads of their album, View From A Pocket, to be "inspired by the genius of Ronnie O'Sullivan".

The Rocket is amazed. "My dad will get a kick out of that. It's like I was in the Czech Republic and I met a famous pop star out there. He's mad about snooker. And I get loads of Russians following me at tournaments. It's great."

With fans stretching from Ethiopia to eastern Europe, O'Sullivan grins again. "It's global, mate. That's a new word for my dad, innit – global?"

As The Rocket aims to blitz his way towards a fourth world championship he will relish another burst of freedom for his father. "He's coming home for a week this month. The terms of his release mean he can't come to Sheffield but he can watch me on telly at home. That's going to help me because snooker gets in your head and there's nothing you can do when your opponent is at the table. That's the frustration. You have to sit in that chair and pretend you're interested. But I just want to jump up and play."

It is dark outside in Chigwell but O'Sullivan sounds as happy as he is serious. "I want to win this one for my dad. I ain't playing as well as when winning it last year but I'm determined. And next April it'll be even better. My dad will be there, at the Crucible, hopefully watching me defend my title in person. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

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