You can't see him at first, because he operates in darkness. But Ray Reardon is there all right. Every time Ronnie O'Sullivan lifts his cue. He sits high up at the back, away from the lights, but occasionally you will catch a glint.
Reardon, known as Dracula throughout his brilliant career because of his swept-back hair and his teeth, has been cast more in the role of Svengali in Sheffield, but with none of the sinister intentions we associate with that George Du Maurier character.
In time it may be Reardon whom the game of snooker applauds for transforming O'Sullivan from the finest talent the game has seen to its greatest champion.
The relationship began with an unexpected phone call from a Kent prison. "It happened four months ago," he says, his Tredegar vowels still prominent even though, at 71, he lives in comfortable retirement in Torquay. "The phone rang and this voice said: 'Hello, I'm Ronnie's dad.'
"Ronnie who, I thought, but I said nothing. There's a lot of Ronnies. I thought it must be a chap I play golf with. 'My boy's not doing things right,' he went on. 'He can do all sorts of things but he's not doing them right. He needs someone to have a look at him.'
"After a while I realised I was talking to Ronnie O'Sullivan's father. So I told him the best thing he could do was get Ronnie to give me a ring himself, which he did."
Reardon promised to come to Sheffield for the championship. "I told him I would come and get him the title. I would help him become world champion."
But, anxious not to overstay his welcome, he offered to go home after his charge had disposed of Anthony Hamilton in the quarter-finals. "Before that he'd beaten Andy Hicks in the second round, which was a bit funny because I had been practising with Andy at the same time that I was advising Ronnie, but I made them both fully aware of what was going on."
Reardon was astounded by the natural talent he saw at close quarters. "This is greatness. This is genius. He's the best player I've ever seen, no question. It's a wonder that he hasn't won more tournaments.
"I don't want to take anything away from greats like Stephen Hendry and Steve Davis, or the legends of another, older era like Joe Davis and Walter Donaldson. But Ronnie is the greatest thing I've ever seen in snooker. It's poetry, a symphony if you like."
Reardon should know. Just as Hendry dominated the 90s and Steve Davis the 80s, he was the man to beat in the 70s when he won his six world championships, including four in succession from 1973-76.
There is nothing he can teach O'Sullivan about potting. But a change has come over the troubled 28-year-old in the past week. He started these championships in a blaze of controversy, upsetting the game's establishment by banging the table and making a rude gesture. In the past week, though, there has been controlled brilliance. His behaviour has been as impeccable as Reardon's was three decades ago.
"I made it clear to Ronnie that I didn't want to be associated with anyone who was going to give the game a bad reputation. And, to be fair, the lad's been fine," he added.
So exactly what has he done for O'Sullivan? "I've made him laugh. I've told him jokes. And I've told him things that have happened to me, like when I was buried when I worked down a mine and should have died. And when I worked as a policeman. We all had other jobs. Terry Griffiths was a bus conductor.
"That's the difference, you see. I didn't win a world title until I was 37. I became a snooker professional when I was 35. That's Hendry's age now, and he won the last of his seven world titles five years ago.
"And these helped Ronnie. It seems to be working. He does get confused sometimes. But he's comfortable now. He's at home, at ease.
"He's an innocent lad. He's lovely. But he's totally wrapped up in the world of snooker."
Reardon calls himself a "mentor", although with O'Sullivan's father serving a life sentence for murder he is almost a surrogate parent.
He has warned O'Sullivan that TV will capture every move he makes. "Having said that, why didn't they show that lovely moment when he offered his water to a spectator with a coughing fit? They must have filmed it."
A strange marriage, Dracula and the Rocket, but it will be one made in heaven if Reardon brings to fulfilment the finest talent the old green cloth has ever seen.
Paul Weaver at the Crucible
You can't see him at first, because he operates in darkness. But Ray Reardon is there all right. Every time Ronnie O'Sullivan lifts his cue. He sits high up at the back, away from the lights, but occasionally you will catch a glint.
Reardon, known as Dracula throughout his brilliant career because of his swept-back hair and his teeth, has been cast more in the role of Svengali in Sheffield, but with none of the sinister intentions we associate with that George Du Maurier character.
In time it may be Reardon whom the game of snooker applauds for transforming O'Sullivan from the finest talent the game has seen to its greatest champion.
The relationship began with an unexpected phone call from a Kent prison. "It happened four months ago," he says, his Tredegar vowels still prominent even though, at 71, he lives in comfortable retirement in Torquay. "The phone rang and this voice said: 'Hello, I'm Ronnie's dad.'
"Ronnie who, I thought, but I said nothing. There's a lot of Ronnies. I thought it must be a chap I play golf with. 'My boy's not doing things right,' he went on. 'He can do all sorts of things but he's not doing them right. He needs someone to have a look at him.'
"After a while I realised I was talking to Ronnie O'Sullivan's father. So I told him the best thing he could do was get Ronnie to give me a ring himself, which he did."
Reardon promised to come to Sheffield for the championship. "I told him I would come and get him the title. I would help him become world champion."
But, anxious not to overstay his welcome, he offered to go home after his charge had disposed of Anthony Hamilton in the quarter-finals. "Before that he'd beaten Andy Hicks in the second round, which was a bit funny because I had been practising with Andy at the same time that I was advising Ronnie, but I made them both fully aware of what was going on."
Reardon was astounded by the natural talent he saw at close quarters. "This is greatness. This is genius. He's the best player I've ever seen, no question. It's a wonder that he hasn't won more tournaments.
"I don't want to take anything away from greats like Stephen Hendry and Steve Davis, or the legends of another, older era like Joe Davis and Walter Donaldson. But Ronnie is the greatest thing I've ever seen in snooker. It's poetry, a symphony if you like."
Reardon should know. Just as Hendry dominated the 90s and Steve Davis the 80s, he was the man to beat in the 70s when he won his six world championships, including four in succession from 1973-76.
There is nothing he can teach O'Sullivan about potting. But a change has come over the troubled 28-year-old in the past week. He started these championships in a blaze of controversy, upsetting the game's establishment by banging the table and making a rude gesture. In the past week, though, there has been controlled brilliance. His behaviour has been as impeccable as Reardon's was three decades ago.
"I made it clear to Ronnie that I didn't want to be associated with anyone who was going to give the game a bad reputation. And, to be fair, the lad's been fine," he added.
So exactly what has he done for O'Sullivan? "I've made him laugh. I've told him jokes. And I've told him things that have happened to me, like when I was buried when I worked down a mine and should have died. And when I worked as a policeman. We all had other jobs. Terry Griffiths was a bus conductor.
"That's the difference, you see. I didn't win a world title until I was 37. I became a snooker professional when I was 35. That's Hendry's age now, and he won the last of his seven world titles five years ago.
"And these helped Ronnie. It seems to be working. He does get confused sometimes. But he's comfortable now. He's at home, at ease.
"He's an innocent lad. He's lovely. But he's totally wrapped up in the world of snooker."
Reardon calls himself a "mentor", although with O'Sullivan's father serving a life sentence for murder he is almost a surrogate parent.
He has warned O'Sullivan that TV will capture every move he makes. "Having said that, why didn't they show that lovely moment when he offered his water to a spectator with a coughing fit? They must have filmed it."
A strange marriage, Dracula and the Rocket, but it will be one made in heaven if Reardon brings to fulfilment the finest talent the old green cloth has ever seen.
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