Introduction
Anyone who has met Terry Griffiths will know what a lovely man he was. I had the opportunity to come across him at various snooker tournaments and was always impressed by his in-depth knowledge of the game, his beaming smile and the glint in his eye. He was approachable and was always willing to share a few minutes of his time with you. Terry, a former miner, bus conductor, postman and insurance agent, cut his teeth in the coal mines around Llanelli—a trade shared by future colleagues Doug Mountjoy and Ray Reardon. Griffiths went down a mine at 15 and started playing snooker at 13. Although knowing Wales like I do, Terry probably first picked up a cue when he was knee-high to a grasshopper. This leafy and green area of the country with a love for song, rugby and patriotism seems to produce some of the greatest snooker players. Cliff Wilson, Doug Mountjoy, Ray Reardon and Mark Williams are just a few of them. A land that lives and breathes snooker, the miners swapping coal dust for evening attire to play a few games down the local institute.
A Welsh Legend
John Spencer was asked what he knew about snooker and responded that he had lived it. Terry Griffiths was one of those students. He loved the game and played it whenever he could. He lives and breathes it. A keen amateur, he soon won the Welsh Amateur Championship in 1972, 1975 and 1977 and the English Amateur Championship in 1978. Turning professional in 1978, he made the fantastic journey within just one year of claiming the World Championship, beating Dennis Taylor 24-16 in the final. It was an impressive feat, as he was a qualifier. He would win the Masters in 1980 and the UK Championship in 1982. A finalist in all three events on multiple occasions and a brilliant achievement to claim all three prongs of the Triple Crown.
Terry won 17 non-ranking titles and retired from snooker as a professional in 1997. Yet his association with snooker was far from over. He worked for years as a commentator and pundit and coached several amateurs and professionals through his latter years. A mantle was now taken up by his son Wayne. Terry was a class act. Often accused of being a slow player, you only have to speak to my friend Joe Johnson about how good he was. He could make you feel like you were going through a washing machine backwards. His safety play was exquisite, and he could grind out a win even if it went on until the early morning. His brave fight with dementia didn’t stop him from appearing at clubs and tournaments in his local area, and he never lost that dry humour that made you chuckle—a much-missed player who came from a golden age of snooker and will never be forgotten. Gone too soon at 77, he was and is a legend. God bless you, Terry!
