Effren Reyes is a hero to a nation. Squat, moustachioed, he bears a passing resemblance to legendary boxer Roberto Duran or perhaps a likeness to a villain from the spaghetti western genre: that is until he smiles, an action that crinkles his entire face and removes all trace of menace.

Reyes was a world champion, up until the middle of last week. Acknowledged as one of the finest exponents of nine ball pool, a belief endorsed by the sobriquet, "The Magician," the forty-something Philippines native was the player to beat when the elite converged in Cardiff, Wales, for the Victor Chandler-sponsored World Pool Championships.

Over 100 players faced each other in round robin group matches to whittle down the field to 64 players for the knock-out matchplay phase of the competition. Where else but on Sky Sports would a wandering viewer happen upon live coverage twice daily, five to six hours of pool, a game which most people equate to the pub scene; a bedfellow for darts.

Given the latter connection it was entirely appropriate that the dulcet tones of Sid Waddell, once the darling of darts commentary, a man who inspired a legion of admirers dispensing quips, similes and metaphors that provided more entertainment that watching Jocky stagger to the ockey.

His sound bites are legendary. On one occasion when introducing a Welsh darts player to the viewers, he offered: "Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain in Africa. Mont Blanc is the highest mountain in Europe. Ben Nevis in the highest mountain in Scotland, but they don't come close to L-E-I-G-H-TO-N R-E-E-S."

The break-up of darts into two sporting bodies and an offer from Sky television saw Waddell quit the BBC for the satellite network. The latter's decision to bring the cameras into the pool world has offered Waddell a new audience. Alongside Canadian Jim Wych and American Jay Helebert, his fellow commentators at the Cardiff International Arena, the Englishman provides the humour, bouncing off the technical excellence of the other two.

A careless flick of the remote control, probably induced by "tennis overload", allowed this column an insight into the world of professional pool: what an absolute treat it proved to be. There was the comforting factor of familiar faces, snooker players Darren Morgan, Jimmy White and Dominic Dale all tried but failed to qualify for the matchplay stage. Steve Davis, the six times world snooker champion, succeeded.

This provides a timely return to Reyes, the world nine ball champion. The Magician took on the Ginger Magician hastily reinvented as Steve Davis, Romford Slim for his pool persona. No waistcoats or bow ties, just a pair of jeans and a polo shirt for Davis. Rock music accompanied the players' entrance.

Trailing 8-2 to Reyes, Davis appeared to be heading the way of his snooker contemporaries but unleashed a staggering comeback. It was compelling television. One mistake in pool and a player usually concedes a rack (frame). It was a race to nine racks and old carrot top could not afford a single error. The closer he edged back, the greater the tension, the more Waddell waxed lyrical and the weaker Reyes' smile.

Davis won, danced around the arena, high fived everyone bar his beaten opponent, a stunning sight for those who recalled the grey image of his snooker days. The glossary of terms within the sport is great, so much less pretentious. There's the rail (cushion), draw (screwback), masse (swerve), bank (double) and the unforgettable "ball in hand" (you are allowed place the ball anywhere on the table after an opponent fouls).

America, Chinese Taipei, the Philippines and Mexico provide most of the tournament heroes. And then there is Davis. He reaches the quarter-final against the USA's young pool shark Corey Deuel, and for once is considered a favourite. Waddell salivates in anticipation warning Davis to "beware of the underpuppy."

Blackrock Bowling and Tennis Club, 8.10 p.m, Saturday night. Twenty faces turn to the television screen in the corner, curiosity winning. For the next hour and a quarter, the laughter is only punctuated by comfort breaks to the bar. Waddell is the new Pied Piper.

After one particular shot by Deuel, Waddell offers: "it will be noted in the matrix of the mind that makes up Davis," before going on to describe a Davis snooker thus, "they call it a Fort Knox safety," and minutes later informing the viewer that the player wanted to "Velcro it to the rail."

Despite over-indulging in the first week of Wimbledon, the column managed to take in the demise of Tim Henman and the hushed, funeral atmosphere that accompanied the defeat from first Sue Barker and then John Inverdale. John McEnroe tried not to laugh, couldn't suppress a smile and eventually managed to offer a few words of condolence in discussing the last rites of British tennis for another year.

One could almost hear me say, `why all the fuss. This happens every year, just on different days.' McEnroe's commitments to NBC were obviously greater last week as he spent less time in the BBC booth, which was a pity. His sharp analysis was replaced by the traditional soft focus coverage. Barker wins the award for the most inane comment, in a very strong category.

At the conclusion of an Andre Agassi interview after his defeat by Patrick Rafter, Agassi - who spoke about himself non stop for the two minutes - was asked whether the Australian could win the final. The Texan responded by saying, "well he is three sets closer after today." Back to the studio and Barker smiles and remarks how "gracious Agassi is in defeat." You can not be serious. That was the pitts, man. Maybe McEnroe was right.