Black Chalk, Cue Ball and 60-56: Inside the 120-Rack Marathon in Da Nang

Fourteen times. That is the number I counted on the second afternoon at Peri Pool Arena in Da Nang, each time Jayson Shaw stepped away from the table, turned to the referee and pointed at the cue ball. Not to review a shot, not to dispute a rules call. Only to have it wiped. Every time it happened, the noise in the arena dropped a register. The commentator stopped talking. Two hundred spectators packed around the table waited through a ritual lasting under thirty seconds, repeated often enough to become part of the match's architecture rather than a stray detail. Duong Quoc Hoang stood beside the table, cue still in hand, eyes on the big screen. He did not react. That was the first detail I noted, because in pool, the player who does not react is usually the player controlling something. CONTEXT The Taom Challenge x J Flowers is a race-to-120 showmatch between two elite cueists. Jayson Shaw of Scotland, nicknamed "Eagle Eye", against Duong Quoc Hoang, Vietnam's number one. No ranking points, no qualifying places at stake, only 120 racks and a purse. But the long race format turns an exhibition into a test of mental endurance, where rhythm carries as much weight as technique. By the end of day one, Duong led by 12 racks. On day two, Shaw caught fire. He won twelve racks in a row, levelling at 45-45 and cutting the deficit from twelve down to four. By the end of the session, Duong had steadied and preserved a slender 60-56 lead. Two sessions remain. Day three runs until one player reaches the 90-rack milestone. Based on my experience tracking matches across both the WNT and WPA circuits, a race-to-120 does not reward the player who shoots best in a single session. It rewards the player who loses the fewest turns across many continuous hours. That is why small pauses, repeated procedures and arguments of no real rules consequence carry far more weight than they appear to. Within 9-ball, Shaw belongs to the group of European cueists rated among the most dangerous at short range, known for cue speed and break-and-run chains. Duong moves in the opposite direction: slower, technical, and extraordinarily patient in safety exchanges. That contrast is why an exhibition in Da Nang drew more attention than a standard friendly. ANALYSIS What deserves unpacking sits in the physics behind the wipe. Duong Quoc Hoang plays with black Turning Point chalk. He has served as an official brand ambassador for Turning Point since 2026, debuting the chalk at that year's Hanoi Open Championship and keeping it through his WNT and WPA campaigns, including his maiden Premier League Pool title in March. Carbon-based chalk holds finer abrasive particles than traditional blue chalk, grips harder, and leaves more visible residue on the balls. In pool, chalk on the tip is only the starting point. After each shot, some transfers to the cue ball, then from the cue ball to the object ball and to the cloth. Excess chalk on the cue ball increases friction at the contact point, and increased friction changes the roll angle. Skid, also called kick, occurs when a chalk particle or a smudge creates a false contact point between cue ball and object ball, sending the object ball off its intended line. For a professional, a one-degree error at two metres is enough to lose a turn, and losing one turn in a race-to-120 can cost three racks. Shaw posted on social media: "Duong is using black Turning Point chalk. It's all over the cues. It's crazy how much chalk is on the cue ball; that's why I want it cleaned." Tournament organiser Khong Ten corroborated this on the live broadcast, confirming visible chalk residue on the cue ball. Error is where reality signs its name. But there is a logical gap in that argument. Duong is the player at the table the most, and the one who chose that chalk. If black chalk caused errors at any meaningful rate, Duong would suffer first. In practice he held his advantage after Shaw levelled at 45-45. That does not prove the chalk harmless, but it shows the effect is disproportionate to the number of wipes requested. Most of a rack is not decided by the shot that wins it but by safety play. Duong excels at leaving the cue ball in awkward positions, forcing opponents to choose between risk and conceding the table. Shaw excels at converting small openings into chains. When a cueist must process a procedure before every turn, his reading of the table degrades, and in pool, reading the table is the most underrated skill of all. There is another technical detail rarely mentioned. In long races, the break becomes the decisive variable. Damp cloth changes how the cue ball grips and hops after the first contact, reducing the pot rate off the break. A cueist who loses his break chain loses control of the table for several racks, which is why leads can stretch or collapse at speeds that seem implausible, like twelve racks in a single session. The second factor gets less attention: temperature. Shaw complained about the lack of air conditioning with two hundred people packed around the table. This is a real physical variable. High humidity makes the cloth absorb moisture, the table slows, and the balls roll slower than calculated. In Da Nang at this time of year, afternoon humidity routinely exceeds 75 percent. A cueist who builds table feel on standard conditions must recalibrate his entire rolling system, from stroke power to cushion contact points. That recalibration drains concentration, and concentration is the scarcest resource in a long match. THE COUNTER-INTUITIVE ANGLE This is where I diverge from most online commentary, where Shaw's behaviour has been labelled sharking. Look at the timing structure: every wipe happened as Duong left the table. That means Shaw began his own turn with an administrative procedure rather than a sighting. During a twelve-rack winning streak, a cueist does not want to stop. Rhythm is the property of the player who is winning. Each thirty-second pause pulls the cueist out of continuous focus, and that state, once broken, does not restore itself. Notably, Shaw was not hindered by the wipes during his run. He won twelve racks while the ritual proceeded steadily. The tool supposedly designed to remove a variable produced no measurable advantage. It produced attention. And attention has a price. Duong is a Turning Point ambassador. Over one afternoon, that brand name was repeated on live broadcast, alongside the organiser confirming that the chalk left residue on the cue ball. In publicity terms, a chalk that grips well enough to make an opponent request fourteen wipes is a chalk that leaves an impression. The value of a player is only a story the market repeats until it believes it, and in Da Nang, that story is being told by the very man objecting to it. I do not think Shaw calculated this. But an action repeated fourteen times in one afternoon is no longer a reflex. It is a choice, and choices carry intent even when the person making them will not admit it to himself. TAKEAWAY Every rack set up is a hypothesis waiting to be refuted by reality. On day three in Da Nang, both cueists play to the 90-rack mark, and what I want to watch is not the scoreboard. If Shaw keeps calling for the wipe at a similar rate, he is quietly confirming that the match's most important variable sits beyond his control. If he stops, he has silently admitted that the previous fourteen were a tool used deliberately. Duong Quoc Hoang does not need to answer. He only needs to hold a four-rack gap and let his opponent explain his own behaviour.