O'Sullivan: 'Four-Year Nightmare' and the Awakening Night in Wuhan

A victory cannot erase a nightmare. At the Wuhan Open, Ronnie O'Sullivan defeated Mark Selby 5-3 to reach the semi-finals, but straight after the match he used the word 'disaster' about himself. The Englishman said: 'I'm playing with zero confidence.' The audience saw a resurgent O'Sullivan; O'Sullivan saw someone lost for four years. That is the real story of the night. Since January 2026, O'Sullivan has not won a ranking title. His last ranking event victory came at the 2026 World Grand Prix. His last World Championship title was in 2026. At age 50, the man often called the greatest snooker player in history no longer feels the familiar touch of his cue. Instead, he calls what is happening by a heavy name: disease. 'I'm always focused on how I'm hitting the ball. Am I playing well enough to play every shot that I need to play? I'm worried whoever I play at the moment, so it didn't matter if it's Mark Selby or No 128 in the world,' O'Sullivan told World Snooker Tour after beating Selby. He continued: 'I'm playing with zero confidence but I'm working hard on my game. I'm on the practice table a lot. I'm trying to figure out how to get out of this.' This is not the first time O'Sullivan has admitted a crisis. Over the past two seasons, he has often appeared with a strained face, indecisive shots, and puzzling losses against lower-ranked players. The root, according to him, lies in changing his technique. O'Sullivan once adopted the SightRight method – a system designed to make a player's eyes line up with the shot – then tried to return to a more natural style. This transition has lasted longer than expected and has left wounds that are hard to heal. 'I call it a disease because it feels like the method that I took on has ruined me really. I've got no cue power, got no sense of direction. I don't know where the balls are going,' O'Sullivan said. He added: 'As a player, you always have some anchors to hang onto. I used to have, like, four or five where if one wasn't working, I try another one, and then that would just get me going. But at the moment, I just have nothing. I haven't for four years, so it's just been like a nightmare.' Having followed O'Sullivan for nearly three decades, I rarely heard him speak about technique as something external fighting against him. In the past, he played by instinct to such a degree that people believed he did not need to think. The gentle stroke, the harmonious body position, and the cue ball seemed to obey him. Yet over the past four years, the statistics that never lie were less kind: his control over the cue ball declined, his long potting accuracy became inconsistent, and more importantly, he had to pause mid-shot to realign. For a genius, having to think before playing is a form of paralysis. The victory over Mark Selby in the Wuhan Open quarter-final should not be read on the surface. Selby has always been one of O'Sullivan's most awkward opponents, a player who never allows the other man to set his own rhythm. Getting past Selby showed that O'Sullivan still has enough mental strength to survive grinding battles. But O'Sullivan himself looked at that match with deep caution: 'I'm always focused on how I'm hitting the ball. That stops me from playing freely' – perhaps that is why, even in victory, he did not feel liberation. A paradox is unfolding in O'Sullivan's journey. He admits he does not trust himself, yet he has set the goal of winning an eighth World Championship in 2028. He has said he will retire if required to play qualifying matches, but his Wuhan run has secured his place in the top 16 for the coming months, temporarily avoiding that outcome. He calls 18 months enough time to 'unlearn' what he has absorbed and rediscover flow. Such words might spark hope in supporters, but for a player who once lived through feel, having to learn how to forget is a quiet shock. In the upcoming semi-final, O'Sullivan will face Chang Bingyu, a Chinese rising star he rates very highly. O'Sullivan gave rare praise: 'You have Zhao Xintong and Wu Yize, but this kid is up there with them. He stormed through the qualifiers. Maybe this is going to be his week to win the trophy. You probably have to say he's the favourite. With the results and what we know he's capable of, it's just a matter of time before he starts winning a lot of tournaments.' O'Sullivan's story is not about whether he can beat Chang Bingyu. What matters is that a legend is still asking whether he deserves his own name. He said: 'I'm going to give it a really good go to try and cure the disease. It's easier to call it a disease, I suppose. If I can, that'd be great. But I think 18 months is a fair amount of time to try and unlearn it and maybe try and find some flow because if I play alright and cue alright, I know I can still win tournaments.' At 50, O'Sullivan still believes the game is not over. He said: 'I don't think the competition's that good, and I don't think I've got that bad. I'm just not cueing the ball well, so the balls are just not doing what I know they should be doing.' Those words expose a fine line between self-awareness and self-deception. In a sport demanding millimetre precision, losing direction can be the end. But it can also be how a genius tears off an old shell to find another path. They used to say O'Sullivan plays snooker as though dancing. For four years, that dance has become a series of clumsy steps. Yet on the night he beat Selby, there was a moment when O'Sullivan raised his cue and despatched a red ball into the far corner perfectly, without realigning. He stood still for a few seconds, as if listening to a sound he had not heard for a long time. Perhaps that is what he calls flow. Perhaps it is still inside him, waiting for one confident stroke to bring it back. The Wuhan Open semi-final will provide a temporary answer. But the longer story remains: can O'Sullivan survive 18 months with a disease that has no precise diagnosis? When a man who used to control the cue ball like controlling his own breath admits he does not know where the ball is going, the hurt is deeper than any defeat. In Wuhan, O'Sullivan won. But the O'Sullivan of four years ago – the one who did not have to think before every shot – is still trying to find his way home. And perhaps, in the numerical world of snooker, the moment he rediscovers trust in himself will mean more than any trophy.