15th China Open 9-Ball: The Strongest Is Not the One Who Plays Pretty

Shanghai is about to welcome the world's top 9-ball players as the 15th China Open 9-Ball Championship begins at the Tangzhen Cultural and Sports Centre from September 9 to 13. More than $350,000 in prize money hangs above the table, along with the defending champions seeking to keep their crowns. But before discussing who will lift the trophy, I want to point out something rarely noticed: the race-to-11 format in the men's knockout stage, unlike the race-to-9 in the group stage. In a sport often decided by a few shots, extending the number of racks is a tactical declaration. Numbers don't tell the whole story, but they know where the story begins. The return to Tangzhen is more than a venue decision. This 15th edition marks the comeback of a major brand on the WPA calendar after several years away. For the men, Wojciech Szewczyk, the current WPA world number one, is the defending champion. Again, the question arises: can he hold the title? Joshua Filler, a three-time winner here, and Albin Ouschan, a two-time world champion, will not easily step aside. Fresh US Open champion Francisco Sanchez Ruiz also joins the field, creating a mix of high-ranked players with recent titles. For the women, Chihiro Kawahara arrives as defending champion, but Seo Seoa, the reigning world 9-ball champion, and Wei Tzu-Chien, the women's WPA world number one, are direct threats. The event's appeal goes beyond prize money. Looking at the player list, I see a fascinating power shift. International billiards have long been dominated by Europe and America, but Asia is rising strongly. The presence of Dang Jinhu, Liu Shasha, and Fu Xiaofang shows that China has big ambitions at home. Based on my years of watching tournaments, an Asian player competing at home often plays with more confidence but also carries heavier expectations. That cultural blend of American, European, and Asian styles will produce compelling matchups. The format uses a double-elimination structure: two losses eliminate a player in the early rounds. Men play race-to-9 until 32 players remain, then switch to single-elimination race-to-11. Women play race-to-7 until 16 remain, then switch to race-to-9. This design balances fairness and drama. Double elimination gives top players a safety net, while longer races reveal class differences as the rack count rises. In a race-to-11, a player can win 11-10, meaning the match can stretch beyond 20 racks. Anyone can win a single rack with luck, but winning a full race-to-11 requires a different kind of nerve. What concerns me most is the three-point rule, which punishes ordinary fouls more heavily. When a foul not only gives control but also two extra points to the opponent, every break becomes a tactical gamble. Players with strong breaking and run-out abilities will benefit greatly. That's a key point many fans overlook when they focus solely on pretty shots. The thicker the data profile, the more the story must be told by human ears, not machine eyes. Data on break-and-run percentages and missed shots in decisive racks will show who truly controls the long game. That said, longer races do not always favor the top-ranked player. Some experts argue that longer races increase the favorite's probability, which is statistically sound. But in practice, marathon matches wear down stamina and focus. A younger player can use physical advantage to surprise an older champion. Federico Gorst and Naoyuki Hijikata, the Japanese runner-up last year, are both capable of exploiting this. That's what makes the tournament intriguing: no one can be sure of the champion until the final rack. There is a paradox worth confronting: the return to Tangzhen, with Chinese media and Kozoom Pool broadcasting live, may create an overheated atmosphere that puts too much pressure on home players. In billiards, crowd support can be a double-edged sword. Dang Jinhu and Liu Shasha will receive passionate support, but if they underperform, that pressure grows. Major events don't end when the final whistle blows; they begin when the lights go out. The spotlight falls on the winner, but also on disappointing performances. The tournament's long-term story may not be about the champion. It lies in how we value a billiards match. Many are fascinated by spectacular shots and consider them the pinnacle of the sport. But at the China Open, a player who breaks perfectly ten times against someone who breaks well only five times will have nearly an absolute advantage in longer sets. Seasoned fans understand that a top-level match is often decided at the break, even before a rack starts. I have followed billiards since my years in Vietnam, watching experienced veterans lose to younger opponents solely because their breaks lacked consistency and their data was thoroughly analyzed. That lesson still holds: stability in seemingly simple situations is true class. This 15th edition is not merely a sporting event; it is building bridges between different billiards cultures. Players like Szewczyk from Poland, Filler from Germany, Ouschan from Austria, Sanchez Ruiz from Spain, and Asian representatives like Kawahara from Japan and Wei Tzu-Chien from Taiwan all speak one language: the language of the billiards table. When the lights at Tangzhen go out after the final, the event's real story begins, inspiring a younger generation across Asia. Will we see a new generation grow from this very tournament? I believe so. As long as they understand that in a sport where victory and defeat rest on one small percentage of ball contact, respect for the game and for opponents is what truly makes a champion.