Neil “The Smell” Hoskins has done it again! The notorious flatulence-fueled snooker player has clinched the World Championship title, but his victory has been overshadowed by accusations of foul play (and even fouler odours).

Hoskins, known for his uncanny ability to clear the table… and the room, with his potent emissions, faced off against the reigning champion, “Marvelous” Marvin Milquetoast, in a final that will be remembered not just for its nail-biting tension, but also for its nose-wrinkling stench.

From the opening break, it was clear that this was no ordinary match. As Hoskins bent over the table, his concentration laser-focused on the cue ball, a series of rumbling eruptions emanated from his nether regions, creating a noxious atmosphere that left the audience gagging and the referee’s eyes watering.

Milquetoast, visibly disturbed by the olfactory onslaught, struggled to maintain his composure. His shots became erratic, his cue ball veering off course like a drunken pigeon, and his normally stoic expression contorted into a mask of disgust.

“It’s outrageous!” Milquetoast sputtered, waving his hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to disperse the noxious fumes. “He’s clearly doing it on purpose! It’s gamesmanship of the lowest order! He’s using his… his… emissions as a weapon!”

The referee, his eyes streaming and his nose twitching, issued a warning to Hoskins, reminding him of the “unwritten rule” of snooker etiquette that prohibits the use of bodily functions as a tactical advantage. But Hoskins, seemingly oblivious to the stench emanating from his own backside, remained unfazed.

“It’s just natural, innit?” he shrugged, lining up another shot with the nonchalance of a man ordering a pint in his local pub. “Can’t help it if my bowels get a bit excited during a tense match. Besides, it’s all part of my game. Call it the ‘Smell of Victory.’”

The audience, meanwhile, was divided. The front rows, their faces contorted in a mixture of disgust and amusement, desperately fanned themselves with programs and held their breath during Hoskins’ shots. The back rows, however, seemed to revel in the spectacle, their cheers and laughter echoing through the arena with every pungent eruption.

Despite the controversy, Hoskins continued his dominant performance, clearing the table with a series of impressive shots and even more impressive emissions. Milquetoast, his game completely unravelled by the olfactory onslaught, conceded defeat in the final frame, shaking his head in disgust as he stormed off the stage.

“It’s a disgrace to the sport!” he fumed, his voice barely audible over the lingering stench of Hoskins’ victory. “I’ve never encountered such blatant disregard for sportsmanship. He’s a cheat! A stinking, flatulent cheat!”

Hoskins, clutching the trophy and basking in the applause (and the lingering aroma of his own success), remained unrepentant. “They can say what they like,” he declared, a smug grin spreading across his face. “But I’m the champion, and they can all kiss my… well, you know what they can kiss.”

And so, Neil “The Smell” Hoskins, the most controversial (and fragrant) player in snooker history, has once again proven that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Whether his opponents like it or not, they’ll have to hold their noses and accept the fact that Hoskins is here to stay. After all, in the world of professional snooker, sometimes the best offense is a good… defense.