Adoring public waits patiently- that should be the headline for this post. I know you have waited almost a week to see the details of my sordid life among the hustlers and sharks of the pool hall world. I’m going to make this a two part post, the first part about the essence of the game, is here. The second part, a closer look at my personal journey with the game will post in the near future.
I’m sure you have anticipated a story full of the slow drift of smoke from a cigarette laid on the edge of a pool table, the sound of a rack of pool balls breaking, crisply snapped, the slow nodding of players down the hall who also heard the snap of the rack breaking, even though they were not listening. They couldn’t help it, it’s instinctual at this point, they hear it and nod because they know it was a good break just from the sound.
You are expecting the background hum of some old juke box that plays incessantly even though no one is really listening, the smell of fried food and beer and cigars. The distant crackle of conversation and the sound of cars racing or commentary on sports from the big TV’s above the bar, an occasional burst of laughter at some joke shared by the old timers and career drinkers gathered there.
You are probably anticipating the story of games gone bad, of fights, gambling and guns. You may wonder what the heck this lady was doing, drifting through days with out the sun, nights with out moon, the glare of fluorescents above the pool tables lighting her way.
I must have walked through those doors hundreds of thousands of times. Doesn’t matter which hall, the doors are all the same, a small tunnel taking you from sunlight to darkness, keeping the cool in and the hot out, closing off the world. I guess I always entered head bowed, because I remember the carpets, the tile, the floor, the look and smell of the entry way of the halls. Leaving the outside world behind, zeroing in on the objective for the day, be it practice, play, or competition. Maybe it’s just a game, but I don’t know too many people that play it just for fun.
That may be one of the things you are not anticipating, the many distinctions in pool. You may be picturing Paul Newman as the young hustler, Jackie Gleason the seasoned player, head on like rams locked in battle. Possibly you have been in a pool hall, maybe a Saturday night when the crowd is there, full of young guys playing hustler and young girls watching from high stool perches, their long legs and high heels holding on for dear life.
There is a good possibility you have never seen anyone practice, never seen a real match played. As usual, life is not like the movies.
I did see a match one time that reminded me of the movies, a seasoned older player and a young cocky player locked in some kind of combatant dance. I didn’t think it was just about pool. The young man was losing, but not by much so he kept betting, waiting for his comeback that never came. He bet away his rent, his food, his gas, he had nothing but anger and resentment by the time his opponent figured he had done enough damage and called it quits. Both of them were the kind of players you think my stories will be full of, one who loves to see others squirm, the other one, can’t help it, self esteem so bad they want to squirm.
You also may expect the hapless character, running into bad luck, like the guy I know who won big at a match in Vegas and was greeted in the parking lot when he left by a man with a gun, expecting the winnings to be returned.
You might expect stories of bad guys and I could give you that too, only the worst guys I met were not in the pool halls, but in the bars I played in while I was on the bar table leagues. Not the players mind you, the guys in the bar. Like the notorious biker gang members who decided to have a big meeting in their hang out which was one bar in our league.
It happened to be the night we played. We were an all girl team. The set up wasn’t nice.
The pack of big guys in matching leather vests obviously worked up about something. The constant stream of skinny, hollowed eyed girls back and forth to the rest room to “powder” their noses. These were distracting, but not as much as the interruption that came when one of the bad guys, I’m guessing pretty liquored up, drove his bike through the bar and a small skirmish erupted. The headline in the paper the next day- Early Morning Raid-Gang Members Arrested After Body Found Behind Bar.
Maybe you think that is too dark, to unsettling and would rather hear about the colorful cast of characters that inhabit any pool hall.
The hustlers groping for a money game, the disabled guys who can’t work because of their backs, who by some miracle, can lean over a pool table all day, The groups of retired guys visiting, joking and shedding the day by playing a game of golf on the pool table. The road players, stumbling in and innocently missing balls as they watch the play around them, and the young guys with cheap cues playing alone, vows to be a player whispered, grips to tight, and strokes that wobble.
You might even hear of the lone female player, off in a corner paying no attention to all of these characters, just setting up shots and hitting them over and over and over. You might hear of the old timers telling tales of past conquests, like my dear friend Louie who, years ago, beat Minnesota Fats so bad he felt obligated to send him back to his hotel in a limo. Apparently Minnesota Fats was the gentleman he was rumored to be, posing graciously with my friend after the match so a photo could be taken of Louie and the great man he beat.
Maybe you have watched pool on TV and expect stories of incredible shots and winning games. I have those too, like the time my friend and I were annoyed by some drunks playing at the table next to us. My friend chose a moment when they were gathered around their pitcher of beer and expertly launched a “bad” shot across the table which resulted in the cue ball flying off the table right into the pitcher of beer, soaking all the drunks. My friends shot was so “bad”, even the drunks could not imagine he had done it intentionally.
Or the last time I practiced 9-ball and ran a rack without really knowing it, honestly, I was in the zone just focused on each shot, not thinking about the rest of the game. Several bystanders came up to comment on my perfect game, and I’m sure they were confused when I said “I ran the table? That is great, really, I wasn’t paying attention”.
I’m sure you will like this tale, the one about the macho guy on the opposing team making snide remarks about having to play a “bunch of girls”, his nasty attitude directed at his first opponent. He complained about the non-regulation house cue ball making it clear that if he lost, it was because of that cue ball. The little blond lady, his opponent, smiling sweetly as she pulled a regulation cue ball out of her case. ( his fist missed clue) Smiling sweetly as she put her custom cue sticks together. ( his second missed clue) Smiling sweetly and assuring him that what ever made him happy and allowed him to play his best was OK with her.
The rest of us “bunch of girls” gathered together snickering, (his third missed clue) as he got ready to break the rack and play one of the states top female players, who, apparently he did not recognize. He broke, made one ball and missed. She ran the table to win, he sat watching with mouth hanging open. I think she may have made some comment to him about him being right, “that cue ball sure did work good”. He drank and drank through the match as he was beat five times by five girls. No doubt he used his drinking as an excuse for losing when the topic came up in the future. That ladies team played national competition at the masters level at the end of that season.
Maybe you would like the story of the 9-ball player who, after two quick lessons in straight pool strategy and breaking, played a total of 20 straight pool games in her life, sixteen of them to take second place in a straight pool league that had never before had a female player, and probably never will again.
Yes, it’s true there are lots of wild stories to be had, lots of stereotypes to find comfort in. I think those movie images of the pool hall have forgotten to convey a bigger story of pool. Maybe those Hollywood types don’t know the story of the similarities with life that the game of pool brings to mind.
In pool, having a vision of where you are going is everything. You map the game out from the beginning, and have a plan B and maybe even a plan C in case of unexpected challenges. Players are constantly competing, not just with their opponent, but with them selves. They develop the mind set that makes them strive to be better everyday, every time they play.
No body likes to be a loser, but in pool, you learn to take the loss and find something in it that you can use to be better next time. You learn to win and to lose gracefully. Sometimes, you play safe, a strategy that allows your opponent to make the next move, while you wait for a better opportunity. How many times in life have you wished you had done nothing just then? Pool teaches you patience, perseverance, and dedication, because you really can’t be very good at it without those attributes.
Pool can be seen as a microcosm, imitating life. You have your good and bad days, you meet people you love and others you could do without, you have distractions and disasters along side smooth waters and great joy. You are constantly learning, going from infancy to maturity in the game. You are constantly confronted with opportunities to find out who you really are, and to demonstrate who you really are.
That may not be the stuff great movies are made of, but it is the stuff great lives are made of. Some of the nicest, most successful people I’ve ever met, I met there, in the pool halls, among the hustlers, sharks, and characters; among the trick shots, great runs, and legendary games; among the losers and winners of the great game of pool.
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