Ah, my dear Jason, do you recall the days of our pilgrimage to his little atelier, that sanctum of skill where he, the supposed maestro, ruled with such peculiar genius? Truly, he is the most gifted artisan; a virtuoso whose talents soar even as his principles slumber. Imagine my amazement when, after no small amount of pleading, he finally consented to create a cue for me—a task that took him two years of silent evasion, and the result was a cue so far removed from his promises it seemed as if conjured by whimsy. I sold it, of course. His response? An indignant tome of a text demanding a portion of my proceeds, to which I answered with the stoic silence he himself had taught me so well.
But here, my friend, lies the heart of my discourse: You are dealing with a man of peculiar sensibilities, to say the least—a creature perhaps fashioned more by quirks than by reason, who, if I may dare say, plays not with a full deck, someone clearly autistic. He has always been encircled by sycophants, cue dealers/scalpers, and wealthy devotees who lavish upon him the adoration usually reserved for kings or deities. Nits that wouldn’t bet water is wet. Yes, he produces a cue with splendid precision, flawless, one might say, if one enjoys the feel of wielding a leaden bar. Indeed, only a man with the steady arm of John Foster himself could render that cue playable.
You see, this eccentric artisan has no need, nor care, for worldly wealth. His spirit has never been moved by anything as vulgar as monetary gain. To entrust him with the timely fulfillment of your desires is as hopeful as handing one’s dreams to a poet and expecting them to materialize. You might as well have laid your expectations in the hands of the character Dustin Hoffman plays in Rainman.
I do extend my sympathies regarding your troubles, and my sincerest hopes that you have recovered from your recent ailments. As for his elusive cue? Allow me to suggest that you join the ranks of the resigned, for you stand in a long procession of those vexed and swindled. Perhaps I alone can claim to have once bested him in our dealings—a rare feat indeed.
Should you wish to bring him forth from his hidey-hole, public shaming may, on occasion, summon him to face his critics, though beware—the acolytes and fanatics that surround him may retaliate, for they would rather crucify you than see any stain upon their golden idol. There is a reason to the greatness of Balabushka beyond talent and execution; the likes of whose company he shall never keep in the legends and annuls of billiard history - excellent customer service.