I hadn't played pool (that's NO pool) for over two years, when I walked into Planet 9-Ball to 'talk poker' with Ken the owner. Ken wasn't there and it was a Thursday and the weekly nineball tournament was about to start. I was being egged on to participate, but used the "I haven't played in over two years, I didn't bring a cue, I suck and I'm not feeling well" excuse.
Deskman Chris loans me his cue and I pony up the cash and belly up to the table. I'm surprised to find that during the two years off, I've picked up an uncontrollable shake in my grip hand, much like Nick Varner's.
I can't run two balls and the table looks like an aircraft carrier, but I payed my money & takes my chances. While I can't run any balls, I DO have over 40 years of poolplaying to fall back on and I'm capable of making ANY shot at any given time, so I decide to shoot at the nine at almost every opportunity ( I know, what's new).
In my first match, I'm down 3-0 in a race to 4, when I combo in the nineball. I make a ball on the break and combo in the nine in the second game. My opponent scratches on the alternating break and with ball in hand, I line up an 8' very thin cut on the one-nine and fire it in the hole. I make the nine on the break and come from behind to win 4-3.
I lose my next match hill-hill, using the same tactics. I'm in the losers bracket and behind 2-0 in race to 3 when my opponent misses the sixball. I have no shot at the cheese and an almost impossible cross side bank shot available. I stare at it for about a minute (which felt like an hour) and fired it cross side at warp speed. I'm left with a table length bank on the 7 ball and with my backhand shaking like a dice thrower, I send whitey on it's way and split the pocket. The deskman, illuminated players and spectators are starting to crowd around the table. I'm left with a bank on the 8 and make it also and not to feel like 'left out Lucy', the 9 is an off angle bank into the corner and I drill it into the hole. A four ball run and I feel like John Schmidt running a 600 in straight pool.
I combo in nine in the next two games and the young fellow that lost remarks sarcastically, "that's the ONLY way you could win". I steal a line (paraphrased) from The Color Of Money and reply, "Yes, yes it is." He whispers to his buddies and then says loudly, "me and you can play some for money after the tournament", to which I reply, "solly, no speekie inklish."
Anyway, I ended up eventually losing a hill-hill battle to local straight shooter Steve Brownfield and came in the money 5th out of 22 players. I received a round of applause from the spectators and took the opportunity to say, "Hey, I'm BACK.............. in Retirement."
Doug
( btw, 5th place paid my entry fee back and it was like kissing your ugly sister )
Deskman Chris loans me his cue and I pony up the cash and belly up to the table. I'm surprised to find that during the two years off, I've picked up an uncontrollable shake in my grip hand, much like Nick Varner's.
I can't run two balls and the table looks like an aircraft carrier, but I payed my money & takes my chances. While I can't run any balls, I DO have over 40 years of poolplaying to fall back on and I'm capable of making ANY shot at any given time, so I decide to shoot at the nine at almost every opportunity ( I know, what's new).
In my first match, I'm down 3-0 in a race to 4, when I combo in the nineball. I make a ball on the break and combo in the nine in the second game. My opponent scratches on the alternating break and with ball in hand, I line up an 8' very thin cut on the one-nine and fire it in the hole. I make the nine on the break and come from behind to win 4-3.
I lose my next match hill-hill, using the same tactics. I'm in the losers bracket and behind 2-0 in race to 3 when my opponent misses the sixball. I have no shot at the cheese and an almost impossible cross side bank shot available. I stare at it for about a minute (which felt like an hour) and fired it cross side at warp speed. I'm left with a table length bank on the 7 ball and with my backhand shaking like a dice thrower, I send whitey on it's way and split the pocket. The deskman, illuminated players and spectators are starting to crowd around the table. I'm left with a bank on the 8 and make it also and not to feel like 'left out Lucy', the 9 is an off angle bank into the corner and I drill it into the hole. A four ball run and I feel like John Schmidt running a 600 in straight pool.
I combo in nine in the next two games and the young fellow that lost remarks sarcastically, "that's the ONLY way you could win". I steal a line (paraphrased) from The Color Of Money and reply, "Yes, yes it is." He whispers to his buddies and then says loudly, "me and you can play some for money after the tournament", to which I reply, "solly, no speekie inklish."
Anyway, I ended up eventually losing a hill-hill battle to local straight shooter Steve Brownfield and came in the money 5th out of 22 players. I received a round of applause from the spectators and took the opportunity to say, "Hey, I'm BACK.............. in Retirement."
Doug
( btw, 5th place paid my entry fee back and it was like kissing your ugly sister )
