My youngest Son and I go down to the local watering hole last night to smack a few balls around. The game is a pretty standard, call your pocket, ball in hand 8 ball. I'll preface the rest of this by saying that at 54.5 years old, time is not on my side.
So we're there for about an hour and a half, and a few more patrons start coming in, carrying in their own sticks/gear. I barely play anymore, but I remember how...sometimes.
Well, after a couple of Apple Ales, I catch a groove, and it feels GOOD. I'm almost floating around the table, the puzzle is almost solving itself. After snapping in an 8 on the break, the following rack I use a one handed pencil grip on the bar cue that had decided we were going to be friends that evening, to make a one handed poke stroke cut shot on the 8 ball, about 2/3rds the length of the bottom rail, at probably a 75 degree angle.
One of the old timers sitting at the bar gives me a wink/nod, and a "helluva" shot after that one. Of course I respond, "I get lucky once in a while," and give him a wry smile in return. At this point the young guns are starting to put quarters up, and I'm sending them back to their chair, one after the other.
Well...it happened. In the middle of my rare "dead stroke," I look at my phone, and see that my Wife has text me that our grocery order will be ready for pickup at the local market, in about an hour. I painfully tell her, "OK I'll get it." So of course I keep winning, and the pick-up window is getting shorter. In my younger years, I might have begged for forgiveness, as opposed to asking for permission. At my age? No thank you.
I turned the table over to my Son after a win, shook hands with some of the younger guns who I'd made believers out of, and went to the grocery store. I get home, unload the car, and begin to describe my exploits to the Mrs., who apparently failed to appreciate the beauty of being in "the zone." I ask her if she has any idea what I'm talking about, and/or if she has any idea how hard it is to leave on a win, when the spirit is with you?
All she says is, "no." That's it.. just, "no."
I'm sharing this story with you animals, knowing that a good many of you will completely understand the tale of the over the hill warrior, in the middle of a glorious flashback moment. All condolences and sympathy are welcome.
So we're there for about an hour and a half, and a few more patrons start coming in, carrying in their own sticks/gear. I barely play anymore, but I remember how...sometimes.
Well, after a couple of Apple Ales, I catch a groove, and it feels GOOD. I'm almost floating around the table, the puzzle is almost solving itself. After snapping in an 8 on the break, the following rack I use a one handed pencil grip on the bar cue that had decided we were going to be friends that evening, to make a one handed poke stroke cut shot on the 8 ball, about 2/3rds the length of the bottom rail, at probably a 75 degree angle.
One of the old timers sitting at the bar gives me a wink/nod, and a "helluva" shot after that one. Of course I respond, "I get lucky once in a while," and give him a wry smile in return. At this point the young guns are starting to put quarters up, and I'm sending them back to their chair, one after the other.
Well...it happened. In the middle of my rare "dead stroke," I look at my phone, and see that my Wife has text me that our grocery order will be ready for pickup at the local market, in about an hour. I painfully tell her, "OK I'll get it." So of course I keep winning, and the pick-up window is getting shorter. In my younger years, I might have begged for forgiveness, as opposed to asking for permission. At my age? No thank you.
I turned the table over to my Son after a win, shook hands with some of the younger guns who I'd made believers out of, and went to the grocery store. I get home, unload the car, and begin to describe my exploits to the Mrs., who apparently failed to appreciate the beauty of being in "the zone." I ask her if she has any idea what I'm talking about, and/or if she has any idea how hard it is to leave on a win, when the spirit is with you?
All she says is, "no." That's it.. just, "no."
I'm sharing this story with you animals, knowing that a good many of you will completely understand the tale of the over the hill warrior, in the middle of a glorious flashback moment. All condolences and sympathy are welcome.
the show would have had to go on.
