Haha… Jose
Looks like we got more in common than pool and wives that find pool a mystery.I understand. Mine stopped going with me, long before I stopped playing regularly. I don't play very often at all anymore. I've tried to convince her to come with me on occasion, but she's even less interested now, than before. My interest waned quite a bit when my back (L5-S1) got really bad. Now that I can actually move again (temporarily), the itch is starting to return.
lol. That reminds me of my first bike. My sisters hand me down. Within a few minutes of riding it the handle bars would turn left or right easily but the bike went straight.
Oh gosh the wife watching is a slippery slope.
:
The wife invited the daughter and 2 year old grandson to watch Papa play. They secured seats at the adjacent bar height table. At a critical point in my last match I had a long shot looking directly at them. The grandson had been seated on the bar to watch. With feet dangling and bouncing away. I was sharked by my Grandson. Only got 3rd that day after that miss. I wasn't the only ringer in that tournament. Grrrr WOMEN! Still gotta love 'em though.
Oh gosh the wife watching is a slippery slope.
First story
In Spokane after winning $900 in a C tournament I was relegated to the B field. However they had a policy of loss twice without a win in a B tournament let you back in the C devision. So after a failed B attempt back to the 64 man C tournament I went.
Second story:
In Chico CA at the Team Players down under room, I had a hook into a guy that had been described to me as a drug dealer. Heck a person I didn't know had encouraged me with a whisper of, "beat this guy he's a drug dealer." So I busted him Friday night to the tune of 650 playing 8 ball at 50 per. Saturday night he was back and reloaded so we took up where we left off. I was plus a hundred when my wife interrupted with, "I wanna go." Since he worked out of the room selling whatever, I begged off with the assurance that tomorrow we could resume. The narcotics devision collected him that night. In fact I recall telling my wife on the way home, "as many people that I don't know telling me he's a drug dealer means he won't be out much longer."
By the time he checked out of the Many Bar Hotel his gambling budget was down to 5 bucks a game.
One more but this one has a happy ending.
In '89 when I made it to the point match in the White Spot big event. It was Sunday morning and I was treading in territory I had never seen in a 2 day event. The wife and and 2 or 3 ladies friends had secured the both that was adjacent the finals table. As I warmed up the booth chatter sounded like a hen house. Eeeek and my wife's voice could get my attention instantly. Thankfully my stern look and zip it mime was taken well. Her control of the conversation was helpful in my down 6-2 going to 7 Victory!
One last.....at work an apprentice carpenter comment was on the order of, "Greg and Phil sure have a lot of stories. At least Greg tells them the same every time though. "
I'm sorry to hear about your ailments. Hopefully you get some resolution/relief in the near future.
Those that came by money through nefarious means had little to no respect for it. The sad part is they definitely supported pool. If you looked into the little black book of a road player, the majority of entry's would be people you wouldn't want to associate with. Well other than On the pool table. Cole Dixon had stories that highlighted the nature of most that played for big money. Danger! Could have been his middle name.
Those that came by money through nefarious means had little to no respect for it. The sad part is they definitely supported pool. If you looked into the little black book of a road player, the majority of entry's would be people you wouldn't want to associate with. Well other than On the pool table. Cole Dixon had stories that highlighted the nature of most that played for big money. Danger! Could have been his middle name.
That makes me remember the 211 in Seattle. It was a stable for lawyers looking for a witness. Slip and fall was a skill that could get a quick settlement. Lawyers fee size awards came often.
Surely Harry Platis made sure they all had his business card.
That makes me remember the 211 in Seattle. It was a stable for lawyers looking for a witness. Slip and fall was a skill that could get a quick settlement. Lawyers fee size awards came often.
I never played for the amounts you guys did, because in my playing days, I was a poor soldier, with not a lot of spare dollars to risk.Those that came by money through nefarious means had little to no respect for it. The sad part is they definitely supported pool. If you looked into the little black book of a road player, the majority of entry's would be people you wouldn't want to associate with. Well other than On the pool table. Cole Dixon had stories that highlighted the nature of most that played for big money. Danger! Could have been his middle name.
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.
Excellent tale!!! Hit me right in the gut. Same wife. Lol.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.
Excellent tale!!! Hit me right in the gut. Same wife.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.
Let's hear it for the September Babies!!
Put a thumbtack in her chair, or salt in her tea.My "glory days" are behind me, and I can't whip my Wife in a fair fight? The thought of throwing rocks at her seems a little "ungentlemanly."
Centipede!! Rabbit Hunt. Lol.
22ndMine is September 20th, same year. Apparently it was a good month.
