Absurdity of pool.

[pwd72s]

Life is a series of adjustments

Life is also like a roll of toilet paper
The closer to the end you get, the faster it goes

 

[Tramp Steamer]

"The pool life isn't about finding yourself. The pool life is about creating yourself." :smile:

 

[DAVE_M]

I leave AzB for a few weeks and you old farts are getting all philosophical.

The game is simple. You wack a ball, with a stick, into another ball, and hope it goes in the hole. It's geometry, it's barbaric, and it's intellectual all at the same time.

The game's players, on the other hand, are complete sociopaths. I've never met a player, to this day, and thought... "He's not weird like the rest of them."

 

[DTL]

.....................

 

[336Robin]

Its the Chalk!

It's a chronic syndrome that is multifactorial. For decades this great game and it's star players have not been properly recognized or, more importantly, paid.

Pool has a combination of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/Fibromyalgia/Major Depression with components of various Personality Disorders.


DTL
the love of pool......an incurable disease

Its in the chalk! That's how it spreads. The minute it gets on your hands and you forget to wash up....youre in and there is no return.

 

[BasementDweller]

Thanks for posting this JoeyA.

I enjoyed this this a lot.

I've given up on trying to figure out why I'm so hooked on pool. At this point, it's just a part of me.....

I know that sounds absurd.

 

[Island Drive]

It puts me in a place :yikes: I either love or dislike. It's well lit Reality :welcome:

 

[philly]

I leave AzB for a few weeks and you old farts are getting all philosophical.

The game is simple. You wack a ball, with a stick, into another ball, and hope it goes in the hole. It's geometry, it's barbaric, and it's intellectual all at the same time.

The game's players, on the other hand, are complete sociopaths. I've never met a player, to this day, and thought... "He's not weird like the rest of them."

Dave you're right about pool players but I phrase it differently in that every one is an original.

 

[oldroller]

Yep !

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrea_del_Sarto_(poem)

Andrea del Sarto
By Robert Browning

But do not let us quarrel any more,
No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once:
Sit down and all shall happen as you wish.
You turn your face, but does it bring your heart?
I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear,
Treat his own subject after his own way,
Fix his own time, accept too his own price,
And shut the money into this small hand
When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly?
Oh, I'll content him,—but to-morrow, Love!
I often am much wearier than you think,
This evening more than usual, and it seems
As if—forgive now—should you let me sit
Here by the window with your hand in mine
And look a half-hour forth on Fiesole,
Both of one mind, as married people use,
Quietly, quietly the evening through,
I might get up to-morrow to my work
Cheerful and fresh as ever. Let us try.
To-morrow, how you shall be glad for this!
Your soft hand is a woman of itself,
And mine the man's bared breast she curls inside.
Don't count the time lost, neither; you must serve
For each of the five pictures we require:
It saves a model. So! keep looking so—
My serpentining beauty, rounds on rounds!
—How could you ever ***** those perfect ears,
Even to put the pearl there! oh, so sweet—
My face, my moon, my everybody's moon,
Which everybody looks on and calls his,
And, I suppose, is looked on by in turn,
While she looks—no one's: very dear, no less.
You smile? why, there's my picture ready made,
There's what we painters call our harmony!
A common greyness silvers everything,—
All in a twilight, you and I alike
—You, at the point of your first pride in me
(That's gone you know),—but I, at every point;
My youth, my hope, my art, being all toned down
To yonder sober pleasant Fiesole.
There's the bell clinking from the chapel-top;
That length of convent-wall across the way
Holds the trees safer, huddled more inside;
The last monk leaves the garden; days decrease,
And autumn grows, autumn in everything.
Eh? the whole seems to fall into a shape
As if I saw alike my work and self
And all that I was born to be and do,
A twilight-piece. Love, we are in God's hand.
How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead;
So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
I feel he laid the fetter: let it lie!
This chamber for example—turn your head—
All that's behind us! You don't understand
Nor care to understand about my art,
But you can hear at least when people speak:
And that cartoon, the second from the door
—It is the thing, Love! so such things should be—
Behold Madonna!—I am bold to say.
I can do with my pencil what I know,
What I see, what at bottom of my heart
I wish for, if I ever wish so deep—
Do easily, too—when I say, perfectly,
I do not boast, perhaps: yourself are judge,
Who listened to the Legate's talk last week,
And just as much they used to say in France.
At any rate 'tis easy, all of it!
No sketches first, no studies, that's long past:
I do what many dream of, all their lives,
—Dream? strive to do, and agonize to do,
And fail in doing. I could count twenty such
On twice your fingers, and not leave this town,
Who strive—you don't know how the others strive
To paint a little thing like that you smeared
Carelessly passing with your robes afloat,—
Yet do much less, so much less, Someone says,
(I know his name, no matter)—so much less!
Well, less is more, Lucrezia: I am judged.
There burns a truer light of God in them,
In their vexed beating stuffed and stopped-up brain,
Heart, or whate'er else, than goes on to prompt
This low-pulsed forthright craftsman's hand of mine.
Their works drop groundward, but themselves, I know,
Reach many a time a heaven that's shut to me,
Enter and take their place there sure enough,
Though they come back and cannot tell the world.
My works are nearer heaven, but I sit here.
The sudden blood of these men! at a word—
Praise them, it boils, or blame them, it boils too.
I, painting from myself and to myself,
Know what I do, am unmoved by men's blame
Or their praise either. Somebody remarks
Morello's outline there is wrongly traced,
His hue mistaken; what of that? or else,
Rightly traced and well ordered; what of that?
Speak as they please, what does the mountain care?
Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for? All is silver-grey,
Placid and perfect with my art: the worse!
I know both what I want and what might gain,
And yet how profitless to know, to sigh
"Had I been two, another and myself,
"Our head would have o'erlooked the world!" No doubt.
Yonder's a work now, of that famous youth
The Urbinate who died five years ago.
('Tis copied, George Vasari sent it me.)
Well, I can fancy how he did it all,
Pouring his soul, with kings and popes to see,
Reaching, that heaven might so replenish him,
Above and through his art—for it gives way;
That arm is wrongly put—and there again—
A fault to pardon in the drawing's lines,
Its body, so to speak: its soul is right,
He means right—that, a child may understand.
Still, what an arm! and I could alter it:
But all the play, the insight and the stretch—
(Out of me, out of me! And wherefore out?
Had you enjoined them on me, given me soul,
We might have risen to Rafael, I and you!
Nay, Love, you did give all I asked, I think—
More than I merit, yes, by many times.
But had you—oh, with the same perfect brow,
And perfect eyes, and more than perfect mouth,
And the low voice my soul hears, as a bird
The fowler's pipe, and follows to the snare —
Had you, with these the same, but brought a mind!
Some women do so. Had the mouth there urged
"God and the glory! never care for gain.
"The present by the future, what is that?
"Live for fame, side by side with Agnolo!
"Rafael is waiting: up to God, all three!"
I might have done it for you. So it seems:
Perhaps not. All is as God over-rules.
Beside, incentives come from the soul's self;
The rest avail not. Why do I need you?
What wife had Rafael, or has Agnolo?
In this world, who can do a thing, will not;
And who would do it, cannot, I perceive:
Yet the will's somewhat—somewhat, too, the power—
And thus we half-men struggle. At the end,
God, I conclude, compensates, punishes.
'Tis safer for me, if the award be strict,
That I am something underrated here,
Poor this long while, despised, to speak the truth.
I dared not, do you know, leave home all day,
For fear of chancing on the Paris lords.
The best is when they pass and look aside;
But they speak sometimes; I must bear it all.
Well may they speak! That Francis, that first time,
And that long festal year at Fontainebleau!
I surely then could sometimes leave the ground,
Put on the glory, Rafael's daily wear,
In that humane great monarch's golden look,—
One finger in his beard or twisted curl
Over his mouth's good mark that made the smile,
One arm about my shoulder, round my neck,
The jingle of his gold chain in my ear,
I painting proudly with his breath on me,
All his court round him, seeing with his eyes,
Such frank French eyes, and such a fire of souls
Profuse, my hand kept plying by those hearts,—
And, best of all, this, this, this face beyond,
This in the background, waiting on my work,
To crown the issue with a last reward!
A good time, was it not, my kingly days?
And had you not grown restless... but I know—
'Tis done and past: 'twas right, my instinct said:
Too live the life grew, golden and not grey,
And I'm the weak-eyed bat no sun should tempt
Out of the grange whose four walls make his world.
How could it end in any other way?
You called me, and I came home to your heart.
The triumph was—to reach and stay there; since
I reached it ere the triumph, what is lost?
Let my hands frame your face in your hair's gold,
You beautiful Lucrezia that are mine!
"Rafael did this, Andrea painted that;
"The Roman's is the better when you pray,
"But still the other's Virgin was his wife—"
Men will excuse me. I am glad to judge
Both pictures in your presence; clearer grows
My better fortune, I resolve to think.
For, do you know, Lucrezia, as God lives,
Said one day Agnolo, his very self,
To Rafael . . . I have known it all these years . . .
(When the young man was flaming out his thoughts
Upon a palace-wall for Rome to see,
Too lifted up in heart because of it)
"Friend, there's a certain sorry little scrub
"Goes up and down our Florence, none cares how,
"Who, were he set to plan and execute
"As you are, *****ed on by your popes and kings,
"Would bring the sweat into that brow of yours!"
To Rafael's!—And indeed the arm is wrong.
I hardly dare . . . yet, only you to see,
Give the chalk here—quick, thus, the line should go!
Ay, but the soul! he's Rafael! rub it out!
Still, all I care for, if he spoke the truth,
(What he? why, who but Michel Agnolo?
Do you forget already words like those?)
If really there was such a chance, so lost,—
Is, whether you're—not grateful—but more pleased.
Well, let me think so. And you smile indeed!
This hour has been an hour! Another smile?
If you would sit thus by me every night
I should work better, do you comprehend?
I mean that I should earn more, give you more.
See, it is settled dusk now; there's a star;
Morello's gone, the watch-lights show the wall,
The cue-owls speak the name we call them by.
Come from the window, love,—come in, at last,
Inside the melancholy little house
We built to be so gay with. God is just.
King Francis may forgive me: oft at nights
When I look up from painting, eyes tired out,
The walls become illumined, brick from brick
Distinct, instead of mortar, fierce bright gold,
That gold of his I did cement them with!
Let us but love each other. Must you go?
That Cousin here again? he waits outside?
Must see you—you, and not with me? Those loans?
More gaming debts to pay? you smiled for that?
Well, let smiles buy me! have you more to spend?
While hand and eye and something of a heart
Are left me, work's my ware, and what's it worth?
I'll pay my fancy. Only let me sit
The grey remainder of the evening out,
Idle, you call it, and muse perfectly
How I could paint, were I but back in France,
One picture, just one more—the Virgin's face,
Not yours this time! I want you at my side
To hear them—that is, Michel Agnolo—
Judge all I do and tell you of its worth.
Will you? To-morrow, satisfy your friend.
I take the subjects for his corridor,
Finish the portrait out of hand—there, there,
And throw him in another thing or two
If he demurs; the whole should prove enough
To pay for this same Cousin's freak. Beside,
What's better and what's all I care about,
Get you the thirteen scudi for the ruff!
Love, does that please you? Ah, but what does he,
The Cousin! what does he to please you more?

I am grown peaceful as old age to-night.
I regret little, I would change still less.
Since there my past life lies, why alter it?
The very wrong to Francis!—it is true
I took his coin, was tempted and complied,
And built this house and sinned, and all is said.
My father and my mother died of want.
Well, had I riches of my own? you see
How one gets rich! Let each one bear his lot.
They were born poor, lived poor, and poor they died:
And I have laboured somewhat in my time
And not been paid profusely. Some good son
Paint my two hundred pictures—let him try!
No doubt, there's something strikes a balance. Yes,
You loved me quite enough. it seems to-night.
This must suffice me here. What would one have?
In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance—
Four great walls in the New Jerusalem,
Meted on each side by the angel's reed,
For Leonard, Rafael, Agnolo and me
To cover—the three first without a wife,
While I have mine! So—still they overcome
Because there's still Lucrezia,—as I choose.

I was about to quit pool,that does it

 

[His Boy Elroy]

There was a profile of Ronnie O'Sullivan in a recent issue of "The New Yorker." He called the game of snooker "F***ing eccentric." It made my day!

 

[JoeyA]

Thanks Tramp!:smile:

You elucirate...elucimate...you made that story, and it's relationship to pool play, quite understandable, Joey. Well done.
The punishment of Sysiphus included his knowledge that the boulder would never get to the top of the hill. We, as pool players, sometimes suffer a similar outcome. We practice, play, progress, then late on a Sunday evening go hill hill (irony), only to loose. Curse the Fates. :smile:

And probably a few other sports as well. Lol

good observation.
Goes for golf, too.

Me too!

If the game was any other way I would have bored of it long a go.

Yep!

“... Is it absurd to wonder if a pool player can ever be truly happy?"

JoeyA

I don't think so, JoeyA.

True and real happiness - IMO - is found in one's relentless pursuit of this games' potential, the challenges offered to us and the myriad elements we encounter along the journey.

Embrace every element.

Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk HD

There is punishment awaiting those who fail to realize that.

Absurdity, therein lies it's beauty, to me anyway. You have to love this game if challenges excite you.

It requires amazing amounts of time, dedication & hard work. This game does not suffer fools, egos and vanities are punished. It is the one thing I have loved above all things my entire life.

I wish I could write like that.:smile:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrea_del_Sarto_(poem)

Andrea del Sarto
By Robert Browning

But do not let us quarrel any more,
No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once:
Sit down and all shall happen as you wish.
You turn your face, but does it bring your heart?
I'll work then for your friend's friend, never fear,
Treat his own subject after his own way,
Fix his own time, accept too his own price,
And shut the money into this small hand
When next it takes mine. Will it? tenderly?
Oh, I'll content him,—but to-morrow, Love!
I often am much wearier than you think,
snip...AZB limitations.

 

[JoeyA]

That hurts just reading it.

Yeah, a pool player with syphilis, not a good thing.


DTL
condoms

Robin, glad you enjoyed my story! Sisyphus learned the secrets of immortality by listening to the Gods conversations. They couldn't kill him, so they found another unique way to punish him for his improprieties. :smile:

JoeyA,
I enjoyed your story and agree that pool can seem unrewarding at times. Considering the absurdity of it as its a never ending battle to acquire skill, I ask myself a question.

If life is what you make of it, why isnt pool?....Of course pool is what you make of it.

I would surmise Sisyphus was being punished for acting out. That should be a lesson to those that participate in skills that seem impossible conundrums, to enjoy the moment as we may never get to experience it again and to act according to the memory that we would have etched in the minds of the people we associate with.

I was reminded of how short life is recently when a friend said he was moving back to New York.

The good times are precious as we roll the stone.

How can it possibly be a chore when the game is so much fun? I think the moral to the story is..its all in how you look at it.

There has to be some underlying compulsion in all of us who could do this for 12 hours at a time or more.

Don't know, sex and motorcycle riding are in the running for first.

But pool is the only one I've done for more than 12 hours a day for days on end

The JOURNEY is what it's all about for me too.

The story changed a little would have him nearing the peak when the peak suddenly rises above him, instead of the boulder falling back down.

Why put your happiness in the success or failure of attempting to achieve an unachievable goal? Much better to put your happiness into the journey to the goal one knows cannot be obtained. Along that journey, one finds obstacles in their path. Then one must go back a ways to find a new path on the upward journey.

It is in the challenges that one grows. Not in obtaining the goal. Obtaining the goal is but a momentary experience in life, and then it is lost forever. But in the journey, that is where one grows or dies amidst the challenges. One chooses to either be defeated, or to persevere and carry on. Even iron is nothing more than a rock until it is put to the fire and shaped.

Strive for perfection in practice but accept the fact that you will make mistakes in competition.

Nick Varner said, in old Billiards Digest, that "aiming in pool is a lifetime pursuit".
I agree.
To me, that is pool simplified. All the other is just icing on the cake.
Know where the aiming place is on the object ball to pocket it and then hit it.
Perfection in pool is not possible, however excellence is.

Most likely, I will never be bored based upon your theory. "Man's grasp should exceed his reach or what is a heaven for?"

I think a major part of the appeal of pool is perfection is obtainable. For a shot, a few shot run, a game, maybe even a magic night! Those brief periods of perfection are the reward that makes the struggle worthwhile.

We pursue constant perfection but if we were to obtain it we would almost certainly grow bored and wander off to a new pursuit. Man's reach must exceed his grasp or something like that!

Hu

Pool is a TASK MASTER. You apparently are a glutton for punishment. (like me)

This. I get bored quickly when I hit a hot streak and don't miss a ball, or go unbeaten for a week or two. Then the magic wears off and I'm back to clawing my way back up the hill. But, I never get tired of putting in the hard work to get myself back up there.

That last sentence is profound.

Life is a series of adjustments

Life is also like a roll of toilet paper
The closer to the end you get, the faster it goes

Thanks Basement Dweller! It's ok to be absurd in this context.

Thanks for posting this JoeyA.

I enjoyed this this a lot.

I've given up on trying to figure out why I'm so hooked on pool. At this point, it's just a part of me.....

I know that sounds absurd.

Pool will certainly humble you. Lol

It puts me in a place :yikes: I either love or dislike. It's well lit Reality :welcome:

 

[CJ Wiley]

attitudes can be maintained on a daily basis.

Sisyphus, a very shrewd character from Greek mythology can easily be compared to the pool players of today. Sisyphus angered the gods with his wily ways and was condemned by them, to roll a large boulder up a hill for eternity, only to have that boulder break away from his control, before he reached the top.


This is kind of what it is like to be a pool player. For all of the hard work that we put into pool, we are continuously forced to go back and start again. The competent pool player learns different ways to push the boulder up the hill only to see the task repeated over and over. Still he soldiers on, not unlike Sisyphus, determined to find a way to move the boulder to the top of the hill. It is a task that must provide its own reward; that of self-satisfaction, knowing that quality effort was put forth each and every time, despite the reality that the path of the “boulder” will regularly be shaken from our grasp.


Most of the time, the failure is our own fault and despite the fact that we will sometimes blame outside interference but like Sisyphus, in our failing, we must not be deterred and must seek to learn new ways to push that boulder up the hill in an attempt to perfect our technique. We must strive for perfection in practice but accept the fact that mistakes will always be made in competition.


Know the reason why you play the game and seek to have satisfaction in the toil. Give your best effort each and every time, even when you come to the eventual conclusion that you will always be required to start pushing that boulder back up the hill. The summit is sometimes obtainable by persistence and dedication but you won’t stay nearby for long unless you remember what got you there in the first place.


“The struggle is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must assume that Sisyphus was happy.” Is it absurd to wonder if a pool player can ever be truly happy?


JoeyA

Happiness is a fleeting illusion, depending on the satisfaction of our basic instincts. Feelings come and go, however, attitudes can be maintained on a daily basis, peace of mind is something much more worthwhile to strive for.

Pool players are actually more developed in this area because they've had to face their fears, and aren't afraid of not getting what they want.....or losing what they have like most humans. 'the GAME is the teacher'

 

[grindz]

Sisyphus, a very shrewd character from Greek mythology can easily be compared to the pool players of today. Sisyphus angered the gods with his wily ways and was condemned by them, to roll a large boulder up a hill for eternity, only to have that boulder break away from his control, before he reached the top.


This is kind of what it is like to be a pool player. For all of the hard work that we put into pool, we are continuously forced to go back and start again. The competent pool player learns different ways to push the boulder up the hill only to see the task repeated over and over. Still he soldiers on, not unlike Sisyphus, determined to find a way to move the boulder to the top of the hill. It is a task that must provide its own reward; that of self-satisfaction, knowing that quality effort was put forth each and every time, despite the reality that the path of the “boulder” will regularly be shaken from our grasp.


Most of the time, the failure is our own fault and despite the fact that we will sometimes blame outside interference but like Sisyphus, in our failing, we must not be deterred and must seek to learn new ways to push that boulder up the hill in an attempt to perfect our technique. We must strive for perfection in practice but accept the fact that mistakes will always be made in competition.


Know the reason why you play the game and seek to have satisfaction in the toil. Give your best effort each and every time, even when you come to the eventual conclusion that you will always be required to start pushing that boulder back up the hill. The summit is sometimes obtainable by persistence and dedication but you won’t stay nearby for long unless you remember what got you there in the first place.


“The struggle is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must assume that Sisyphus was happy.” Is it absurd to wonder if a pool player can ever be truly happy?


JoeyA

I remember being happy once.

Td

 

[nick serdula]

If you are asking

Here goes.
Take up golf.
Nick

 

[ddadams]

Excellent post.

 

[pdcue]

Sisyphus, a very shrewd character from Greek mythology can easily be compared to the pool players of today. Sisyphus angered the gods with his wily ways and was condemned by them, to roll a large boulder up a hill for eternity, only to have that boulder break away from his control, before he reached the top.


This is kind of what it is like to be a pool player. For all of the hard work that we put into pool, we are continuously forced to go back and start again. The competent pool player learns different ways to push the boulder up the hill only to see the task repeated over and over. Still he soldiers on, not unlike Sisyphus, determined to find a way to move the boulder to the top of the hill. It is a task that must provide its own reward; that of self-satisfaction, knowing that quality effort was put forth each and every time, despite the reality that the path of the “boulder” will regularly be shaken from our grasp.


Most of the time, the failure is our own fault and despite the fact that we will sometimes blame outside interference but like Sisyphus, in our failing, we must not be deterred and must seek to learn new ways to push that boulder up the hill in an attempt to perfect our technique. We must strive for perfection in practice but accept the fact that mistakes will always be made in competition.


Know the reason why you play the game and seek to have satisfaction in the toil. Give your best effort each and every time, even when you come to the eventual conclusion that you will always be required to start pushing that boulder back up the hill. The summit is sometimes obtainable by persistence and dedication but you won’t stay nearby for long unless you remember what got you there in the first place.


“The struggle is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must assume that Sisyphus was happy.” Is it absurd to wonder if a pool player can ever be truly happy?


JoeyA

I think you need to define exactly what you mean by failure.

Imagery doesn't mix well with logic, regardless of how philo-esque it sounds.

So, put on your best Spock ears and define your terms.

Dale

 

[JohnnyP]

Nick Varner said, in old Billiards Digest, that "aiming in pool is a lifetime pursuit".
I agree.
To me, that is pool simplified. All the other is just icing on the cake.
Know where the aiming place is on the object ball to pocket it and then hit it.
Perfection in pool is not possible, however excellence is.

As Joe Tucker says, "What are you going to hit that spot on the object ball WITH? Then he goes into his "contact point to contact point" lesson.

 

[336Robin]

Religion and Pool

The Absurdity of Pool is no more intensified than when it comes to the learning of it.

What is important? How is it learned? What is the price? Is it a value? Does it fit into the subjectivity of the user? Yes absurdity abounds much like Religion in many aspects. You have to supply what the congregation wants to hear to keep your job, not necessarily the truth. Few want to pony up to the truth.