Ah, that father-son bonding thing! :-)

D

Dhakala

Banned
It is sometimes necessary for the Zen Cueism Master to repeat for his student some lessons of Correct Thinking, e. g., humility, mercy, and noblesse oblige.

On Tuesday, I took every dollar that 15 year-old Tony had, one a time. I beat him down ruthlessly because a) he called me "old man" once too often, b) lately, he's been insisting that he's now better than me, and c) last Sunday, he bet against me on another kid's father! :mad:

So for four days, Tony has been moping around without any spending money, twitching like a heroin addict in withdrawal. Wait until you see how pitiful he's become.

Today, we're at Tarantula Billiard Cafe' playing fun-fun when suddenly Tony pipes up,

"Wanna play for a quarter?"

"You have GOT to be kidding!" I laugh. But he wasn't.

"OK, how many quarters do you have?"

"Two."

"Fine. Let's play two games."

Actually, it takes six. But I pocket both quarters and think that's the end of it. I am wrong.

"I'll bet you my hat against your $20 that I can make this shot in three attempts."

The hat is Tony's pride and joy, and something I almost regret buying for him: a two-week old knitted beanie with a neat little brim, a Jamaican flag woven into it, and a collection of buttons that say things like, "Nobody knows I'm high." Very Bob Marley Rastafarian.

The shot that Tony proposes is a no-brainer. The 9 is in the jaws of the corner pocket, and the 5 is in the jaws of the side pocket on the same side as the 9. I'd have to be an idiot - or a forgiving and generous Dad :rolleyes: - to bet $20 that both balls can't be made simultaneously in three attempts, with ball in hand.

But then I notice the 6, 7, and 8 are still on the table. Age and treachery kick in. :cool:

"So, you're going to take ball in hand, sink the 5 in the side, and the cue ball's going to roll down the rail to take the 9. Right?"

"Right. And I get three attempts."

"So you're going to make the 9 off the 5 in three or fewer attempts."

"Yeah, the 9 off the 5 in three attempts. Geez, is your Alzheimer's getting worse!"

"OK, you got a bet."

Pause here for a moment. Do you see what's coming? Answer before you continue.

Sure enough, Tony is so bemused by my acceptance of this sucker bet ("Why don't you just GIVE me twenty bucks?") that he muffs the first attempt. But the 5 goes in the side.

And sure enough, he picks up the 6 and puts it in the jaws of the side pocket.

He shoots. The 6 goes in the side and the 9 goes in the corner. He leaps up, beaming.

I deadpan, "Give me my hat. You lost."

"What are you TALKING about?!" he screams.

"You didn't make the 9 off the 5. You really should phrase proposition shots carefuly, darling boy."

After 5 minutes of loud argument during which both of us nearly had strokes - Tony from rage, me from hilarity - I finally agree to let him try again. He is very careful to use the 5 on each attempt.

And sure enough, he's so pissed off that he woofs all three attempts. :D

I have to relieve Tony of his $300 Clint Putnam before he smashes the table lights with it. The task proves difficult because half of my ribs are sore from LMAOF, and the other half from being jabbed by my apoplectic offspring.

Tony is so furious that he won't speak to me for the next hour. I finally break the ice by asking,

"Wanna play for 'Master of the Universe'?" That was a favorite prize back when Tony was seven or eight.

"No!" he grunts.

"How about, 'LORD and Master of the Universe'?"

"OK!" he grins.

"It's 5:25. First game that ends after 6:00 is the last, unless it's hill-hill."

At 5:55, the score is 4-4. We've been at it since 1:30; I must be getting tired. ;) The last game ends with me rattling the 9, leaving Tony a three-foot plunk that a blind drunk could make.

"I am THE LORD AND MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE! Grab my balls and let's go, old man!"

"Oh, yes," I agree amiably, as I put the balls in the tray. "You are the BROKE Lord and Master of the Universe!"

"Shut up!"

So we go home in good humor. After dinner, while preparing to drive Tony to Jason's Billiards, I hand him two tens and say,

"Don't you dare tell anyone that you won it, because you lost. You may keep the hat; it's too small for me."

"I love you, Captain Daddy Sir!"

"I just gave you money. Of course you do."
 
Dhakala said:
On Tuesday, I took every dollar that 15 year-old Tony had[...]
Click to expand...

That's a great story. My son is now 24, but here is a story from from when he was 16.

You AZ snobs may not know what a "patch" is. Many arguments have sprouted over whether the 8-ball was "called" in the hole it was pocketed. One solution for loud bars is to place a designated beer coaster on the rail by the intended pocket. Thus "patching" the pocket was born....

read on... (summer 1998)

While registering at VNEA Junior nationals in Sioux City, IA with my
16-year-old son a few weeks ago, Mike said 'what are these?' referring to
a bunch of patches in a box that indicated the registrants should take
one. I explained that the patch is used to mark the intended 8-ball
pocket. Mike was pretty nervous for the singles competition for several
reasons: he had never traveled to play pool before; the kids in his local
junior league had been talking about 'nationals' all winter; due to a
registration screw-up, Mike was not going to be able to play in the team
competition; and the format--race-to-three, single elimination-- was
pretty brutal.

His first match was against a local (Sioux City) kid. Mike won the first
game. During the second game, Mike made a nice run, fixing some problems
and getting down to the 8-ball for which he had a 3-foot straight-in shot
to the corner pocket. The patch--of course--was sitting at the other end
of the table. I was screaming inside my head and silent on the outside as
Mike pointed to the pocket and bent down to address the ball. Then, as if
toying with my emotions, he stood up and reached to the other side of the
table (Phew! I thought.). His reach continued past the patch to the cube
of chalk. He chalked up, bent down, and shot. I couldn't hear what was
said, but I watched his opponent walk over to him, say a few words, and
point to the patch. Then Mike's face dropped and his eyes just closed for
a few seconds as he prepared to break the next rack in the loser-breaks
format. The letdown of recognizing what he thought was a 2-0 lead in a
race to 3 was really 1-1 took its toll on a few shots, but he did come
around in time and went on to win the next two games.

Mike's second match was against a kid from Winnepeg, Manitoba. Mike went
win, win, loss, win to take the match. At this point, most of the
original 250 or so participants in Mike's age group and most of the people
he knew were out. He was feeling pretty good during the long wait for the
next--his final--match. The only exchange we had about the patch incident
was that he said "I can't believe I did that." I replied that it's easy
to forget about the patch when you're nervous and not used to using it,
and told him I thought he was playing well and making good decisions.

The next opponent was a good shooter from Council Bluffs, IA. In the first
game, they each had one ball left, and Mike executed a nice safe that left
his opponent hooked and down the length of the table from his ball. The
opponent executed a real nice kick shot that left the cueball behind the
8-ball. Mike fouled and then lost the game. In the second game, Mike's
opponent had a nice run and got down to the 8-ball with a nearly
straight-in shot to the corner pocket. The patch--once again--was at the
other end of the table. In fact the parallels with the first match were
uncanny. The 8-ball shot was similar, the patch was at the other end of
the table, the shooter had executed a tough run to get there, the shooter
was up 1-0, and I was once again screaming inside. The kid bent over and
shot in the eight ball. Just like before, I couldn't hear the words as I
watched Mike walk over and say something pointing to the patch. Just like
before, I watched a look of incredulous despair suddenly appear on the
shooter's face. Yet unlike before, the shooter this time in the loser breaks formet proceeded to rack the balls for the next game.

What I didn't hear was Mike saying "The patch was over here" (pointing to
the patch). "Is that where you intended?" (indicating the pocket the 8
went in). The kid's face dropped as he said "Oh no!!! yes!." Mike
immediately followed with "that's fine; nice run." Sometime
during the next game, the opponent came up to me and asked if I was Mike's
father. Then he said "he showed some real good sportsmanship." The
opponent went on to win the next game, winning the match.

There are times when it's easy to do what you consider the right thing,
and there are times --like this--when it's hard. And there are times when
it's easy to find an excuse to do what gives you the outcome you want.
[It IS the rule, or It happened to me.].

Although Mike did what I think I would have done, I would not have been
unproud if Mike had chosen a different path. I think it's fine to take the
position that it's a clear rule and we should abide by it. My point here
isn't to say what is right or wrong in this situation. My point is that
Mike had his own standard, and it was a standard he held pretty high, a
standard that survived a tough test. For that I'm proud of him.

******
Addendum: Mike is now 24 and married. This summer the four of us met for a week at the beach in NC. Fierce competitions were the norm, as were discussions/arguments about anything under the sun. In one major 36-hole doubles putt-putt tournament, my wife and I prevailed against Mike & his wife. What we won was priceless: for the rest of the day, our opinions were to be treated as fact.
 
It is a wonderful feeling to see your Pride and Joy walk in your steps.

I know mine makes me beam on a regular basis;)
 
another great story mikepage,its nice to hear good stories on here other than the complaing and wining that takes place all the time.
 
David, that's a great story. Good entertainment too! I've got a 21 year-old son who is always talking smack about how he's gonna whip me at the pool table everytime he comes over. I have to humble his little butt all the time. So the other night, he's talking smack as usual, and as we're racking the balls, I pull out my wallet, whip out a double-saw and ask him if he'd like to put-up or shut-up. He wouldn't bet me, but he continued to talk crap, saying how he was gonna kick the old-man in the seat of his pants tonight. Well, we started out playing 8-ball, race to eleven. He got up 2 games to 0 and the smack-talk intensified. I beat him 11 to 3. Not satisfied with that ass-whuppin', he challenged me to 9-ball, race to seven. He won the first game. I beat him 7 to 2. So, we went to seven-ball, race to seven. He quit and went home with his tail tucked in between his legs after I had him 5 to 0. I don't understand what his thinking is with all this talk. He has NEVER beaten me in a match. Do you think I oughta let him win one someday to give a boost to his confidence? I humiliate him on a regular basis. I think if he ever comes over and keeps his mouth shut, I just may "tank" a match so he'll feel good about himself again....Naaah.

Maniac
 
mikepage said:
That's a great story. My son is now 24, but here is a story from from when he was 16. ...


What I didn't hear was Mike saying "The patch was over here" (pointing to
the patch). "Is that where you intended?" (indicating the pocket the 8
went in). The kid's face dropped as he said "Oh no!!! yes!." Mike
immediately followed with "that's fine; nice run." Sometime
during the next game, the opponent came up to me and asked if I was Mike's
father. Then he said "he showed some real good sportsmanship." The
opponent went on to win the next game, winning the match.
Click to expand...

"Good men must not obey laws too well." - Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Nice kid you raised, Mike! :cool:
 
Maniac said:
David, that's a great story. Good entertainment too!
Click to expand...

Thanks, Maniac, and to everyone else too!

I've got a 21 year-old son who is always talking smack about how he's gonna whip me at the pool table everytime he comes over. ... I don't understand what his thinking is with all this talk. He has NEVER beaten me in a match. [/quote]

He will someday, and you'll be proud of him. ;) It's the same growing-up rite of passage thing that forced Neanderthal patriarchs to beat young bucks to a pulp for the leadership of the tribe. Eventually, all silverbacks give way to the next generation. Enjoy being the Alpha Male while you can!

Do you think I oughta let him win one someday to give a boost to his confidence? I humiliate him on a regular basis. I think if he ever comes over and keeps his mouth shut, I just may "tank" a match so he'll feel good about himself again....Naaah.
Click to expand...

Right answer. :cool: I stopped letting Tony win when he was 9, and stopped giving him weight about a year ago. We play straight up and "for the money", even when no money's on the rail.

Another way I piss him off is to say, after we've chased a ball for two or more innings,

"Will you please sink that thing, Tony? If I dump one more time, I'm gonna have to change my shorts!"

But I still have a subconscious tendency to ease up on Tony when he's feeling low. It came to my attention during the match with that other kid's father I mentioned in the story. I'd been playing almost exclusively with Tony for about two weeks. When I played Joe, it dawned on me that I was missing in exactly the same kind of situations where I missed with Tony - critical shots where I was way ahead. For example, I ran 7 balls and woofed a slight cut on the 8 that should have been a gimme. Put a halt to that Incorrect Thinking and went on to break even with Joe.

Ever since then, I've stuck closely to the Four-Bank Path to Enlightenment and Correct Thinking, even with my Beloved Son. It's bad teaching to give a student false confidence!
 
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