Playing any sport at its highest level is a tight-wire act. Typically, the stakes are high, the pressures are enormous, and the finest caliber of play is expected, if not demanded, from the competitors. These kinds of events are played on spot-lit stages with each turn of the screw broadcast to diehard fans all over the world. Fans, friends, family, (and enemies) watch intently ready to cheer every success or revel in each failure.
But, there is always the dark pit that lies unspoken of but never forgotten beneath the competitors when it comes to any form of high level competition -- the possibility of the lopsided score, the blow out, the poor performance, the on-camera meltdown by one or both competitors on the very biggest of stages.
I believe every single US fan that formed up to dash into the Mosconi Cup arena Tuesday morning at the Mirage believed a comeback by the American squad was possible. Or maybe at least they wanted to believe that a comeback was possible, though unlikely, what with the Euros having amassed a 5-0 lead.
And when, during the first match of the day, JA and Rodney Morris were able to come back from a 0-3 start and tie things up at three apiece, against Niels and Karl Boyes, the crowd felt their team was poised to begin the march back. But that was not meant to be as the Americans lost to the Euros 4-6. You could almost hear the air coming out of the tires.
Hatch was able to buoy the US fan's hopes when he shoots out to a 4-1 lead over Souquet. But The Kaiser was having none of it, battling back to tie it up at 4-4. And then, something terrible happens. I mean something truly terrible: the Mosconi Cup and the American fans suffered their very own Steve Bartman Incident.
For those of you for whom that name does not instantly give you a deep, hollow feeling of pity in the pit of your stomach, Steve Bartman is the Chicago Cubs baseball fan who, during a playoff game between the Chicago Cubs and the Florida Marlins in 2003, reached for a ball, deflecting it out of the reach of Moisés Alou. If Alou had caught it the Cubs would have been just four outs away from winning their first National League pennant since 1945.
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming: Hatch is tied with Ralph at 4-4 and has a tough play on the table. He studies and studies, makes his decision, and gets into shooting position. But he has let the shot clock wind down dangerously low and it enters the last 10 seconds of its run.
Throughout the course of the MC up until this moment, there has been one gentleman who was been louder and more enthusiastic than probably anyone else in the arena. He sits with the USA family and friends, shouts encouragement to the American players, leads chants, and stomps his feet whenever the US enjoys the rare moment of success. IOW he is uber-fan and you can tell he loves his team dearly.
And so, the clock ticks down. Hatch is in shooting position taking his warmup strokes, the crowd is holding its breath, and for reasons that I have absolutely no doubt were rooted in the very best of intentions, uber-fan yells out in a loud, resounding baritone, when everyone else in the crowd is dead silent, at the very exact micro-second Hatch has decided to pull the trigger: "SEVEN!" solely to warm Hatch of how little time is left on the clock.
Hatch misses his intended position and hooks himself. The crowd is in a state of pandemonium. "What just happened?!" "What'd he yell." "Who was it?" In the arena, Hatch's initial disbelief turns from muttered "Wow" to growing rage and a very expensive cue stick is abused.
I am seated across the aisle and a few seats up from uber-fan. He is trying to sink and disappear into his seat. He is miserable and dying the death of a thousand cuts right before my eyes, softly repeating, "I'm sorry." My heart goes out to him.
Back in the arena, Michaela admonishes the crowd. Hatch confronts the disaster on the table. Everyone is silently pulling more for uber-fan than Hatch, hoping Hatch will recover and this will not become a Steve Bartman Incident, with Hatch winning his match and this whole kerfuffle being lost to memory.
But Hatch loses that game. And then, escape and redemption briefly comes back into reach when Hatch drops the 9 ball on the break. It is tied hill-hill and I swear I can hear rosary beads clicking somewhere on the US side of the crowd. But no. Souquet prevails 6-5.
So what can you say?
Pearl and SVB squeak out a ball bobbling 6-5 win against Appleton and Mika. Niels puts on a clinic for the good Mr. Archer 6-0. And Rodney and Shane hold it together to defeat Mika and Karl with another 6-5 nail-biter.
2-8, Europe.
Afterwards I hit one of the bars in the Mirage for a much needed drink and later dine at Stack, their American steak house, and enjoy a Caesar salad and a Kobe steak. Then it's off to Best Billiards to join the gaggle of AZers KoolKat and Pinky have manage to herd thataway. All the tables are going but I am invited to engage in some 3C scotch doubles, with John and I taking on Stu and Cuebuddy. The friendship and camaraderie is great. Bed comes none too soon at midnight.
So now it's the morning of day two and I am about to head off to the MC arena....
I'm thinking comeback
Lou Figueroa
But, there is always the dark pit that lies unspoken of but never forgotten beneath the competitors when it comes to any form of high level competition -- the possibility of the lopsided score, the blow out, the poor performance, the on-camera meltdown by one or both competitors on the very biggest of stages.
I believe every single US fan that formed up to dash into the Mosconi Cup arena Tuesday morning at the Mirage believed a comeback by the American squad was possible. Or maybe at least they wanted to believe that a comeback was possible, though unlikely, what with the Euros having amassed a 5-0 lead.
And when, during the first match of the day, JA and Rodney Morris were able to come back from a 0-3 start and tie things up at three apiece, against Niels and Karl Boyes, the crowd felt their team was poised to begin the march back. But that was not meant to be as the Americans lost to the Euros 4-6. You could almost hear the air coming out of the tires.
Hatch was able to buoy the US fan's hopes when he shoots out to a 4-1 lead over Souquet. But The Kaiser was having none of it, battling back to tie it up at 4-4. And then, something terrible happens. I mean something truly terrible: the Mosconi Cup and the American fans suffered their very own Steve Bartman Incident.
For those of you for whom that name does not instantly give you a deep, hollow feeling of pity in the pit of your stomach, Steve Bartman is the Chicago Cubs baseball fan who, during a playoff game between the Chicago Cubs and the Florida Marlins in 2003, reached for a ball, deflecting it out of the reach of Moisés Alou. If Alou had caught it the Cubs would have been just four outs away from winning their first National League pennant since 1945.
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming: Hatch is tied with Ralph at 4-4 and has a tough play on the table. He studies and studies, makes his decision, and gets into shooting position. But he has let the shot clock wind down dangerously low and it enters the last 10 seconds of its run.
Throughout the course of the MC up until this moment, there has been one gentleman who was been louder and more enthusiastic than probably anyone else in the arena. He sits with the USA family and friends, shouts encouragement to the American players, leads chants, and stomps his feet whenever the US enjoys the rare moment of success. IOW he is uber-fan and you can tell he loves his team dearly.
And so, the clock ticks down. Hatch is in shooting position taking his warmup strokes, the crowd is holding its breath, and for reasons that I have absolutely no doubt were rooted in the very best of intentions, uber-fan yells out in a loud, resounding baritone, when everyone else in the crowd is dead silent, at the very exact micro-second Hatch has decided to pull the trigger: "SEVEN!" solely to warm Hatch of how little time is left on the clock.
Hatch misses his intended position and hooks himself. The crowd is in a state of pandemonium. "What just happened?!" "What'd he yell." "Who was it?" In the arena, Hatch's initial disbelief turns from muttered "Wow" to growing rage and a very expensive cue stick is abused.
I am seated across the aisle and a few seats up from uber-fan. He is trying to sink and disappear into his seat. He is miserable and dying the death of a thousand cuts right before my eyes, softly repeating, "I'm sorry." My heart goes out to him.
Back in the arena, Michaela admonishes the crowd. Hatch confronts the disaster on the table. Everyone is silently pulling more for uber-fan than Hatch, hoping Hatch will recover and this will not become a Steve Bartman Incident, with Hatch winning his match and this whole kerfuffle being lost to memory.
But Hatch loses that game. And then, escape and redemption briefly comes back into reach when Hatch drops the 9 ball on the break. It is tied hill-hill and I swear I can hear rosary beads clicking somewhere on the US side of the crowd. But no. Souquet prevails 6-5.
So what can you say?
Pearl and SVB squeak out a ball bobbling 6-5 win against Appleton and Mika. Niels puts on a clinic for the good Mr. Archer 6-0. And Rodney and Shane hold it together to defeat Mika and Karl with another 6-5 nail-biter.
2-8, Europe.
Afterwards I hit one of the bars in the Mirage for a much needed drink and later dine at Stack, their American steak house, and enjoy a Caesar salad and a Kobe steak. Then it's off to Best Billiards to join the gaggle of AZers KoolKat and Pinky have manage to herd thataway. All the tables are going but I am invited to engage in some 3C scotch doubles, with John and I taking on Stu and Cuebuddy. The friendship and camaraderie is great. Bed comes none too soon at midnight.
So now it's the morning of day two and I am about to head off to the MC arena....
I'm thinking comeback
Lou Figueroa
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It seems like the USA came in unprepared. I think the team assembled did not have the time/opportunity to play together enough and discuss strategy especially breaking the balls. It will take a miracle to recover this year.
