Efren's Facebook Posts

I don't believe Efren is writing them. In some cases, the significant other or wife handles the Facebook pages of the pro player.
 
They've got the Efren clickbait Youtubes where his comments are in his voice with a Generican accent. He's good at a bunch of things but a US accent, you gotta prove that one.
 
Same with the YouTube channel...most likely not him. Maybe another, maybe AI, maybe a mix. His voice is obviously emulated, he never spoke like that.

I think it's obvious.

I don't look at FB, but occasionally see the YouTube videos. They are fun just because you get to watch some curated videos of him playing.
 
🎱 “When I Stopped Playing to Win”
There was a time I played to win.
Every match. Every shot.
It was about the money, the pride, the name on the bracket.

I’d stare down opponents.
Hold my breath until the 9-ball dropped.
Smile when I won.
Leave quietly when I didn’t.

But then something changed.

One day, I was playing a boy barely tall enough to reach the table.
His form was wrong. His hands shaky.
But when he made a shot, he laughed — loud, like it was magic.

And I remembered:
That was me.
That was why I started.

Now, I don’t play to win.
I play to feel.
To remember the rhythm of chalk.
The dance of cue ball and silence.
The way the game speaks when no one else is talking.

These days, if I win — good.
If I don’t — better, maybe.
Because then I get to show them:
Grace isn't just in victory.

It's in how you lose.
How you smile.
How you still show up — even with slower hands.

I play to pass something on.
Not trophies.
But love.

— Efren “Bata” Reyes
💬 When did you stop chasing wins — and start chasing meaning?
 

Viral Better

July 29 at 6:00 AM ·

🎱
“The older I get, the more I understand — the hardest battles are the quiet ones no one sees.”
At 61, I’ve stopped chasing the game. I let it come to me now — slowly, gently, like an old friend who knows the real me.
I came from nothing. Just a kid with a cue stick too long for his arms and a hunger too big for his age. Back then, I didn’t dream of world titles. I dreamed of dinner. Of staying at the table long enough to matter.
I played with urgency. I played with fear. Fear of losing. Fear of being forgotten. And in those fears, I found fire. I played with flair not to impress — but to survive. That’s what people don’t understand. The trick shots weren’t magic. They were necessity.
They called me *The Magician*. But inside, I was just a man trying to hold it all together. Fame doesn’t prepare you for loneliness. And winning doesn’t teach you how to rest.
For years, I poured everything into the game. But the game taught me in return. It taught me discipline, even when I didn’t want it. It taught me humility, especially when I needed it most.
Now, when I hold the cue, it’s not a weapon. It’s a reminder — of how far I’ve come, and how much I’ve let go.
I tell the young ones:
**Anyone can learn to win.**
But to stay in love with the game after loss, after pressure, after fame fades —
**that’s the real skill.**
Because the greatest lesson pool ever gave me is this:
**Control isn’t power.**
**It’s peace.**
And peace only comes when you stop needing to prove you’re in control.

================================================================================

There is another.
 
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