A Short Novel ...
Frank, you’ve started a few of these threads lately but I’ll group my reply to all in this one spot to save confusion and reposting. I apologize for the length but I will try to use grammar and punctuation to make this easier to muddle through.
I went on a date a few weeks ago and the girl had nothing but stories from years before. I call this type of person a, “usta-could”. She used ta be able to play this sport, she used ta be able to do this thing, she used ta have this stuff… It quickly became tiresome because there was never anything in present, it was always, “I usta-could” do this, that, and the other.
In pool, there’s always lots of usta-coulds. I used ta be able to run all night and never ever miss a shot. I usta-could go a month without losin’ a game. I used-ta…
Sadly I have done the same thing. I used to play, night and day. I used to play very well. Then I got married. My wife hated pool; she always thought I was down at the hall picking up women. Most of us will snicker at this idea because we know how few and far between female pool players really are. Having an interest in continuing to be married, I quit playing pool. After I lost my wife, I had been out of the scene for so long it didn’t occur to me to take it back up. For 10 years, I didn’t play. One day I was out with a friend at a bar and I heard someone with a sledgehammer break. I started playing again the next day.
I was terrible when I first started back again. I spent weeks and weeks trying to remember what I’d forgotten along the way and it felt like an uphill battle that got steeper with every step. After almost a year playing that way I gained some traction and was starting to run out again. I still had those, “off-nights”, but I wasn’t quite sure why. Then, last year, I had a severe allergic reaction and ended up in the hospital. I couldn’t even shovel my own driveway afterward or I’d end up having nosebleeds and coughing up blood. My ribs and the muscles around my heart were badly bruised and there was no way I could do anything involving much movement so pool was out of the question entirely.
6 months later, I finally got back to the table. My stroke was as straight as politician. It was pokey and inelegant, balls came off the table; I needed 7 or 8 innings to run 7 or 8 balls. I was excited and nervous if I made 2 in a row. It took some time, and a lot of patience, but I began playing a little better. But then it all fell apart again and it wasn’t an “off-night”, it was an “off-month”, or a “slump” as another poster mentioned.
I was so frustrated I bought a video camera and taped a few matches. I found the one that exemplified the problems I was having and posted it in the, “Ask The Instructor” forum. What followed was more or less an old-fashioned roast. I thought there would be some compliments but it was two pages of ripping. It was hard to read at first but I dug deep for some of that, “Canadian Patience”, and listened. Some of the instructors are personal friends and all of them I respect. I took what they said to heart and even though this was my 3rd time starting over, I dropped everything I learned and started from scratch … again.
I hadn’t disclosed I had managed to stop my heart before. Nor had I realized (and what I only found out just before I went to TAR 22) that I have an eye problem that causes me to lose focus if I don’t use prescription eye drops. I mention that because two people said they’d never heard of a player dropping so many levels without some kind of eye or health problem. Leaving out that information gave me honest and unbiased answers and showed me who to listen to.
Much like the title of Melinda’s blog, I was on a journey. Pool was the journey, and playing better was the destination. It is a long, and honestly, unending road. I started paying more attention not just to fundamentals, but instruction in general. Instead of saying, “I usta-could”, I just said, “I can’t, but I’d like to learn.” No matter how I had played before, I wasn’t playing that way now so something drastic had to change.
I use the IPAT (International Playing Ability Test) drills to relearn technique. People who say things like, “drills are boring”, or, “drills are useless”, or, “I know a guy who can do drills, but can’t play at all”, are missing the point of what they are for. It’s not so should the balls magically line up in a perfect “L” around the corner pocket, I’ll know how to run out, the drills teach you how to use concepts like Side (English) to get back into position. Perfect follow, draw, and stun skills that get used in every single game. Hitting A Million Balls (HAMB) is also important so you see some variation and don’t get used to doing only one thing.
I’m starting to play better and use a more reliable system than, “around here, you’re “X” rated, but in my city you’re “Y” rated”. It’s called Fargo, and Hopkin’s. It’s not for bragging rights, I use these tests to see where I am, and in the IPAT ratings I can see which drills I’m not doing so well, and thus need to work, on more. APA/VNEA/BCA/NYC/Whatever. I use an international, same for every Joe-Schmo rating to figure out where I am.
That’s the mechanical or physical part of it. It’s great because my body now knows enough to make the shots, to run-out where it’s possible; and safe intelligently when I can’t. But I still had some of those, “off-nights” I referred to before. And therein, as someone else recommended, I found a certain book.
The Inner Game of Tennis is a great tool, and helps immensely. I also use Progressive Muscle Relaxation and meditation to keep my inner hamster on its wheel. Combining all of these things:
Fundamentals
Practice
Drills
Mental Toughness
I’ve been able to lower my blood pressure, lose 30 lbs, and play far better. I’m still not a world beater. But instead of saying, “I usta-could”, now I say, “I wish I usta play like this.” I can recall stories from the past, but the ones I write each time I get to the table now are far better.
Don’t ask me for advice on women. All I can say about the inner voice is a paraphrase of The Inner Game, which is that telling that voice to, “Shut Up”, just doesn’t work. “Stop thinking about it”, doesn’t either.
I can tell you this: there’s no Saint that will save you. There’s no magic shaft, magic tip, magic tool, magic cue, magic chalk, magic shirt, no magic socks, or even magic shoes. There’s no magic woman, magic drink, no magic food. You make a diamond the same way; time and pressure.
Last night I started off horridly. I missed Ball In Hand shots. But I fell back on all that work like any soldier under fire. The training kicked in and I ran out several times. I’d love to bottle it up and sell it cheap, but it’s a journey you have to make on your own. If you made it all way through my rambling maybe you’ll see a few road signs.
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