and I'm both really proud of myself and a bit ashamed. My friend Kevin is the proverbial 9-ball player: he likes fast games, he loves the luck factor in the game, swears 8-ball is too slow for him, and 14.1 "bores him enough to commit suicide".
This afternoon, the pool hall was empty, save for him and me. After the n-th 9-ball game with him, I said "look, I've been nice to you, we've played 9-ball and you know I'd rather not. Why don't you be nice and play straight pool with me, up to 40, no higher?" "Yeah okay, this once" he said. Wow, Kev playing straight pool, that alone is a miracle.
And then it occured to me: the fish was baited, I just had to pull the line a bit to hook him. The guy loves to win, he plays to win. So I played juuuuust right: I trailed just below him at the scoreboard, I missed pocketing the break ball by a hair but conveniently split the entire rack apart, after which he ran 12 balls and seemed darn proud of it. At the second re-racking, I somehow managed to position the break ball near a side pocket and scratched while looking like I was trying to pocket in a foot corner, leaving him the cueball in the kitchen, ball in hand for a perfect break, and he won 40-37. Damn was I unlucky today or what... Then we went for a coffee and he said to me matter-of-factly: "You know, 14.1 isn't bad after all. I had fun. I reckon I'll play again.". Yesssss!
This afternoon, the pool hall was empty, save for him and me. After the n-th 9-ball game with him, I said "look, I've been nice to you, we've played 9-ball and you know I'd rather not. Why don't you be nice and play straight pool with me, up to 40, no higher?" "Yeah okay, this once" he said. Wow, Kev playing straight pool, that alone is a miracle.
And then it occured to me: the fish was baited, I just had to pull the line a bit to hook him. The guy loves to win, he plays to win. So I played juuuuust right: I trailed just below him at the scoreboard, I missed pocketing the break ball by a hair but conveniently split the entire rack apart, after which he ran 12 balls and seemed darn proud of it. At the second re-racking, I somehow managed to position the break ball near a side pocket and scratched while looking like I was trying to pocket in a foot corner, leaving him the cueball in the kitchen, ball in hand for a perfect break, and he won 40-37. Damn was I unlucky today or what... Then we went for a coffee and he said to me matter-of-factly: "You know, 14.1 isn't bad after all. I had fun. I reckon I'll play again.". Yesssss!
