Shoot, that’s 2. Need one more for the 3.
Ok, uh grampa
story uh book disclaimer:
As Yogi says, half the game is 80% mental.
My first win against “the big boys” was in Aberdeen WA around ‘87. It was a race to 4 eight ball on 4 or 5 valley eight footers. Entry fee was around $25. We had been tipped off to what sounded like a possible soft two day tournament.
Friday night was the usual ring game that lasted till close at 2 am. Saturday morning arrived around 9-10 am to see all the top Seattle Tacoma Olympia players. With a field of around 24 at least 12 were formidable players (the big guns). Omg, might as well grab a tomato beer. Breakfast on the hair of the dog plan.
So upon survey and with breakfast acquired I headed for Racetrack Rick. He can handicap very accurately. On one occasion I made $150 side betting on his tip. So I says, “Rick, who’s the favorite here?” He gazes around the room and thoughtfully replied, “probably Clyde Bowles as he is the eldest and 8 ball definitely favors knowledge over power.”
So my draw has me playing a local house player. A guy that can make shots but has only the most minimal cue ball control. A couple of missed shots has me down 3-0 going to 4. As I racked(with a throbbing head) I glanced up and saw two “players “ sweating my match. Clyde and Rick Jones. So I says to myself, if I manage to survive this I hope I play one of those two next. They must think I can’t shoot a lick.
Funny thing; it was more of a request than a prayer but it was answered. I did win and I did play Clyde next. Winning 4 in a row under that kind of pressure had me in dead punch. No memory of how but I beat Clyde 4-0! I could see the smoke coming out of his ears! At the handshake he said something along the line of, “we can play for money young man!” (Clyde had deep pockets) I replied, As soon as I am out of the tournament we can play.” Clyde didn’t stick around to see me beat Polyester Carl in the final race to 7 late Sunday.
The second chapter to this story must have been Sunday morning. Carl had sent me to the whinners bracket. I was playing Lake City Red(the shark master) a top contender. The tournament was all ball foul. Ray was bridging over a ball mid table and it moved about an inch (or less). I called foul. His response was, “that’s chicken shit.” Kind of funny coming from him! He called everything and then some. Well by the next sentence his position was that it didn’t happen. So the tournament director says rack ‘em and play again. So after a successful break as I am setting for my shot, Red started his shark move. Grumbling to Clyde using the word cheater referring to me. BAD decision (reminds me of the line from Pretty Woman)! I stopped got up off the shot and I lit right into him. Loud talking to the general effect of, “listen you whining, crying shark move MFer!! When it’s my turn at the table, you sit there and shut up. When it’s your turn you can whine and cry all you want!” My adrenaline was all the way up and took me through that match then his son Tricky Dick(actually a good guy and sport) then Carl in the finals. Upon reaching the finals my wife looked at the clock and said, “it’s awfully late. Offer Carl a split.” Since the format was one race to 7 instead of double elimination, it favored me as Carl had been sitting while I was playing back to back. Since the pay was a little top heavy with $300 first and $125 second, a chop seemed reasonable. Slow Talking Carl drawls, “what did you have in mind?” I replied, “well there’s 425 in the pot. I will give you the extra $25. He thinks half a second and drawls, “I guess we will have to play for it.”
I spotted him the first two games by going for the out and not making it. Then collected myself and won 7-4.
