Saw it on facebook, hope it’s real
————
I’m Ronnie.
And I’ve had the privilege — the absolute privilege — of sharing a table with Efren Reyes.
Now, people throw around words like “genius” and “legend” far too easily in sport. But with Efren? Those words feel small. Almost… insulting. Because he’s more than that. He’s magic.
I first saw him play years ago, in a smoky hall where the cloth looked tired and the pockets were unforgiving. And yet, there he was — this quiet man with an easy smile, moving around the table like he’d built it himself. He didn’t just make shots… he invented them. Things you’d never think to try — he’d see them in a blink, and before you could even process it, the balls would obey him like they were in on the secret.
You know what’s funny? Efren never needed to shout about how good he was. No chest-thumping. No look-at-me swagger. Just a humble shrug, a little grin, and on to the next impossible shot. That’s the thing about him — he made the unbelievable look effortless, and the effortless look like art.
I’ve heard the stories: how in the Philippines, they’d call him “Bata” — the kid — who could walk into any pool hall and leave with the room’s respect and their rent money. How he’d play under the worst conditions, with warped cues and lopsided tables, and still find ways to win. That’s not just skill, that’s adaptability, creativity — the mark of a true master.
People often ask me what makes Efren different from the rest. It’s not just his cue ball control, though that’s on another planet. It’s not just his shot-making, though some of his banks and kicks deserve their own museum wing. It’s the mind. The patience. The way he sees patterns where others see chaos. He’s a chess player in a room full of checkers players.
And here’s the part that really gets me — when the match is over, when the applause fades, Efren is still just… Efren. Gentle. Warm. Funny in that quiet way that sneaks up on you. No ego. No airs. Just a man who loves the game and the people in it.
He’s in his 70s now, and while his speed might not be what it once was, his touch — that magic touch — is still there. And when he leans over a shot, the room still leans in with him. Because you never know when you’re about to see something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.
What have I learned from Efren?
That the game is bigger than the scoreline.
That style and substance can live in the same player.
And that the real magic in sport isn’t just winning — it’s making people fall in love with it all over again.
That’s Efren for you.
And in my eyes — he’s not just the greatest pool player I’ve ever seen.
He’s the kind of man I hope the game never forgets.
— Ronnie
————
I’m Ronnie.
And I’ve had the privilege — the absolute privilege — of sharing a table with Efren Reyes.
Now, people throw around words like “genius” and “legend” far too easily in sport. But with Efren? Those words feel small. Almost… insulting. Because he’s more than that. He’s magic.
I first saw him play years ago, in a smoky hall where the cloth looked tired and the pockets were unforgiving. And yet, there he was — this quiet man with an easy smile, moving around the table like he’d built it himself. He didn’t just make shots… he invented them. Things you’d never think to try — he’d see them in a blink, and before you could even process it, the balls would obey him like they were in on the secret.
You know what’s funny? Efren never needed to shout about how good he was. No chest-thumping. No look-at-me swagger. Just a humble shrug, a little grin, and on to the next impossible shot. That’s the thing about him — he made the unbelievable look effortless, and the effortless look like art.
I’ve heard the stories: how in the Philippines, they’d call him “Bata” — the kid — who could walk into any pool hall and leave with the room’s respect and their rent money. How he’d play under the worst conditions, with warped cues and lopsided tables, and still find ways to win. That’s not just skill, that’s adaptability, creativity — the mark of a true master.
People often ask me what makes Efren different from the rest. It’s not just his cue ball control, though that’s on another planet. It’s not just his shot-making, though some of his banks and kicks deserve their own museum wing. It’s the mind. The patience. The way he sees patterns where others see chaos. He’s a chess player in a room full of checkers players.
And here’s the part that really gets me — when the match is over, when the applause fades, Efren is still just… Efren. Gentle. Warm. Funny in that quiet way that sneaks up on you. No ego. No airs. Just a man who loves the game and the people in it.
He’s in his 70s now, and while his speed might not be what it once was, his touch — that magic touch — is still there. And when he leans over a shot, the room still leans in with him. Because you never know when you’re about to see something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.
What have I learned from Efren?
That the game is bigger than the scoreline. That style and substance can live in the same player. And that the real magic in sport isn’t just winning — it’s making people fall in love with it all over again.That’s Efren for you.
And in my eyes — he’s not just the greatest pool player I’ve ever seen.
He’s the kind of man I hope the game never forgets.
— Ronnie
