Thought I'd chime in here. I was in the poolroom that day, watching and enjoying the action. As an eye witness, I will tell you that Brian's account of the episode is 100% accurate, not embellished in the least. I have known both men for many years, and have played each of them on numerous occasions.
The sequence of events leading up to the melt down was nothing short of incredible. Chicken's three consecutive misses, each one resulting in a pocketed ball, were each remarkable, taken individually. But back to back to back, they were like nothing I'd seen in more than 40 years of playing our great game. Add this to the fact that the victim of these shots is a terrific player who honestly believes that he has never gotten a good roll, and that bad luck befalls only him. You could almost see his blood pressure escalating with each fluke shot. Those of us in attendance were biting down hard on our tongues to keep from laughing, anticipating an eruption from Brian's opponent.
Subsequent to the shredding and scattering of the bills, there was the expected jawing back and forth before The Shredder (with apologies to Danny Smith) departed. Upon realizing that The Chicken had pursued him to the parking lot, I threw on my jacket and ran after him, my main intent to limit the physical damage that Chicken was bound to incur. I am not a small man, but I would not like our chances, the two of us versus an enraged Shredder. He is a rather imposing figure. To my relief, it never went beyond words being exchanged and The Shredder driving off.
I want to emphasize, however, that this is simply a story about a remarkable turn of events. It is not a story about a hero and a villain. I count both The Chicken and The Shredder as friends, ones i believe would help me, were I in a jam. And I would do the same for either of them. They are both good guys, and I enjoy their company. We all have been guilty, at one time or another, of reacting poorly to adversity. I myself am a rather poor loser. I'm not proud of it, and I wish I was more gracious. We all have our flaws.
Fortunately, Chicken's story had a happy ending, and we are all left with memories of a remarkable day in the poolroom. It's one I will not soon forget.
The sequence of events leading up to the melt down was nothing short of incredible. Chicken's three consecutive misses, each one resulting in a pocketed ball, were each remarkable, taken individually. But back to back to back, they were like nothing I'd seen in more than 40 years of playing our great game. Add this to the fact that the victim of these shots is a terrific player who honestly believes that he has never gotten a good roll, and that bad luck befalls only him. You could almost see his blood pressure escalating with each fluke shot. Those of us in attendance were biting down hard on our tongues to keep from laughing, anticipating an eruption from Brian's opponent.
Subsequent to the shredding and scattering of the bills, there was the expected jawing back and forth before The Shredder (with apologies to Danny Smith) departed. Upon realizing that The Chicken had pursued him to the parking lot, I threw on my jacket and ran after him, my main intent to limit the physical damage that Chicken was bound to incur. I am not a small man, but I would not like our chances, the two of us versus an enraged Shredder. He is a rather imposing figure. To my relief, it never went beyond words being exchanged and The Shredder driving off.
I want to emphasize, however, that this is simply a story about a remarkable turn of events. It is not a story about a hero and a villain. I count both The Chicken and The Shredder as friends, ones i believe would help me, were I in a jam. And I would do the same for either of them. They are both good guys, and I enjoy their company. We all have been guilty, at one time or another, of reacting poorly to adversity. I myself am a rather poor loser. I'm not proud of it, and I wish I was more gracious. We all have our flaws.
Fortunately, Chicken's story had a happy ending, and we are all left with memories of a remarkable day in the poolroom. It's one I will not soon forget.
We're playing a set of 9b and he's giving me a generous spot racing to 7 for a c-note. I win 7-1 and he's extremely unhappy about it and shows it by banging his head hard on the slate a few times and grumbling. He throws my hundo up on a nearby shelf and starts to collect his gear. :angry:
