dquarasr
Registered
Ode to the Pool Gods
The Pool Gods giveth. They taketh away.
Your stroke is great today.
Tomorrow your stroke has gone astray.
You know not why.
You consult the vids and books.
You leverage the lesson you took.
The Gods like a crook
Have stolen your mojo.
You seek an answer, look within.
Your hit is too full, next too thin.
What a quandary you’re in!
What to do next?
Is it cut-induced throw?
Is it the “Indian or the arrow”?
It frustrates you so.
Do you throw in the towel?
You focus on fundamentals.
Stance? Alignment? In your head? Mental?
You seek an instructor with the credential.
He/she will help you.
Carbon shaft? Soft or hard tip?
Or is it the yips?
Your performance has taken a dip.
You find a fix until the next flaw.
A session at the table.
It’s amazing. You are eminently able.
You can write your own fable.
Until your next match.
Was it a fluke?
Why did your last shot get you hooked?
Speed provided a rebuke
By traveling that extra half-inch?
You vow to get better; you want to quit.
You want to know how to obtain that “it”
That allows you that perfect “hit”.
You practice and practice and practice.
You “Hit A Million Balls”.
Some days you’ve given it your all.
But it’s as likely you’ll continue your streak or fall.
‘Cuz you didn’t properly pray to the Pool Gods.
“It’s your stance” some may say.
“It’s your aim – CTE is the way!”
“Ghost ball!” “Fractional aiming” Too many comments to keep them all at bay.
So you do what’s best for YOU. Or so you think.
“Get the Kobyashi tip”. “No, it’s the LD shaft you need.”
“But I’m used to this stick”, you heed.
It’s the shooter, indeed.
Until the gods scoff at you.
Bar boxes are too clustered. Not enough room.
Four-point-five x 9 too large, long shots loom.
Snooker tables make you want to return to the womb.
How do those guys make the open stance work so well?
Why can’t I do that?
Power draw across the table, hit it too fat?
Too thin? Where’s my hat?
‘Cuz I’m leaving; the gods were unkind.
Ooh, I know. Carbon shaft.
Low deflection. Are you daft?
Of course! That’s the key to the craft!
Until you shoot and you’re not two balls better per rack.
Rack ‘em.
Stack ‘em.
Pack ‘em.
I’m ready to play again, because I just gave a nod to . . . . .
The pool gods and they let me break-and-run this last rack.
Feel free to add your own stanzas . . . . .
The Pool Gods giveth. They taketh away.
Your stroke is great today.
Tomorrow your stroke has gone astray.
You know not why.
You consult the vids and books.
You leverage the lesson you took.
The Gods like a crook
Have stolen your mojo.
You seek an answer, look within.
Your hit is too full, next too thin.
What a quandary you’re in!
What to do next?
Is it cut-induced throw?
Is it the “Indian or the arrow”?
It frustrates you so.
Do you throw in the towel?
You focus on fundamentals.
Stance? Alignment? In your head? Mental?
You seek an instructor with the credential.
He/she will help you.
Carbon shaft? Soft or hard tip?
Or is it the yips?
Your performance has taken a dip.
You find a fix until the next flaw.
A session at the table.
It’s amazing. You are eminently able.
You can write your own fable.
Until your next match.
Was it a fluke?
Why did your last shot get you hooked?
Speed provided a rebuke
By traveling that extra half-inch?
You vow to get better; you want to quit.
You want to know how to obtain that “it”
That allows you that perfect “hit”.
You practice and practice and practice.
You “Hit A Million Balls”.
Some days you’ve given it your all.
But it’s as likely you’ll continue your streak or fall.
‘Cuz you didn’t properly pray to the Pool Gods.
“It’s your stance” some may say.
“It’s your aim – CTE is the way!”
“Ghost ball!” “Fractional aiming” Too many comments to keep them all at bay.
So you do what’s best for YOU. Or so you think.
“Get the Kobyashi tip”. “No, it’s the LD shaft you need.”
“But I’m used to this stick”, you heed.
It’s the shooter, indeed.
Until the gods scoff at you.
Bar boxes are too clustered. Not enough room.
Four-point-five x 9 too large, long shots loom.
Snooker tables make you want to return to the womb.
How do those guys make the open stance work so well?
Why can’t I do that?
Power draw across the table, hit it too fat?
Too thin? Where’s my hat?
‘Cuz I’m leaving; the gods were unkind.
Ooh, I know. Carbon shaft.
Low deflection. Are you daft?
Of course! That’s the key to the craft!
Until you shoot and you’re not two balls better per rack.
Rack ‘em.
Stack ‘em.
Pack ‘em.
I’m ready to play again, because I just gave a nod to . . . . .
The pool gods and they let me break-and-run this last rack.
Feel free to add your own stanzas . . . . .
