You bring up some interesting memories. I had retired from playing pool for a couple of years when I got the call.
"Hey Joey, Kevin here. How ya doing? Man, a bunch of us guys from the old neighborhood was just thinking about you. Are you still playing pool?" I answered no and that I hadn't played in a while.
Kevin countered, "Well, we all know how good you were and probably still are and wanted to let you know we went to the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP LAST YEAR and out of thousands we came in like 56th. If you had been on our team we would have won the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP. Would you be interested in playing on our APA team with all of the guys from the old neighborhood? Kevin rattled off a bunch of the guys and while they were a nice bunch of guys, we all kind of went our own separate ways in life and I hadn't kept up with any of them for the most part.
Kevin extolled the virtues of the APA league and told me none of the downside. I joined not knowing what a pool league was and was glad to get out of the house and get back to hitting some balls. The old pals were great to see again. However, it was a MONDAY night team and the first night, I met at the agree place and time. I signed the papers, paid the upfront fee and sat down to watch and listen to see what was going down. Everyone was in good cheer and relatively sober. I ordered a beer for everyone and received raucous high-fives in return.
Finally, it was my turn and Kevin, the team captain waved me over and whispered in my ear, "Now here's what you need to do." I pulled away and looked at him like he had lost his mind. I wanted to shout at him, "You want me to LOSE??" but I asked instead and he said I was a 2 and needed to stay with a low handicap so that they could have a chance to win the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP. I protested for a couple of minutes but knuckled under the peer pressure and dogged ball after ball. I drank beers faster than I had ever before to dull the pain I felt in my heart. I hit balls in the points of the corner pockets just hard enough to keep them from going in. I must have had twenty innings at the table because the guy I was playing was no more than a two or three himself but I felt more pity for myself than the other guy and drank the beers faster and faster.
After I finished my match I had to sit and watch my teamates stall endlessly through the night all the while sucking down beer after beer to live with myself. I must have drank 8 beers that night and the next day and the day after I felt like crap.
Each week the same thing happened all over, except my teamates stepped up to the mixed drinks, shots and drink challenges and each week I suffered and hangover. I tried to resist my pals encouragement to drink but they were my pals and all of the drank to excess so what could I do. You know the old story of birds of a feather.... Anyway we finally make it to Vegas and everyone had promised that they would individually practice to the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP before they went and we met on the airplane and I knew then I had made a mistake. Here the last two weeks I had been practicing like a man possessed, abstaining from all alcohol and was playing pretty good. I looked over at my teamates as all of them were ordering drinks on the plane before we even hit the sands of Las Vegas. I inquired with Kevin if this is what was in store for us and he grinned like a Cheshire cat and said this is how we do it buddy. We get a good buzz on and destroy anyone in our path. My eyes must have looked like saucers by now and I sat there looking stunned. I had come out of retirement to compete for the WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP and all my pals were thinking about is getting loaded and "having a good time".
I managed to keep from saying anything seriously negative other than, "Are you sure Bill should be drinking mix drinks this time of the morning?" It was a little pass 8:00 am and Bill was already started on the good stuff. He was from Canada Kevin reported to me with a twinkle in his eye and merrily the team played, oblivious to the rest of reality.
They blamed our loss on many things but not once did they blame it on the team who had one too many. I resigned right after we got back to New Orleans and they tried to apply the old buddy pressure but I wasn't to be deterred and never looked back. A year later, another group of old buddies knew of my fate with the Monday night team and they were from the BCA league and told me grand stories of the BCA whereupon I went out on another quest, one far more fulfilling. We were called the Wolf Pack and while our team members didn't drink much somehow we stumbled to win virtually every major award the local BCA league had at that time.
The next year the local leagueoperator changed the rules of the teams because of us but I had a better time playing in the BCA. At least I competed in the Singles Championship and had a good time there, thanks to my good friend Alan, from Seattle who coerced me into coming back to Las Vegas. Alan and I passed a great time that year but I haven't been back since.
My Wolf Pack BCA team never made the trip but I can assure you they would have been a competitive team. Sober = Faculties in gear.
Drunk = Faculties on the fade.