I've posted this story before, but I always come back to it when someone ask the question:
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I think I was 9 or 10. I went with my Dad to pick up my sister at the
Masonic Temple. She was waiting at the Temple in a rec. room playing 8-ball on this 9' table. I'd never really played before but was fascinated by the click of the balls. Neither my sister nor her friend had a clue as to what they were doing, but occasionally, one of them would catch a ball just right. The ball would hit the leather pocket with that wonderful *thwap* sound.
My sister let my father and me play a bit before we went home. For a guy who never plays, my dad has some obvious natural talent. My father only knew one game: rotation (we are Filipino after all). So that was the first game that I knew as far as rules go.
In that first magical rack, I couldn't make a straight shot to save my life. I was able to make all of two balls: a bank on the 5, and a kick on the 13. My father apparently feeling no need to praise his young son on these accomplishments rewarded me with "lucky shot" on each.
And such was the spark that lit my burning desire. I never wanted to hear him tell me "lucky shot" again. Gee, dad. Thanks.
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And now you newbies now the rest of the story (of why I'm such a bitter prune)
Freddie <~~~ vengeful bastard
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I think I was 9 or 10. I went with my Dad to pick up my sister at the
Masonic Temple. She was waiting at the Temple in a rec. room playing 8-ball on this 9' table. I'd never really played before but was fascinated by the click of the balls. Neither my sister nor her friend had a clue as to what they were doing, but occasionally, one of them would catch a ball just right. The ball would hit the leather pocket with that wonderful *thwap* sound.
My sister let my father and me play a bit before we went home. For a guy who never plays, my dad has some obvious natural talent. My father only knew one game: rotation (we are Filipino after all). So that was the first game that I knew as far as rules go.
In that first magical rack, I couldn't make a straight shot to save my life. I was able to make all of two balls: a bank on the 5, and a kick on the 13. My father apparently feeling no need to praise his young son on these accomplishments rewarded me with "lucky shot" on each.
And such was the spark that lit my burning desire. I never wanted to hear him tell me "lucky shot" again. Gee, dad. Thanks.
------------------------------------------------
And now you newbies now the rest of the story (of why I'm such a bitter prune)
Freddie <~~~ vengeful bastard