Okay, so I realized I've been a little jaded and hanging out in the NPR section a little too much. Seems like the deflection/inflection threads got to me. Why can't I make a ball? Who took a fall? Hard to say. Shall we pray?
Anyway, the thing I LOVE about pool is that no matter where I go in the country (or world) I can usually find a group of folks with whom I fit in. A group whose morals | ethics | values I understand. A group that makes me feel whole.
I've lived in many major cities in the US and abroad and when I start to feel homesick, lonely or blue, I know I can go shoot pool and before long I'll be trading war stories with someone and enjoying the heck out of myself. This is a story about that, but I was the one who made a stranger feel at home in our town.
I was playing at sticks billiards in Colorado Springs, CO, which was managed by my buddy Dennis Dreiling at the time. I was goofing around and practicing by myself and having a beer. I noticed a guy next to me practicing as well. He was in his early 50's, probably about 5'11 and a little overweight. I could tell he could play, but his best years might have been behind him. Out of mutual respect, we let each other practice in peace for a while, but we both knew when the time was right, we'd play some.
After about an hour, I stopped practicing and watched him shoot for a couple of shots.
"one pocket?" I asked.
"Yep" he replied..."Ever play?"
"Nope, 9-ball for me."
"Fine."
So we played a couple games of nine ball. He was from East Moline, IL. A town I remembered well from my cross-country driving trips. We talked and shot and he bought a round and so did I. He was there dropping off his daughter for college.
He asked me if I'd like to play some 1-pocket, he'd teach me. I said "sure."
We played for nothing and he told me what to do every shot against him. He was so good at telling me what to do, that I ended up beating him the last two games we played. And he was as happy for me as I was. He was thrilled that I listened to what he said.
After he left, the guys at the counter asked me how I did against him. I said I won the last two, but he was telling me what to do. They laughed and asked me if I knew who I was messing around with. I said "no". They told me he had just won some tourney or other, but his name didn't ring a bell with me.
The next week, every stiff in there was asking me for one-pocket lessons. I told them "Don't you understand, I beat him with HIS knowledge."
But I've cherished the memory of that night and hope that I made him feel as at home and comfortable as folks have made me when I've been in a strange town. And I REALLY appreciated him sharing his knowledge with me and now that I play 1p more, I remember some of the strategies and thought patterns that he laid out for me. I think the foundation he gave me the first time I played 1p gave me the ability to pick it up much faster now and also helped my 9-ball game.
True story, circa 1999.
Cheers,
RC
Anyway, the thing I LOVE about pool is that no matter where I go in the country (or world) I can usually find a group of folks with whom I fit in. A group whose morals | ethics | values I understand. A group that makes me feel whole.
I've lived in many major cities in the US and abroad and when I start to feel homesick, lonely or blue, I know I can go shoot pool and before long I'll be trading war stories with someone and enjoying the heck out of myself. This is a story about that, but I was the one who made a stranger feel at home in our town.
I was playing at sticks billiards in Colorado Springs, CO, which was managed by my buddy Dennis Dreiling at the time. I was goofing around and practicing by myself and having a beer. I noticed a guy next to me practicing as well. He was in his early 50's, probably about 5'11 and a little overweight. I could tell he could play, but his best years might have been behind him. Out of mutual respect, we let each other practice in peace for a while, but we both knew when the time was right, we'd play some.
After about an hour, I stopped practicing and watched him shoot for a couple of shots.
"one pocket?" I asked.
"Yep" he replied..."Ever play?"
"Nope, 9-ball for me."
"Fine."
So we played a couple games of nine ball. He was from East Moline, IL. A town I remembered well from my cross-country driving trips. We talked and shot and he bought a round and so did I. He was there dropping off his daughter for college.
He asked me if I'd like to play some 1-pocket, he'd teach me. I said "sure."
We played for nothing and he told me what to do every shot against him. He was so good at telling me what to do, that I ended up beating him the last two games we played. And he was as happy for me as I was. He was thrilled that I listened to what he said.
After he left, the guys at the counter asked me how I did against him. I said I won the last two, but he was telling me what to do. They laughed and asked me if I knew who I was messing around with. I said "no". They told me he had just won some tourney or other, but his name didn't ring a bell with me.
The next week, every stiff in there was asking me for one-pocket lessons. I told them "Don't you understand, I beat him with HIS knowledge."
But I've cherished the memory of that night and hope that I made him feel as at home and comfortable as folks have made me when I've been in a strange town. And I REALLY appreciated him sharing his knowledge with me and now that I play 1p more, I remember some of the strategies and thought patterns that he laid out for me. I think the foundation he gave me the first time I played 1p gave me the ability to pick it up much faster now and also helped my 9-ball game.
True story, circa 1999.
Cheers,
RC
