Entered a pool tournament I got destroyed in twice before. Beat a shaky lady in the first round (she was literally trembling before each shot which is not the way to play in a tournament but what do I know?) Second round I played a guy who beat me in the last two tournaments (albeit, in very close games). This was was close as well and featured my shot of the night which was a long drawback shot where I drew the cue back three and a half feet in order to get on my last shot before the eight. Then I lost to the guy who took first in the previous two tournaments and in the semifinal I utterly destroyed a guy who had hitherto been playing very well (but thitherto notsomuch, I left him with five balls on the table). This put me in the championship round where, coming from the loser’s bracket, I was going to have to beat my opponent twice whereas he only had to beat me once to win. Then he came with an offer. Since he had taken first place in the previous two tournaments he was in danger of having to sit out next week (there is a standing rule of a three-peater having to sit out one week) so he offered to split first and second place with me. I accepted the offer giving me my very highest finish in a tournament, 1.5. The masses were disappointed that they did not get a chance to see the penultimate round so then we played for funsies. I won that game too. At some point I’ll make a diagram of my breakout shot of the night.
Xiaoting Pan is now my computer wallpaper. Ice Angel, bitches!!!
I went to the bar on Wednesday night to shoot pool and give my clicky-finger a rest from WoW. I was waiting for Kman when I noticed that they had opened the pool tables for the night. Since I didn’t have to pay for the games, I grabbed a diamond 9-ball rack and started practicing some 9-ball. Normally the game of choice for bars is 8-ball but 9-ball is strategically a different game entirely and learning the game forces me to try some shots I wouldn’t ordinarily try in 8-ball so I play it when I can as I think it will strengthen my game overall.
So anyway I’m playing 9-ball and at some point I had ball in hand (after having snookered myself with a vicious safety) and I had an easy shot but one for which I needed about four feet of drawback to get on my next shot. I lined the shot up, aimed as low on the cue ball as possible without popping the ball off the table, and hit the shot. My object ball goes in and the cue ball spins backwards and comes right back at me down the table: one, two, three, four feet, bumps the headspot, and comes back about another half foot. Counting the bounce I got about five feet of drawback on that shot, lining me up perfectly for my next shot in the 9-ball rotation. And THAT’S how the pros do it.
Except the pros are actually consistent at it and they get paid to play pool whereas I have to put in quarters unless it’s open pool Wednesday 
I was at the bar waiting for the pool shooting regulars when Mike Ryan showed up. Mike is one of the best players I know and he wanted to shoot a few games. I was like au-ight so I broke out the Lucasi I bought off of Kman when I lost my other stick. When I say I lost the other stick, I don’t mean in a bet, I mean I literally left it in a cab a couple months ago so I didn’t have it anymore. I didn’t even notice until I was going to shoot pool the next night and I called the cab company to no avail as they said nothing had been turned in. It was very disturbing because I had an emotional attachment to that stick (also a Lucasi) as it is the stick I bought on Camelback Road when I entered some pool tournaments last May.
But anyway here I was playing against Mike Ryan with this other Lucasi stick. It’s a better stick than the first one with a nice pro taper but the only thing is that I need to get the tip replaced. That and since I had the pokey thing in the other cue case that means I left that in the cab as well which means that I am now more apt to miscue. So I play Mike Ryan and I lose the first game. Then the second game I bear down and I run all seven of my balls then the 8 without missing once. It’s a table run and then I begin the next game with a successful break and I run six consecutive before I finally miss. Mike then follows up with his own table run and so I lose but in the grand scheme of things I didn’t do that bad as, counting those two games, I had a streak of 14 consecutive shots without a miss. Not bad for getting used to a new stick.
I end up getting all buzzed on beer and Tangueray and then, to cap off a perfect night, I get in the cab and the driver says “I’ve got something for you.” I’m really buzzed so I’m like “What?” and he says “I’ve got your pool stick.” This was so unreal I scarcely dared to believe this, lest I wake up to discover I’ve been dreaming. This guy had been driving around waiting to see me again so he could give me back my cue. He drives to the station and pops the trunk to his car and there is my magical Lucasi, safe and sound. He gives it to me and I open the side compartment and everything is there, the pokey thing, the scuffer, the 8-ball cloth, and my chalk. The best part of the deal is that that case has slots for two cue sticks so now I have both Lucasis in one case. I am great, pool is great, and the cab driver got a nice tip as I was very appreciative that he didn’t sell it. Oh yeah and Mike Ryan burst into tears* when I had that table run so that made my day as well. And THAT is the meaning of good Friday.
* lie
I sauntered into the place with the secret weapon slung over my shoulder. The black case contained my new 18 ounce Lucasi pool cue with a medium tip I had poked to perfection with the pokey thing so that it would hold chalk. The jukebox was blaring Huey Louis’ “Bad to the Bone” (this part is a lie) and I walked in like I owned the place. A bunch of pool players were engrossed in the games that were going on at the two pool tables in preparation for the 8-ball tournament. I just sat down at an empty bar stool making no attempt to get into the games. I’m so good I don’t need any stinking practice.
Actually it’s because although I’m not a superstitious dude, I simply don’t like to practice immediately before a tournament. I think it’s because I’ve noticed before that if I make some really sweet shots in practice it doesn’t necessarily carry over into the tournament so I feel like my good shots are wasted. Also, since I was about to play in a place I had never been in before, I was coming in as a complete unknown. I wanted to hold onto that. I hailed a serving wench and ordered a beer.
Although I had gone about three years without entering a tournament this was actually the second one I was entering this week. The other day I entered a 9-ball tournament on the big tables and was dispatched like a black woman who was married to a black man who had been in his get-back-to-Africa phase in the 1970s but was just getting into the black yuppie phase in the 1980s and had just moved into a neighborhood with a bunch of single white women who were looking to get their freak on in the p.m. on the down-low so they could go back and brag to their other white friends about having taken a walk on the wild side. Was that analogy too long? I sincerely apologize. But back to the issue at hand.
The memory of the 9-ball tournament fiasco behind me, I was feeling more at home with this 8-ball tournament on the bar box tables with league rules that were familiar to me. Also I had decided on an 18 oz pool cue because I found that I usually play better with a lighter stick as it allows for more control and hence better predictability on placement of the cue ball after a shot. We all paid the $5 entry fee and drew random numbers. I had to play the guy who was directing the pool tournament. The format was double elimination.
I lost a hard fought series to my first opponent after which I got rather despondent and ordered a second beer. I dispatched my second opponent quickly and efficiently. I was heartened and in celebration I ordered a beer. I beat the third guy as well and I started watching the Warriors/Mavs game. Since I was watching TV I had a beer. My fourth opponent was a tricky old timer who I managed to out-trick with a vicious safety (actually I didn’t play a safety, he just fucked up giving me ball in hand) and I ran out with a top-right follow through which gave me a perfect leave on the eight (this part is true). This put me into TEH MONEY ROUND!
My opponent has only the 8 ball left to shoot at and it’s lying just at the corner pocket at the footspot. I have one ball left to shoot at but it’s lying on the center rail also at the footspot. Rather than the long bank I instead choose to play a safety, attempting to very slowly make contact with my object ball, gliding the cue just on the other side of it leaving an impossible leave. I fuck up the safety by about a half inch leaving my opponent a clear shot at the eight. I thus take third place (instead of heading into the championship round if that safety would have worked) and i get $11 as compensation for my troubles.
I am left with a slewfull of memories, however, my favourite which is an earlier shot in which I pocked my ball and got about a foot of drawback leaving me a perfect shot on the eight. My Lucasi has eliminated my miscue on attempting wicked English problem and has thus entrenched me firmly into the memories of fantastic third place finishes, the kind of which books are written about and harp playing misty eyed damsels will sing songs about in the future when recollecting the days of yore, which for us means about right now. I made $11. What’s you YOUR wallet?
You know what’s funny? Going to a pool hall you’ve never been to and where no one knows you and just slamming every ball as hard as you can every game. I don’t know where the hustle works itself in but I think it would be funny as hell.
As an aside I was playing some dude in pool last night. He was one of these types who feels compelled to analyze every one of your shots right after you shoot them. Finally he asked “You don’t mind the banter do you?” I said “Actually I’m the kind of person who prefers to shoot without talking about the shots.” He said “Ok I’ll shut up.”
A couple minutes later I’m lining up for a particularly difficult shot and he says “If you ask me-” and I immediately said “But I DIDN’T.”
Jackass. I beat him like three straight after that.
I had an almost table run last night. I say “almost” because nothing went in when I broke but on my next turn at the table I ran all of my balls and the 8 without missing a shot. It was one of those nights that was just my night. The Mexicans I beat were all screaming something about sacrosanct frijoles.
At one point my opponent broke and made nothing and at my first chance at the table I had an obvious stripe shot. The way the table was laid out, however, I really wanted solids but I didn’t have anything there. The only shot I had on those was a bank in the side pocket which would leave me in position to run a whole bunch of balls. I called the bank in the side (which raised eyebrows when the onlookers saw I was passing up an easy stripe shot) and I sank it. After that I kept going until I had run five balls and pretty much had the game in hand because when I finally did miss I left my opponent dirt. I think I finished the night 8-2.
No my opponents weren’t great but they were all good. The difference in my play versus theirs was that I was getting mad cue ball control. One shot was my last shot (before the eight) which was an angle in the side pocket which looked to be a scratch shot in the corner. Instead I put so much low English on the ball that after my shot went in the cue drew back off two rails which left me with a perfectly straight shot on the 8. I could draw a diagram but that would take too much time. Suffice it to say that the Devil himself would have rather challenge Charlie Daniels to a fiddlin’ rematch rather than playing me in pool. At least that’s the way it was last night anyway.
I’m hungry. I think today I’ll do an early lunch.
Life is spinning out of control! Lost my life savings betting on the outcome of Rocky’s second fight with Mr. T! How could I have known Balboa would come back to win it? CURSE YOU BOXING GODS!!!
Got the beers and the liquors in with Guy in the UNLV Jacket the other day. Who’d have known he got that much better at pool? He beat me the first four games in a row, that’s with me only screwing up the first game but then playing well after that and he beat me anyway. I came back with three straight until I finally lost again in a closely contested game that would have evened the series up 4-4 if I had won it.
As a matter of fact the turnaround began like this: UNLV is up 4-0 and nothing goes in on the break. I have an open table but no obvious shot. Not wanting to relinquish the table I call a solid ball into another solid with the second ball caroming off a stripe and being pocketed into the right corner at the footspot. It goes and I end up running a five more balls in a row giving me a solid lead en route to my first win.
Anyway back to the point that UNLV is leading 5-3. We make an agreement at that point that whoever loses has to make the title of his blog that the opponent is the greatest pool player of all time. A terrible fate that would be since we’re both shameless egoists and I am happy to report that we somehow ended up tied 7-7 and I survived having to write a lauditory blog by the skin of my teeth. I’m sorry to report that we ended up leaving before Nice Rack made it out but of course time was of the essense and since UNLV was the out of towner we were on his agenda. At least I can remember going home this time which is more than I can say for the day I hung out shooting pool and drinking liquor with Bernard. I had one of those mysterious deals where one moment I’m at the bar shooting pool and the next thing I dig I wake up at home and the sun is up. I think it’s magical Christmas demons!
My homie Bernard has a pool table in his basement. Sometimes, instead of spending buku money to drink and shoot pool at the bar, we’ll just get some beer and liquor and shoot pool at his house. The same opponent competition was getting kind of old so Bernard started inviting his friend Danno over to shoot too. Danno has been practicing regularly at Pockets, Bernard has been shooting at his own table, and I (of course) am me, so that makes for some good games. It was getting to the point, though, to where by the end of the night no one knew who had been winning the most games. Then Bernard got a chalkboard.
One day we had played about six or seven games when somebody decided that we’d start keeping score. At this point I’m thinking these guys are good but I’m gonna bear down and start slaying. Pretty soon the score was 6-4-2. Great score except I was the guy with the 2! Danno was in the lead and the world was all wrong. Bernard won two more and I managed to eke out 4 (Danno didn’t manage to win a single game towards the end) so by the time we called it a night the score stood 6-6-6. Danno wanted to play one more game so the score wouldn’t be evil but, since I’ve embraced my ex-wife’s characterization of me as evil, I said I liked the score just fine.
The point of that story is that people tend to engage in self-deception on a regular basis. Everybody involved in the preceding scenario probably thought he was the better player and would win the series. When things don’t go according to our perceived outcome we tend to engage in that fuzzy thinking: “He got lucky”, “I’m off my game”, “I’m getting bad breaks.” When we’re the ones winning though, we attribute the outcome to skill. “I’m so much better, I wouldn’t have left myself that bad leave my opponent got, I’m so great!” It’s really not a fair assessment because it’s weighted but that’s just human nature. It’s like that old addage: Everybody who’s driving slower than me is an idiot, everyone going faster than me is a maniac.
I was cognizant of the self-deception bias and how it can cause us to underestimate our opponents so the next time we all came together to play I didn’t take anything for granted. I shot every shot as if it might be my last chance at the table and before you know it I had a retarded lead. I lost a couple games at the end but ultimately the series ended 12-6-4, with me at the top. The moral of the story, if you’re burnt out from drinking Budweiser try a little Christian Brothers. It goes down like warm stomach acid! 
Rain is ignorant. So is lightning. Three quarters of the lights just went out on my floor after one particularly loud bolt from the heavens. My computer is still going but what I’m really worried about is how I’m going to get my mid-day burrito without getting wet. I might have to wait until the rain dies down. The dark cubicle and the glow of my computor monitor on my face is making me sleepy. Or maybe it’s the fact that I played 9-ball on the big tables until midnight.
I hate 9-ball on the big tables. I’m no good at it. What made it even worse is that Shawn Allison was there and although he wasn’t laughing on the outside, deep down I know he was yucking it up. He asked if I’ve seen this person or that person or the other person lately. I said I see almost no one, I’m turning into a hermit.
Goddamn the sky is exploding with cracks of thunder. It sounds like God and Chuck Norris are playing a monstrous game of thumps. I imagine the rain is God’s tears as he struggles through the pain. I’ll have my burrito yet.
One final thought, I’d rather stay kidnapped than to be rescued by Jesse Jackson. Seriously. I mean, the valiant taste of death but once, but I’ll be damned if I listen to a rhyming preacher if I don’t have to. I can see it now:
Hezbollah: All your base are belong to us!
Mexigogue: Very well.
Hezbollah: However your release has been arranged. You are free to leave now with Jesse Jackson.
Mexigogue: No
Hezbollah: Say again?
Mexigogue: I don’t like Jesse Jackson. I would rather stay here.
Hezbollah: But. . . we might kill you.
Mexigogue: Are you going to say outlandish shit and rhyme while you do it?
Hezbollah: Um. No.
Mexigogue: Then that’s a chance I’m willing to take. Can I have another of your angry falafels please?
Man I need a burrito.
I made a three rail kick shot in pool yesterday. I wasn’t doing it to be fancy, I was playing against a pretty good player and the opportunity presented itself, not just kind of presented itself, it came up in a game exactly like I practice it all the time.
I was playing this Mexican guy in a game of last pocket 8-ball and he scratched. But not only did he scratch, he scratched when I had only one ball left on the table and that was on the cusp of going dead in one of the corner pockets at the headspot of the table. Since the only object ball I had was at the top of the table I couldn’t shoot directly at it as the rules are that after a scatch you have to shoot from behind the kitchen line.
Most people in my situation would have opted to kick one rail (off the footspot of the table) aiming to make the cue ball come back and sink the object ball but I’m terrible at that shot. Whenever I try that even if I find the right angle I inadvertently put English on the ball causing the kick to come back at some retarded angle, often missing my object ball by up to a foot. I always practice the three rail kick because for some reason when I do that shot either I shoot it naturally with less English or the effect of the English is negated by the angle at which the ball hits the rails.
At any rate, I knew the shot, I quickly lined it up (much to the puzzlement of my opponent) and sank it. The guy gave me props but you could tell he didn’t expect it to go in and then he was further chagrined at ultimately losing the game to me too. I guess he figured that he was a specialist at playing last pocket but as many times as I’ve played that game and the quality of my opponents (KWK, Willie Peters, Nice Rack, Quincy, you name it) and you will see that I’ve got some games behind me too. Take that other Mexican! The only bad thing is that immediately after making the 3-rail shot I looked around and no one had seen it but my opponent. “Layla” was busy picking songs at the jukebox.
Yeah, I hung out with “Layla” and her friend (insert name here, I forget). It was a great experience but I had to call it an early night as I had to be sure to be on time this morning (we’re missing some key staff here at work). That was fun, I’ll write some more about it if I remember. I have to hurry and hit publish because it’s almost time to pick up some lunch.
Oh yeah, the black guy who worked at Beaner’s died yesterday. He was like 27. They said it was due to heat exhaustion and a heart problem. Rest in peace coffee guy. I salute you.
