Playing John Smith
After thanksgiving theater, a.k.a. a family event, I went to play pool. At about 1:30am an “open” player, one who likes to drink and gamble at the same time, asked me for a game. For those who don’t know, his rank puts him about four or five levels above me. I told him I only wanted to play for $20 and he said he wouldn’t play for less than $100 a set. We settled at $75. I found a “backer” who put up $50 on my $25, so we had enough for one set. He gave me a poor handicap (2 games in a race to seven), well below what I would usually expect — perhaps 4 in a race to 9. I was not expected to win.
About five people sat down to watch us. I broke first, and soon had a 4-0 lead. I closed the set at 7-1! Now I’d had a couple of relatively lucky moments in that set, so he immediately wanted a re-match. He thought I would crack. I might have agreed. He broke first in the next set but didn’t pot anything, and I cleared to bring it to 3-0 (remember we are starting the sets at 2-0 in my favor). Soon it was 5-2, me.
By this point the whole pool hall (32 tables) had closed down, and everybody who was still there (about 8 players, two people who had been drinking, our backers, the waitresses, the bouncer, and both managers) had come over to watch. The ENTIRE rest of this huge place was dark and quiet, the only light on our table. The crowd wasn’t even speaking to each other. For the first time ever in my life, there was absolutely no distraction – just the unbridled pressure of the moment. He won the next two games, then I pulled another big break to bring the score to 6-4. Unfortunately, I nervously fucked up both the next two games — I missed two easy 8-balls (the penultimate ball).
At 6-6 it was anyone’s game, and on my first shot, an attempted three-rail safety (for anyone who knows what I’m talking about), I fouled. I thought it was over, but getting an unlucky glance off another shot, John also fouled only three shots later. Going to the table I knew that this was my absolute last chance. Any mistake here would be an instant loss. I had to calm myself down. My hands were sweaty, every shot was a battle between the speed I wanted to play (fast) and the speed I should play (careful), and I just had no idea if I was making the right choices, let alone aiming well or playing good speed. I got in three balls, then landed terribly on the 7. I was fucked.
So I played a carom shot, glancing the white off the seven ball to make it smack into the 9-ball, with about a foot between the seven and the nine, and the nine and the pocket.
Still, I took a deep breath, pushed forward the cue, and watched ecstatically as the nine dropped.
Of course, on the outside I had to remain calm (in front of the crowd). I calmly put down my cue and shook his hand. John paid me the money, and we settled with our backers. I waited, accepted congratulations from people very humbly and noted that I’d gotten lucky in the first set. John told me he had never seen me play so well, another person said that apart from my nerves at the end I had retained complete control of the game and of the table, a third told me that (although i hadn’t noticed) my hands had begun trembling about half an hour before and still hadn’t stopped. I told everyone I would see them tomorrow, went outside, and set off on my bike.
About 200 meters down the road my face split into a smile and I let out the loudest “WHOOOHOO” I think I’ve ever let out, and it felt good.
Pool does have its moments.
