Tag Archives: 9 Ball

Teh Stupid and Rack Attacking

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Last night I was playing solo on a 9-foot table at the local pool hall. A couple guys come up and want to gamble. $1 a rack. Seriously? $1.00 a rack? Red flag #1. $1.00 is petty change, but I don’t gamble. It’s a principle thing. I have, on occasion, but very rarely, and only with people I know and trust to not break my jaw.

One of the guys, perhaps in his late 40′s or early 50′s and seemingly “in charge”, goes on about the 1, 5 and 9 being money balls… trying to talk the talk, throwing lingo around like it’s rice at a wedding. Red flag #2. I have a tough time convincing him that I don’t gamble, but am certainly willing to share the table for a while. “What’s the 9 mean, then?” he asks. “It means you win?” I respond. “Uh… you get to break the next rack…” Red flag #3. I’m really starting to wonder at this point about the fellow as this line of conversation goes on for about a minute. Finally, we agree to just play. He racks.

In a manner of speaking.

It’s loose. He can’t control the rack and bumps the balls all over when he tries to lift it. Never mind that the head ball is 3 inches from the spot. I gently allow as to how it should be straight, tight, and on the spot. It takes him (seriously) about a minute to finally get the rack reasonably tight, and figure out how to rack. I’m caught between tapping my toes in frustration and laughing out loud at his clumsy ineptitude. And this guy wanted to gamble?

I give some thought to the idea that maybe he’s playing with me. Maybe he’s coming across as a bumbling idiot in the hopes of luring me into some money games, at which time he’ll wipe the floor with me. I don’t spend much time on that line of thinking.

I cleaned the table with him. Over and over again. He never lets on that he actually knows what he’s doing. He’s a loud talker who puts more energy into making fun of those shots I missed than congratulating me on those I make. I’m not easily sharked by such things, and since I neither know the guy, nor want to, it’s of no consequence to me. He tires of racking (but not before I’ve tired of watching his tragic attempts) and wanders aimlessly off to hit on some underage girls. Pure class, that one. I proceed to clean the table with his mumbling friend who, all sweat and B.O. and clearly unaware of personal space and boundaries, was also entirely too “familiar.” It was a little creepy.

Pet Peeve: People who stand next to the table while I’m shooting. Find a seat, slick. Sit down, get out of the way, and let me shoot.

As it started taking them longer and longer to rack the balls after I beat the crap out of them, I started racking them myself and just shooting it out like they weren’t there. Eventually they quietly left. Well, sweaty guy did whine a little bit, but I responded with an unsympathetic “This table costs money and you guys were wasting mine.” Mr. Class was nowhere to be seen, so I allowed myself to simply be grateful for his absence. My increasing misery at their presence was obvious enough that the waitress commented on it after they left.

That painful chapter of my life over, I got in a small “Rack Attack” demo competition with some other guys. I ended up with a less-than-stellar 39 out of 50, but there was a moment. During my second rack I was on shot 9 with 2 balls left and I have a choice. I can make one ball and I get 9 points. Or I can make both balls in one shot and not only get 10 points, but also crazy pool cred and the shouts and worship of all those around watching.

Care to guess which shot I attempted? I won’t make you. I had the shape and saw the pattern, so I rocketed the first ball into a corner pocket, sending the cue ball screaming around the table three rails and perfectly into the second ball, sending it, in turn flying into the same corner pocket. Oh yes. There was shouting. There was praise. There were high-fives and looks of wonder and envy. It was glorious.

I’m not a fan of the name of the game… it seems a little melodramatic to me, but I do like how it lends itself to (designed for?) stats keeping and finding a true average that can’t honestly be determined against opponents of various skill levels.

Bike today? Magic 8-ball says: Maybe.

Brush with Fame

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Saturday night I went to Sharks, a local pool hall, with the intent of entering a 9-ball tournament. I did exactly that. And for it being my first tournament in years, I didn’t do too bad. I pulled 6th place out of 30 entrants. I completely choked on my last match, but it was very late, and I’m just not used to marathon playing like that. I’m giving it time. It’ll all come back. Last weekend was just the start.

However, that’s really not the point. The point is…

I’m sitting there watching a match between two of the best players in the tournament. Why wouldn’t I? Free lessons, after all. A guy is sitting next to me. Older, I’m thinking maybe 50 or so, he looks really familiar, but I can’t place him, and being more interested in the match being played out in front of me, I let it go. We start talking, and introduce ourselves. His name is Paul. We’re critiquing the match, sharing stories, just generally chatting. He tells about how he’s been playing the game for 55 years (turns out he’s 60), and is so grateful to the game for carrying him around the world multiple times, giving him the opportunity to learn 5 different languages and meet literally thousands upon thousands of fantastic people.

I’m listening, but what he’s saying isn’t really sinking in. Around the world? Many languages? Thousands upon thousands of people? How many pool players credit all that to the game? I’m going to lay my money on a pretty slim minority.

It still doesn’t sink in that this fellow is probably a pretty remarkable player. He has a very humble demeanor, though he’s obviously very confident in what he says. A stranger in the pool hall, he immediately zeroed in on the best players in the house which speaks to his skill in knowing what to look for.

My name is called, and I settle into my last match… the one, as I said, that I choked on. It was with a friend of mine I’ve known for about a decade now, and he’s been in my head for a while. I really wanted to beat him, but I couldn’t let go of the idea that he was going to beat me. We’re chatting between shots, and he asks if I knew Paul Gerni was there. All of a sudden it clicks. THAT’S where I recognize him from! ESPN! Paul… Paul Gerni… is an internationally renown trick shot artist with more than a few titles under his belt!

Unbelievable! I was just chatting with a guy that knows as much about pool as damn near anyone, and doing so like I had a clue what I was talking about!

After my match, I go over and watch him give a little impromptu exhibition. If nothing else, I should have continued talking with him b/c his assistant was just crazy cute…

Tournament: House 9-ball at Terry’s

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I haven’t had this good a showing at a Terry’s tournament since Oct 11, 2003, and this time there was a significantly larger pool of players. I don’t know the exact amount, but it was somewhere in the neighborhood of 23-25 players.

I played well in pretty much all the matches save one, in which I lost 2-5 in an even race against another Queen*. He really didn’t shoot that well, except when he had to. He was obviously very good at choosing his moments, and he chose them right up to a 5-2 victory.

The first match is especially notable. I played against an Ace who, on seeing the race, lost the match. I hadn’t even shot yet and he made it clear that he felt it a hopeless endeavor on his part. I won the toss, broke and made one, but had scratch-dangerous shape on the one. Fortunately, the 9 was an easy bank-combo away, nestled in a pocket. Winning the game in two shots didn’t do any wonders for his attitude or confidence. In fact, he got so irritated and frustrated, that when I was on the hill with three balls left on the table, he broke his stick down, saying with some sarcasm “Good Match!” What he apparently didn’t realize, as I walked over to shake his hand, was that by breaking down his stick, he forfeited the match. He told me to shoot them the rest of the way out, and I told him “I’ve already won… you broke it down, it’s over.” All he could say was “Whatever.” as he stormed out. He went straight to the booth, complained about my handicap, and told Calvin to strike his name from the bracket.

I’ve been frustrated before, even to the point of leaving… but always after I’ve been eliminated from the bracket. I’ve certainly been known to leave in a huff, but I’ve never forfeited my standing. I was so flustered by his attitude that I walked off and left w/o my remaining quarters. OK, I do that all the time, but still.

The 4th match is when I got angry. I was down by a couple games, and Rhonda was shooting well. I hadn’t had may opportunities with her skill at safeties, so when I finally hit a two rail kick shot into the side, only to watch the cue carom off two other balls into the other side, I went from elated to fed-the-fuck-up in half a second. Instead of getting flustered and angry like my opponent in the first match, I used it to focus. Seems it really paid off too. While she got a couple more games and got to the hill, I didn’t let her get any further.

My next opponent was a sweet woman ranked at a Ten. She, unfortunately, found me when I was still fed up with my performance at Terry’s for the last few months, and I shut her out 6-0 in a 6-3 race.

My last opponent, the one to put me out, deserved to win. I gave up at least 3 games through simple lack of concentration, and he was able to capitalize on my mistakes very well. Strong break, comfortable and natural stroke. He wasn’t perfect, but he was still a damn good player. I didn’t stick around to see if he took 1st or 2nd, but I was definitely hoping he would take it. A great player, and a great attitude to match.

My Handicap: King
Matches:

  1. 4-2 (4Q vs 8K) W
  2. 5-5 (5Q vs 7K) W
  3. 2-5 (5Q vs 5Q) L
  4. 5-6 (5Q vs 7K) W
  5. 6-0 (6Q vs 3T) W
  6. 6-1 (6Q vs 4J) W
  7. 5-4 (6Q vs 7K) W
  8. 3-7 (5Q vs 7K) L

Place: 3rd
Winnings: $40.00

* I’ve oscillated between a King and a Queen for months now. When I’m a Queen, I can usually go more than a few matches. When I’m a King, I’m out in two… maybe three. Sure there are more matches involved to win, but that’s not why I’m out. I’m out b/c I don’t play nearly as well. It’s all a mental thing that I’ve been trying very hard to figure out. I’ll get it, but in the meantime, I’m going to enjoy having done so well as a Queen.