Beware of the pool shark with his own cue stick

Horseracing is the sport of kings. Bowling is the sport of suburbanites. Pool is the (non-drinking) sport of college students. So when no one showed up to a meeting I was supposed to have in Frist (the story of my life), I — being a college student — decided to burn a little time with a couple of shots at eight-ball.

Of course, when I went to sign out the equipment, I got a cue stick with about half the bottom missing and half a cube of chalk, broken diagonally with paper flapping over the edges.

So I racked 'em up and played a couple of games to work on trying to use the right amount of english (spin) to get the cue ball to stop where I wanted. I was just finishing my second game and about ready to go when in bounds a smiling sophomore with a ball of hair on top of his head even bigger than my own. He asked me if I wanted to play a game, so I said, "Sure."

Mistake number one: I had failed to notice that he bounded in with a leather carrying case in his hand, one which held his own personal cue stick.

I decided to take advantage of the situation as much as I could, so I asked him for some decent chalk. He pulled a press blue cube from a pocket in his bag. So far, my situation had improved. I had a playing partner and a nice piece of chalk.

He asked if I wanted to break, but I didn't let myself look like a buffoon that early on. I acted as if it was inconsequential. He still had no idea how bad I was, and I was ready to let him cling to his misconception for as long as possible.

Mr. Cue Stick agreed to break, but he had to use the bargain basement stick that Frist provided. Aside: He wants a breaking cue. This is going to be a lot of fun.

Little did he know that we were not going to be playing the same game. While he played eight-ball, I decided to play how-few-balls-can-I-leave-on-the-table-ball.

First game, I may have kept the illusion of ability. I left one ball on the table. But I was warmed up, and he had just walked in. Apparently, he only needed one game. I believe there were six of my seven balls remaining on the table at the end of the second game.

This guy was ridiculous. His english was so perfect, I should get an honorary LA taken off my distribution requirements. And, of course, every shot ended with, "That was a terrible leave." Aside: Yeah, right. Even this guy's safeties are perfect.

I would have been out of there after my second-game debacle, but Mr. Cue Stick was incessantly nice in his post-shot comments, and who can't use a little ego boost every now and then?

The losing continued, and who shows up? That's right, my girlfriend and a gaggle of her giggling friends fresh from the C-Store. I promptly decided that rather than hitting the three ball into the pocket, I would miss by several inches and cause ricochets of nearly every ball on the table for the next few shots. Inevitably, some random ball would move closer to some random pocket, and I would get unknowing "Wow"s from the peanut gallery.

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They got bored and left, and Mr. Cue Stick must have lost interest too, because he started missing shots. Miraculously, I holed out my final four balls plus the eight to win a game! I was about to burst into the Hallelujah chorus when I realized I was losing about a gillion to one.

I lost another couple of games, but that's inconsequential. Mr. Cue Stick didn't seem to be keeping count, and since I knew I'd won one, and he'd won, uh, more than one, we'll say I was down, 2-1 (after about 12 games — it was amazing).

Setting myself up for the tie, I left him with one ball to make with an easy shot after one of my own "safeties." I did at least leave the cue ball touching the rail. Mr. Cue Stick's cue stick slid slowly between his fingers at an uncomfortably high angle to avoid the rail. After several passes, he finally followed through, and the cue ball rolled quickly toward the corner pocket. He missed! All I had to do was make a couple of shots, and I'd have the tie! One. Two. And the eight ball! YES!

Then we played another couple of games. I'm not sure who won them. It's inconsequential.