Pool hustlin’ is my game.
It’s a pool hall in Denver at 10:30 on a Tuesday night. The place is half full, mostly populated with drunks and people who play pool. I haven’t played in years. So it’s a little surprising when I line up my first shot, hit the cue ball across the table and sink the striped ball. A perfect shot. Then I sink a second ball. Perfect again.
And then my brain switches on. In my head, I think, “I’m gonna sink every shot and it’s gonna be one of those things people tell other people they were there to see! Boy are people going to think I’m awesome. I will be a hero to those bikers over there! And the drug dealers over there! And the people playing pool with me, especially! A hero to all!”
My one friend leans over to another and says quietly, “I didn’t know he was good.”
I line up the third shot. The easiest one. If I tap the cue ball it’ll sink the striped ball in the corner pocket.
I hit the cue ball with such force it jumps over the ball, lands on the floor two feet in front of the table and rolls to a stop on a girl’s leather boot. This girl is easily 200 pounds and looks like she isn’t afraid to beat a jew with a pool cue. She hands me the ball.
“Sorry,” I say.
I didn’t sink any more striped balls that night.
I know that some of the things Lee blogs about are semi-ficticious or completely ficticious…. this is completely 100% true, right down to the pitch-perfect timing of Mike leaning into my ear to say ‘Wow, I didn’t think he’d be this good” just as the ball skipped off of the table.
