Things are starting to come together a bit. Though I have not played in any more tournaments yet, I recently had a practice session where I broke and ran a nine-ball rack for the first time in a LONG time. I have a lot more confidence in my shot, which has allowed me to experiment a bit with moving the cue ball around, as I do not have to worry as much about getting straight in on my shots. In fact, the best strategy is to always have an angle on every shot except the last one (in a game of 8-ball or 9-ball, for instance), as that allows for the most flexibility when trying to get position on the next shot.
Still have not been able to run more than ten or eleven when practicing straight pool, but hopefully that will come. I have developed a practice game that is kind of a hybrid of a couple that I have read about. I start with ten balls racked in a triangle - does not matter which ball is at the head. Break them from behind the head string, and after the break try to run as many as I can. If I sink any on the break, then I have to start from wherever the cue ball ends up if I want to keep them off the table. I can move the cue ball to start the run, but then all balls sunk on the break come out and get spotted. A scratch on the break means that all balls sunk get spotted and the run starts with the cue ball behind the head string.
One point for each ball sunk on the initial run. If I sink nine in a row, I can use the tenth as a "break ball" like in straight pool and re-rack the other nine. If I sink the tenth ball and break the rack, then I can keep shooting until I miss.
If I miss before the ninth ball is sunk, I can sink the rest of the first rack of ten for an additional point. So, if I sink six and then miss, I can get a seventh point by running out the other four balls without missing again.
Most racks so far (today was the first day I tried this game) were racks where I made eight balls and then missed the ninth while trying to get position on the potential "break ball", then made the last two balls for an extra point. One rack was an eleven point rack, which was my highest.
I find that practicing with a ten-ball rack, instead of the usual 15, allows for more open space and fewer clusters, which helps to hone the skill of going from one shot to the next. Occasionally you still need to break up a couple of balls that end up very close to each other. This practice game also helps me to learn how to break while leaving the cue ball in a good spot on the table (so that any balls sunk on the break get to stay down).
Went looking for a longer shaft for my McDermott cue online today, but I didn't find any. I had heard that they are available. I may have to call McDermott and see.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
My first 8-ball tournament at Buster's
On the last Monday in September, I decided to try the 8-ball tournament at Buster's Billiards. It is a handicapped tournament, and since I did not have an 8-ball handicap, I was asked to play a couple of games against an established player so that Frank (the man who runs Buster's, and the tournaments there) could figure out what my handicap was supposed to be.
I lost the first game against John, the established player, but then won the second game. I was given a handicap of 12 (0 being the best).
A slight tangent to explain the scoring system (which I was not familiar with before that night): In this tournament, you get 1 point for each of your balls (solids or stripes) that is potted during the game (whether you put them in or not), and 3 points for the 8-ball. So, the winner of each game gets 10 points and the loser gets a score equal to however many balls have been sunk belonging to that player (usually 7 minus whatever balls are left on the table). A game where all of the balls are sunk is therefore scored 10-7 for the winner.
Each match in the tournament is three games, with the third game only being played if it is needed. You start the match with the number of points equal to your handicap. So, I started all matches with 12 points.
In my first tournament match, I played someone with the same handicap as me. I won the first game, but lost the next two (and therefore the match). Luckily, the tournament was double-elimination, so I got to keep playing until I lost one more time.
My second match was against the player that I played my "exhibition match" against. His handicap was 8, so it was theoretically possible for me to lose two of three and still win the match (e.g. 10-7,7-10,7-10 would still give me a 36-35 win on points). I was in good form, though, and won both of the first two games to take the match!
My third match was against another 8-handicap player. We split the first two games, and then I broke to start the deciding game (in each game, the loser of the game before breaks the rack - the starting break of the match is determined by coin toss). After the break, which sunk a ball, I looked to see which side (stripes or solids) would be best to have. I saw a way to run the stripes, even though I would at one point have to separate the 8-ball and the 9-ball. Optimistically, I decided to see if I could run out. Usually, this is not a great strategy, because if you do not succeed, your opponent has many ways to make life difficult for you.
The game proceeded like a dream. Every shot went exactly the way I envisioned it, and when I used a shot to separate the 8 and the 9, they both ended up makeable. For the first time in many years, I actually broke and ran an eight-ball rack, and I did it in a tournament! This was the highlight of the night for me.
The next match was against a player with a handicap of 1 (!!), which meant that I could lose all three games 10-7 and still win the match. Unfortunately, he beat me worse than that, as my mojo from the previous round did not continue.
So, two wins, two losses, and a break-and-run...not a bad night for my first tournament in years. Only cost me the $10 entry fee, too. I hope to be able to play another tournament soon.
I lost the first game against John, the established player, but then won the second game. I was given a handicap of 12 (0 being the best).
A slight tangent to explain the scoring system (which I was not familiar with before that night): In this tournament, you get 1 point for each of your balls (solids or stripes) that is potted during the game (whether you put them in or not), and 3 points for the 8-ball. So, the winner of each game gets 10 points and the loser gets a score equal to however many balls have been sunk belonging to that player (usually 7 minus whatever balls are left on the table). A game where all of the balls are sunk is therefore scored 10-7 for the winner.
Each match in the tournament is three games, with the third game only being played if it is needed. You start the match with the number of points equal to your handicap. So, I started all matches with 12 points.
In my first tournament match, I played someone with the same handicap as me. I won the first game, but lost the next two (and therefore the match). Luckily, the tournament was double-elimination, so I got to keep playing until I lost one more time.
My second match was against the player that I played my "exhibition match" against. His handicap was 8, so it was theoretically possible for me to lose two of three and still win the match (e.g. 10-7,7-10,7-10 would still give me a 36-35 win on points). I was in good form, though, and won both of the first two games to take the match!
My third match was against another 8-handicap player. We split the first two games, and then I broke to start the deciding game (in each game, the loser of the game before breaks the rack - the starting break of the match is determined by coin toss). After the break, which sunk a ball, I looked to see which side (stripes or solids) would be best to have. I saw a way to run the stripes, even though I would at one point have to separate the 8-ball and the 9-ball. Optimistically, I decided to see if I could run out. Usually, this is not a great strategy, because if you do not succeed, your opponent has many ways to make life difficult for you.
The game proceeded like a dream. Every shot went exactly the way I envisioned it, and when I used a shot to separate the 8 and the 9, they both ended up makeable. For the first time in many years, I actually broke and ran an eight-ball rack, and I did it in a tournament! This was the highlight of the night for me.
The next match was against a player with a handicap of 1 (!!), which meant that I could lose all three games 10-7 and still win the match. Unfortunately, he beat me worse than that, as my mojo from the previous round did not continue.
So, two wins, two losses, and a break-and-run...not a bad night for my first tournament in years. Only cost me the $10 entry fee, too. I hope to be able to play another tournament soon.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Evolution of an Aiming Style - Part 2: Theory and Practice
While getting used to the 15-30-45 degree angle aiming, I kept reading about the CTE method. It intrigued me, partly because it was based a bit on feel instead of calculation. I am not used to figuring things out that way, and I wanted to see if I could get it to work. I found a couple of articles about it, and one of them discussed where the center of the pivot needed to be. Suddenly, it all started to click. I started practicing, and like magic, most of my shots were going in. Not all of them, but I was gaining confidence.
Over the last several weeks, I have found that the best system for me is a mix of CTE and the degree-aiming. If I know that a shot is a 30-degree shot, for instance, I do not worry about CTE, and I just aim for the 30-degree spot on the object ball. Same with 45 degrees. As long as I have confidence about where to aim the shot, I am happy. When there is a short distance between the cue ball and the object ball, the degree-aiming system sometimes works even better than CTE.
There are two drills/games that I play whenever I go to the pool hall to practice.
First drill: I rack ten balls (basically a full rack without the last row) and break them apart. After the break, I either start with the cue ball where it ends up or I take ball in hand behind the head string. Then, I try to run the 10 balls without missing. If I do not miss, I get ten points. Each miss takes a point off. Most of my racks are between six and nine points. Very rarely do I run the whole thing out. I usually play five racks at a time, and try to get as high a score as I can. Right now, my top score is 40, meaning that I averaged two misses per rack. I have had a hard time trying to break that mark.
Second drill: I rack the 6,7,8, and 9 in a diamond formation, with the 6 on the spot. I break them apart, spotting any balls that sink on the break, and then I get to put the cue ball anywhere I want on the table. The object is to run the balls in order, as you would at the end of a game of 9-ball. If I run out without missing, it is a "win". If not, it is a "loss". I try to get 5 wins before I get 5 losses, but I have not yet been able to do that. I don't know if it is lack of concentration or what, but it is really difficult for me. Most times I can only get two wins before I get five losses.
Over the last several weeks, I have found that the best system for me is a mix of CTE and the degree-aiming. If I know that a shot is a 30-degree shot, for instance, I do not worry about CTE, and I just aim for the 30-degree spot on the object ball. Same with 45 degrees. As long as I have confidence about where to aim the shot, I am happy. When there is a short distance between the cue ball and the object ball, the degree-aiming system sometimes works even better than CTE.
There are two drills/games that I play whenever I go to the pool hall to practice.
First drill: I rack ten balls (basically a full rack without the last row) and break them apart. After the break, I either start with the cue ball where it ends up or I take ball in hand behind the head string. Then, I try to run the 10 balls without missing. If I do not miss, I get ten points. Each miss takes a point off. Most of my racks are between six and nine points. Very rarely do I run the whole thing out. I usually play five racks at a time, and try to get as high a score as I can. Right now, my top score is 40, meaning that I averaged two misses per rack. I have had a hard time trying to break that mark.
Second drill: I rack the 6,7,8, and 9 in a diamond formation, with the 6 on the spot. I break them apart, spotting any balls that sink on the break, and then I get to put the cue ball anywhere I want on the table. The object is to run the balls in order, as you would at the end of a game of 9-ball. If I run out without missing, it is a "win". If not, it is a "loss". I try to get 5 wins before I get 5 losses, but I have not yet been able to do that. I don't know if it is lack of concentration or what, but it is really difficult for me. Most times I can only get two wins before I get five losses.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Evolution of an Aiming Style - Part 1
Ken Tewksbury taught me a lot of things that helped, but he also tried to teach me how to aim, and in the process messed me up for a good long while. Everyone has their own way of deciding where the cue ball should hit the object ball in order to make a shot, and some (like me, before I took the lessons with Ken) rely on "feel", using experience as a guide. Unfortunately, between the lack of practice and my new stance and grip (see the last post), experience was not really helping me much. As I was learning ways to move the cue ball around the table to set up the next shot, I was losing the ability to make the initial shot, and it was very frustrating.
When I voiced my frustrations to Ken, he told me that he "only ever aims at three points - the base of the object ball (where the ball hits the table), the left edge, and the right edge". I could not believe that aiming could be this simple, but I was willing to grasp at anything, so I practiced with these three points in mind. It soon became evident that there were many shots that would not go in based on these three points alone, and when I voiced this to Ken at our next lesson, he admitted that he had simplified quite a bit in an effort to reassure me. THAT did not work...now I was as unsure as ever.
During one of my practice sessions at Buster's, I met a guy named Andy and played some nineball with him. I noticed that he seemed to have some sort of aiming system, as he was lining up all of his shots using the same pre-shot routine, and most of his shots were going in. After our match, which he won handily (I still had no confidence on my shots), I asked him about his aiming system and he was nice enough to try to explain it to me. He said it was called CTE and I could look it up online. I could not understand his explanations, but the good result from all this was that I went online to look up various aiming systems to try and find one that DID make sense to me.
The aiming system I found that DID make sense to me is one that is based on the angles that appear most on the pool table. Except for thin cuts, almost all shots fall into angles of 15,30, or 45 degrees. The closer the object ball is to the pocket, the larger the margin for error. As it turns out, visualizing the aiming point for each of these three angles is fairly simple: for cuts to the left, the left edge of the cueball hits one of three spots - the base of the object ball (30 degrees), the "left quarter" of the object ball (15 degrees), or the "right quarter" of the object ball (45 degrees). For cuts to the right, match the right edge of the cue ball with the same three points on the object ball. As mentioned, any cuts thinner than about 50 degrees cannot use these three points...though the article that I read mentioned that you should be able to bank the ball somewhere based on these three angles. I have not tested that part much.
The next question, of course, is "How do you determine the angle when you are at the table?". It would be bad form (and likely illegal) to measure with a protractor or compass when you are playing a match, so how do you easily determine the angle of the cut so you know which aiming point to use? It turns out that, for most people, the angle between the index and middle finger when the fingers are splayed out is very close to 30 degrees, 45 degrees can be approximated by bisecting a right angle. 15 degrees is a bit tougher, but I figure that anything that is significantly lower than 30 degrees (using my fingers as the guide) can be made with the 15-degree shot.
I still kept the CTE method that Andy showed me in the back of my mind, as the man who invented the system I was now using (Hal Houle) also invented CTE. I kept reading things about it and tried to understand how it worked...
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Revamping my pool game
Recently, I started playing pool a lot more and realized that I was at a plateau. I could shoot okay, but I was not getting any better with practice. I decided to take some lessons with a pool teacher.
Luckily, there is a very good pool teacher in New Hampshire. Ken Tewksbury has been a pool instructor for many years (trivia note: His son Bob spent many years as a Major League pitcher), and I went to him for three lessons this past Spring. While some of the things he tried to teach me did not take (the aiming system he teaches for shots messed me up for a while until I remembered that aiming shots was not really my problem to begin with), his tips on position play - once I internalized them and figured them out a bit - helped a lot.
One of the tips Ken gave me was something that I never would have figured out on my own. I am a tall person (about 6'6", or 2 meters), and I have two normal-sized pool cues. One of my cues has a nylon (or maybe linen - not really sure) "wrap" around the area where a player's back hand would grip the back of the cue. All my (pool-playing) life I have used the wrap location as a guide for where I should place my hand...and it turns out that, for me, the wrap is in the wrong place!
There are two corrections for this issue. One is to get a longer cue, which they do make - I never knew that either - but the more reasonable correction is to place my back hand in back of the wrapped area on the cue. Basically, the place to put the back hand is where, when the cue hits the cue ball, the arm (from the elbow to the hand on the cue) points straight down at the floor. Obviously on some shots this cannot happen, but on most shots where you can stand the way that you want to, you should put the hand in that location.
By gripping the cue where I HAD been gripping it, I was elevating my cue as it moved forward to hit the cue ball. This drastically increased the error involved in the shot itself, as I was not really hitting the cue ball where I was aiming.
Of course, with practice you can compensate for almost any bad habit. When I was really in practice, in Chicago, I was able to shoot well despite this flaw, but getting rid of it is bound to help me. It does mean, though, that I have to train my body once again to execute a shot correctly, and I spent quite a while on the "one step back" before I started taking the "two steps forward". I have even started using my older cue more often, because it has the wrap on it and it is easier to figure out where to place my hand - right behind the wrap. My newer cue, which I had been using pretty exclusively for years, does not have a wrap on it.
Luckily, there is a very good pool teacher in New Hampshire. Ken Tewksbury has been a pool instructor for many years (trivia note: His son Bob spent many years as a Major League pitcher), and I went to him for three lessons this past Spring. While some of the things he tried to teach me did not take (the aiming system he teaches for shots messed me up for a while until I remembered that aiming shots was not really my problem to begin with), his tips on position play - once I internalized them and figured them out a bit - helped a lot.
One of the tips Ken gave me was something that I never would have figured out on my own. I am a tall person (about 6'6", or 2 meters), and I have two normal-sized pool cues. One of my cues has a nylon (or maybe linen - not really sure) "wrap" around the area where a player's back hand would grip the back of the cue. All my (pool-playing) life I have used the wrap location as a guide for where I should place my hand...and it turns out that, for me, the wrap is in the wrong place!
There are two corrections for this issue. One is to get a longer cue, which they do make - I never knew that either - but the more reasonable correction is to place my back hand in back of the wrapped area on the cue. Basically, the place to put the back hand is where, when the cue hits the cue ball, the arm (from the elbow to the hand on the cue) points straight down at the floor. Obviously on some shots this cannot happen, but on most shots where you can stand the way that you want to, you should put the hand in that location.
By gripping the cue where I HAD been gripping it, I was elevating my cue as it moved forward to hit the cue ball. This drastically increased the error involved in the shot itself, as I was not really hitting the cue ball where I was aiming.
Of course, with practice you can compensate for almost any bad habit. When I was really in practice, in Chicago, I was able to shoot well despite this flaw, but getting rid of it is bound to help me. It does mean, though, that I have to train my body once again to execute a shot correctly, and I spent quite a while on the "one step back" before I started taking the "two steps forward". I have even started using my older cue more often, because it has the wrap on it and it is easier to figure out where to place my hand - right behind the wrap. My newer cue, which I had been using pretty exclusively for years, does not have a wrap on it.
Friday, July 15, 2011
First Tournament on the Seacoast
When we first moved to the Seacoast area in 2006, I scouted out pool halls but did not go to any. The smoking ban was not yet in effect, so I was not really anxious to go off and spend time there. As a result, my only pool playing from when I moved to NH (1999) to 2006 was the occasional straight-pool game with a friend at the apartment complex where we lived in Nashua. And those stopped in about 2001.
When my wife went to visit family in Canada for a week in the fall of 2006, I decided to go to the pool hall on the Monday night of that week. They were having a nine-ball tournament, and for $10 I could get an hour of practice and at least two matches (the tournament was double-elimination).
I got to the pool hall around 6:00 for my hour of warmup, and ran into the first issue. The tournament was handicapped, meaning that each player is assigned a letter grade, and the lower-grade player is given an advantage in each match. The advantage would be greater if the difference in letter grades between the two players is larger.
They had no idea what my handicap was, of course, since I had never played there before. The guy running the front desk offered to play me during my warmup hour to assign me a handicap. I agreed to that, but I told him up front that this would be my first hour of real practice in almost 10 years, so it would not likely reflect my true ability. However, it was the only measure he had, so we played for the hour. I played horribly, as I would have expected, and was assigned a handicap of a D+. This basically meant that I would get an advantage in just about every match I played.
At the start of the night, I had asked someone at the pool hall how long the tournaments usually last. He told me that the finals might not be over until after midnight. I remember thinking to myself that I would not have to worry about playing that late, but maybe I could win a couple of matches before getting knocked out.
I won my first match, barely, and then lost my second one. This transferred me to the "loser's bracket", consisting of players who had already lost once and would therefore be out of the tourney if they lost again. Using my absurdly low handicap and my gradual improvement as I played more and gained confidence and remembered how to position the cue ball, I worked my way through the bracket. I was texting my wife with my progress throughout the night, and as it got later and later I was still in it.
The finals took place at midnight. I was exhausted, and I was playing someone with a lower handicap than mine, and I had to beat him twice (he had not lost yet).
I managed to do it, and at 1:00 in the morning, I was declared the winner. Reeking of smoke, and barely able to stand up, I got the first prize of $75 and headed home to try to get some sleep before work the next day.
Oh, and my handicap was raised to a C.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
When my wife went to visit family in Canada for a week in the fall of 2006, I decided to go to the pool hall on the Monday night of that week. They were having a nine-ball tournament, and for $10 I could get an hour of practice and at least two matches (the tournament was double-elimination).
I got to the pool hall around 6:00 for my hour of warmup, and ran into the first issue. The tournament was handicapped, meaning that each player is assigned a letter grade, and the lower-grade player is given an advantage in each match. The advantage would be greater if the difference in letter grades between the two players is larger.
They had no idea what my handicap was, of course, since I had never played there before. The guy running the front desk offered to play me during my warmup hour to assign me a handicap. I agreed to that, but I told him up front that this would be my first hour of real practice in almost 10 years, so it would not likely reflect my true ability. However, it was the only measure he had, so we played for the hour. I played horribly, as I would have expected, and was assigned a handicap of a D+. This basically meant that I would get an advantage in just about every match I played.
At the start of the night, I had asked someone at the pool hall how long the tournaments usually last. He told me that the finals might not be over until after midnight. I remember thinking to myself that I would not have to worry about playing that late, but maybe I could win a couple of matches before getting knocked out.
I won my first match, barely, and then lost my second one. This transferred me to the "loser's bracket", consisting of players who had already lost once and would therefore be out of the tourney if they lost again. Using my absurdly low handicap and my gradual improvement as I played more and gained confidence and remembered how to position the cue ball, I worked my way through the bracket. I was texting my wife with my progress throughout the night, and as it got later and later I was still in it.
The finals took place at midnight. I was exhausted, and I was playing someone with a lower handicap than mine, and I had to beat him twice (he had not lost yet).
I managed to do it, and at 1:00 in the morning, I was declared the winner. Reeking of smoke, and barely able to stand up, I got the first prize of $75 and headed home to try to get some sleep before work the next day.
Oh, and my handicap was raised to a C.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Location:Somersworth, NH
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Kindred Spirits
You don't really expect to meet a lifelong friend in a pool hall. When you consider that the interest in billiards is likely the only thing I had in common with the people that I met in pool halls, and there were several things that I did NOT have in common with them (most notably the smoking and gambling habits that were both very prevalent when I began shooting pool in the mid-90s), it is amazing that I made many friends at all. There were several people of all ages that I enjoyed talking to at the pool hall, but I was not that interested in getting together with them outside of that arena.
However, as with most general rules, there proved to be an exception. Christopher was older than most of the crowd at Lee Street (by a few years -- he is three years younger than I am). He was also a smoker, a sometime pool hustler, and a country music fan. And yet...we hit it off. I can't really explain it, except to say that when it comes to the core elements (reliability, trust, sense of humor) we were kindred spirits. While most of our interaction still centered around pool, we would go to other pool halls in the Chicago area and would also get together for meals and other events. Christopher and I talked each other through issues and celebrated milestones together. I introduced him to the NHL, taking him to his first hockey game. He captivated me with stories of his previous days as a pool hustler.
Hustling takes a certain personality and ability. I have never been so confident of my pool ability that I could lose on purpose and have faith that I would play well when it mattered. That is why I like to play tournaments, where everyone is trying their best (at least in theory) rather than playing someone straight-up for money. Christopher seemed (and I saw it in action more than once) to be able to turn it on and off at will. He did not, though, NEED the money to play his best, which is one of the reasons we played so often together.
Our 9-ball marathons were a lot of fun. I would play the percentages, going for the safe shots and trying to run out the table, while Christopher would go for two- and three-rail bank shots and combination shots that I would never think of, and more often than not he would make them and end the game right there. I think, if it came down to it, I was the better pure shot, but he had a breadth of knowledge of different types of shots and angles that I had never tried. We would often meet at Chris' Billiards (where they filmed the pool scenes in The Color Of Money), as it opened at 9 am on weekends and was not too smoky at that time.
One of our most memorable nights of pool happened when I worked at IBM in the late 90s. I was responsible for running some batch jobs in the middle of the night, and I was going to have to go in to work sometime around 3 am on a Sunday morning. Instead of being prudent and getting to bed early, I called Christopher and asked if he wanted to shoot pool at an all-night pool hall that we knew about. The place was famous for money games, and was not my favorite venue, but the tables were okay and it was the only place open at that time of night.
We got there at around midnight or so. For a little while, I practiced on one table while Christopher hustled on another one. After an hour or so, while he and I were talking, we were approached by a couple of guys who wanted to play 8-ball with us for money. It was my kind of money game, because there was no time for either side to hustle the other. I explained to the guys that due to my work commitment, when my pager went off the game was over and I had to leave. We agreed to play for $5/person per game, with the loser paying for the table time as well.
This was the first and only time that Christopher and I played as a team, and we were ON. In the first game, I broke the rack and ran the table. In the second game, they broke and did not sink anything, and Christopher ran the table. In the third game, we each got one turn and won handily. Then my pager went off. I don't think those guys ever knew what hit them. The stakes were low, but the feeling of teamwork and confidence was such that this night has stayed in our memory for years, long past the time when details of weekly tournaments and such have faded.
Christopher was my best friend in Chicago. One memorable day, I had to go in for a dental procedure, and I did not realize when I went in that I would not be able to drive myself home (anesthetic). The dentist asked me if there was someone that they could call to come and pick me up. I gave them Christopher's name, and they called him. Keep in mind that he had no idea I was even AT the dentist that day. Once he figured out what was going on, he dropped everything and came and got me. There were other times when we were there for each other, but that one stands out.
That was also the only day that I ever shot pool while under the effects of Valium. :-)
Even when Christopher moved from Chicago to Columbus, we would still see each other a couple of times a year, when I would stop there overnight on my road trips to see my sister in Virginia. I was the best man at his wedding, too...and even though we have not seen each other in years, we keep in touch. Even now, I know that we can count on each other any time it is needed, and I look forward to seeing him whenever it may happen.
He is still the only one who can get away with calling me Johnny. He has done it since we met, and no one else is allowed. :-)
One of the best friendships I have, and it started in a smoky pool hall. And they say that pool is the mark of a wasted youth...not if you do it right.
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However, as with most general rules, there proved to be an exception. Christopher was older than most of the crowd at Lee Street (by a few years -- he is three years younger than I am). He was also a smoker, a sometime pool hustler, and a country music fan. And yet...we hit it off. I can't really explain it, except to say that when it comes to the core elements (reliability, trust, sense of humor) we were kindred spirits. While most of our interaction still centered around pool, we would go to other pool halls in the Chicago area and would also get together for meals and other events. Christopher and I talked each other through issues and celebrated milestones together. I introduced him to the NHL, taking him to his first hockey game. He captivated me with stories of his previous days as a pool hustler.
Hustling takes a certain personality and ability. I have never been so confident of my pool ability that I could lose on purpose and have faith that I would play well when it mattered. That is why I like to play tournaments, where everyone is trying their best (at least in theory) rather than playing someone straight-up for money. Christopher seemed (and I saw it in action more than once) to be able to turn it on and off at will. He did not, though, NEED the money to play his best, which is one of the reasons we played so often together.
Our 9-ball marathons were a lot of fun. I would play the percentages, going for the safe shots and trying to run out the table, while Christopher would go for two- and three-rail bank shots and combination shots that I would never think of, and more often than not he would make them and end the game right there. I think, if it came down to it, I was the better pure shot, but he had a breadth of knowledge of different types of shots and angles that I had never tried. We would often meet at Chris' Billiards (where they filmed the pool scenes in The Color Of Money), as it opened at 9 am on weekends and was not too smoky at that time.
One of our most memorable nights of pool happened when I worked at IBM in the late 90s. I was responsible for running some batch jobs in the middle of the night, and I was going to have to go in to work sometime around 3 am on a Sunday morning. Instead of being prudent and getting to bed early, I called Christopher and asked if he wanted to shoot pool at an all-night pool hall that we knew about. The place was famous for money games, and was not my favorite venue, but the tables were okay and it was the only place open at that time of night.
We got there at around midnight or so. For a little while, I practiced on one table while Christopher hustled on another one. After an hour or so, while he and I were talking, we were approached by a couple of guys who wanted to play 8-ball with us for money. It was my kind of money game, because there was no time for either side to hustle the other. I explained to the guys that due to my work commitment, when my pager went off the game was over and I had to leave. We agreed to play for $5/person per game, with the loser paying for the table time as well.
This was the first and only time that Christopher and I played as a team, and we were ON. In the first game, I broke the rack and ran the table. In the second game, they broke and did not sink anything, and Christopher ran the table. In the third game, we each got one turn and won handily. Then my pager went off. I don't think those guys ever knew what hit them. The stakes were low, but the feeling of teamwork and confidence was such that this night has stayed in our memory for years, long past the time when details of weekly tournaments and such have faded.
Christopher was my best friend in Chicago. One memorable day, I had to go in for a dental procedure, and I did not realize when I went in that I would not be able to drive myself home (anesthetic). The dentist asked me if there was someone that they could call to come and pick me up. I gave them Christopher's name, and they called him. Keep in mind that he had no idea I was even AT the dentist that day. Once he figured out what was going on, he dropped everything and came and got me. There were other times when we were there for each other, but that one stands out.
That was also the only day that I ever shot pool while under the effects of Valium. :-)
Even when Christopher moved from Chicago to Columbus, we would still see each other a couple of times a year, when I would stop there overnight on my road trips to see my sister in Virginia. I was the best man at his wedding, too...and even though we have not seen each other in years, we keep in touch. Even now, I know that we can count on each other any time it is needed, and I look forward to seeing him whenever it may happen.
He is still the only one who can get away with calling me Johnny. He has done it since we met, and no one else is allowed. :-)
One of the best friendships I have, and it started in a smoky pool hall. And they say that pool is the mark of a wasted youth...not if you do it right.
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Location:Des Plaines, IL
Monday, June 27, 2011
My first pool tournaments
My first pool tournament entry was born out of frustration. I was in a bar league in Chicago, where you play for a bar's team and the winning team in the league gets a trophy. We were in the playoffs - cannot remember if it was the finals or not - and my match was pivotal. I remember getting to the 8-ball (all of the leagues were 8-ball leagues then; since then I have seen some that are a mix of 8-ball and 9-ball), so all I needed was to make the last shot to win the game. I remember it being a thin cut shot...and I ended up missing the 8-ball entirely with the cue ball. That gave my opponent ball-in-hand (meaning that he could put the cue ball anywhere on the table for his next shot), and he ran out and won the game.
I was disgusted with myself - I had let down my team, and even though someone else on our team (at least) must have lost that night too, my loss was the most visible and came when we needed the win to advance.
I had recently moved from downtown Chicago (where the bar league was based) to out near O'Hare Airport (Northwest of the city center), and really the bar league play was my last link to my life in the Gold Coast area of Chicago (just north of the Loop). Maybe it was the fact that I was "done" with my downtown life (I had moved out to the airport area because my job was no longer downtown; I was now a consultant who often worked north and west of the city, and even the reverse commute was a real pain, especially in the evenings), but when I saw an ad somewhere for a 9-ball tournament the night after I lost the 8-ball match, I decided to give it a try. New pool hall, new area of town, nobody knew me...what was the worst that could happen? I play badly, and decide that 9-ball is not for me.
LEE STREET BILLIARDS
Lee Street Billiards was an interesting place. Unlike every other place that I had shot pool, it was not a bar. As such, it attracted a mostly under-21 crowd. At the age of 25, I did not feel out of place when I first walked in the night of the tournament, but in the ensuing weeks I realized that I was often the oldest player in the room. I did not mind the lack of alcohol, though (unlike a lot of my over-21 peers, I guess), and the folks who played there and ran the place were all very friendly.
Unfortunately, though, you do not have to be over 21 to smoke...and these were the days before smoking was banned in many public places. It took a long time for my love of pool to succumb to my dislike of second-hand smoke, but from the start I really hated that aspect of going to a pool hall. Even when I would go to a mostly-empty pool hall, I would still find the lingering stench of cigarette smoke in the air.
I never really understood the connection between smoking and pool, anyway. You cannot actively do both at the same time, unless you wanted to get ash on the table, so what ends up happening is that everyone else breathes in the smoke from one player's cigarette while it rests on the edge of the table or on a nearby surface. The smoker does not even actively smoke during most of the life of the cigarette, if he/she is serious at all about pool.
Those first few weeks
Somehow, even though my bar league career ended in disappointment, the regular practice must have done me some good. I actually won the entire tournament that first night at Lee Street. I have no idea how my interest in pool would have fared had I not done well, but I somehow played well enough to keep winning my matches, and at the end of the night I had won first place! I did not feel like a favorite in any of the matches - I just assumed that those who were used to shooting 9-ball regularly were better players than I was - but I just kept plugging away.
A couple of months later, I found out that while I was feeling like an interloper in the 9-ball world, the regulars at Lee Street were viewing me as the new gunslinger in town...the one that no one wants to see coming.
The week after that first tournament, I decided to see if I could defend my title, not really thinking that I could do it. Luck was with me again, though, and once again I came in first place. Inside I was laughing - if they only knew what I really shot like. I kept thinking that someday my life as the Wizard would be revealed as a sham once someone dared to look behind the curtain.
Life got even weirder when I won the tournament the third week as well. This was ridiculous. I was not even practicing much in the interim...I just went and warmed up for an hour or so before the tournament, and then played my matches. Admittedly, these were mostly teenagers...but still. Three tournament wins in a row?
The fourth week I was exhausted from work, and I should never have gone to the pool hall, but I felt that it was expected of me (I am not sure who else expected it of me, but I DID have a bit of celebrity at that point). That week, I lost in the first round. That was when I realized the difference between what *I* thought of my play and what the *others* thought about it. To me, a loss in the first round that night was about right - I was really tired, and I was not making the shots I needed to make. Because of the previous three weeks, though, the people in the tournament reacted as if a mighty champion had somehow been toppled. I was human? Really?
It is true that once people figure out that you can be beaten, they somehow have an easier time of it than they did before. I still played in the tournament most weeks, but it was several months before I won it again, and it was a tough climb back to the top.
I was disgusted with myself - I had let down my team, and even though someone else on our team (at least) must have lost that night too, my loss was the most visible and came when we needed the win to advance.
I had recently moved from downtown Chicago (where the bar league was based) to out near O'Hare Airport (Northwest of the city center), and really the bar league play was my last link to my life in the Gold Coast area of Chicago (just north of the Loop). Maybe it was the fact that I was "done" with my downtown life (I had moved out to the airport area because my job was no longer downtown; I was now a consultant who often worked north and west of the city, and even the reverse commute was a real pain, especially in the evenings), but when I saw an ad somewhere for a 9-ball tournament the night after I lost the 8-ball match, I decided to give it a try. New pool hall, new area of town, nobody knew me...what was the worst that could happen? I play badly, and decide that 9-ball is not for me.
LEE STREET BILLIARDS
Lee Street Billiards was an interesting place. Unlike every other place that I had shot pool, it was not a bar. As such, it attracted a mostly under-21 crowd. At the age of 25, I did not feel out of place when I first walked in the night of the tournament, but in the ensuing weeks I realized that I was often the oldest player in the room. I did not mind the lack of alcohol, though (unlike a lot of my over-21 peers, I guess), and the folks who played there and ran the place were all very friendly.
Unfortunately, though, you do not have to be over 21 to smoke...and these were the days before smoking was banned in many public places. It took a long time for my love of pool to succumb to my dislike of second-hand smoke, but from the start I really hated that aspect of going to a pool hall. Even when I would go to a mostly-empty pool hall, I would still find the lingering stench of cigarette smoke in the air.
I never really understood the connection between smoking and pool, anyway. You cannot actively do both at the same time, unless you wanted to get ash on the table, so what ends up happening is that everyone else breathes in the smoke from one player's cigarette while it rests on the edge of the table or on a nearby surface. The smoker does not even actively smoke during most of the life of the cigarette, if he/she is serious at all about pool.
Those first few weeks
Somehow, even though my bar league career ended in disappointment, the regular practice must have done me some good. I actually won the entire tournament that first night at Lee Street. I have no idea how my interest in pool would have fared had I not done well, but I somehow played well enough to keep winning my matches, and at the end of the night I had won first place! I did not feel like a favorite in any of the matches - I just assumed that those who were used to shooting 9-ball regularly were better players than I was - but I just kept plugging away.
A couple of months later, I found out that while I was feeling like an interloper in the 9-ball world, the regulars at Lee Street were viewing me as the new gunslinger in town...the one that no one wants to see coming.
The week after that first tournament, I decided to see if I could defend my title, not really thinking that I could do it. Luck was with me again, though, and once again I came in first place. Inside I was laughing - if they only knew what I really shot like. I kept thinking that someday my life as the Wizard would be revealed as a sham once someone dared to look behind the curtain.
Life got even weirder when I won the tournament the third week as well. This was ridiculous. I was not even practicing much in the interim...I just went and warmed up for an hour or so before the tournament, and then played my matches. Admittedly, these were mostly teenagers...but still. Three tournament wins in a row?
The fourth week I was exhausted from work, and I should never have gone to the pool hall, but I felt that it was expected of me (I am not sure who else expected it of me, but I DID have a bit of celebrity at that point). That week, I lost in the first round. That was when I realized the difference between what *I* thought of my play and what the *others* thought about it. To me, a loss in the first round that night was about right - I was really tired, and I was not making the shots I needed to make. Because of the previous three weeks, though, the people in the tournament reacted as if a mighty champion had somehow been toppled. I was human? Really?
It is true that once people figure out that you can be beaten, they somehow have an easier time of it than they did before. I still played in the tournament most weeks, but it was several months before I won it again, and it was a tough climb back to the top.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Other ways of pushing wood
Two years have flown by since my last post...and, sad to say, the workshop has still not been set up for use. I have an old full-size lathe now, and some great other tools, and someday I am going to set up everything the way that I want it and start turning stuff again - at least pens, maybe larger stuff.
While this blog was set up to document the trials and tribulations of a beginning woodturner, I actually have two other hobbies to which the word "woodpusher" could apply.
CHESS
I have been a chess player for 30 years. With the exception of a two-year break while living in Chicago (more on that in a minute), chess has been a part of my life since I learned the moves at the (relatively late) age of nine.
There are several blogs out there about chess, and many people are documenting the learning process and even the teaching process. I do not have a lot to add to what exists already. I have reached a plateau in the chess world that I am happy with, and though there is a lot of online play and the very occasional OTB (over the board) game with friends, I am no longer actively attempting to learn how to improve my chess game. Continuing to play at the level I have achieved is fine with me.
POOL (BILLIARDS)
One day in 1994, I awoke in my one-room apartment in downtown Chicago and, for the first time since learning the moves, I did not feel like playing or studying chess. It felt very strange, but my brain must have felt like it had found a surrogate source to feed its strategy and planning needs - I had recently begun to take up pool. Several bars in the area of my apartment had pool tables, and I would become the strange regular patron who did not drink or smoke but would go into all of the bars regularly to shoot pool. I am sure that the wait staff did not appreciate the lack of alcohol in my drinking habits, but I was not going to learn much about how to improve at pool while drunk.
I played pool in bar leagues for a couple of years, and later when I moved out to the outskirts of the city I became a regular at a couple of pool halls there. The main difference that I had to get used to was that the pool halls had 9-foot tables (regulation size) while the bars that I was used to playing in had 7-foot bar tables. Learning to play well on the larger tables took a bit of doing, but I gradually got used to it.
I love playing pool, and even when I started up with chess again (one day, about two years later, I woke up and felt like playing again) I decided to keep playing pool. I played for about four years pretty regularly, and even did well in several tournaments. I also got to play pool in the pool hall used in the Color of Money (place called Chris's in Chicago - one of the few pool halls I played in that opened at 9 am).
What finally put a (temporary) end to my pool career was cigarette smoke. For some reason, people used to feel that they could not shoot pool without smoking cigarettes, and the air in the pool halls got really smoky at times. I tried for a while to patronize the only non-smoking pool hall that I could find, but it was 45 minutes' drive away and I was not able to go that often. Soon it closed, as smokers had too many alternatives. The only way that non-smoking pool halls would prosper, it seemed, was if they all went non-smoking at the same time. At the time that I left Chicago, that seemed far-fetched.
In 1999 I moved to New Hampshire, and played occasionally on the pool tables in the rec hall of my apartment complex. There was a guy that I met who loved to play straight pool (one of my favorite games now) and we would play matches once a week or so. The tables were not great, though, which took away from the experience a bit.
Seven years passed, during which time I got married, bought a house, and moved to the seacoast area of New Hampshire. During that time, I did not play more than the occasional game of pool. I still had my two pool cues that I bought when I was in Chicago, and kept them safe in a nice sturdy case, but they very rarely came out of hiding.
I plan to make the next few posts a retrospective of some of my stories from my Chicago years and my first tournament in New Hampshire. After that, I will get into my attempts to actively improve my pool game. I am now taking lessons again, for the first time in about 15 years, and the process has made me build my game once again from the ground up.
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