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2015

thank you QVNNY

January 2015
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• Archives

• 2014 Majors

• 2013 Majors

CSI POOL
BCAPL National 8-Ball Championships
Rio All-Suite Las Vegas Hotel and Casino
Las Vegas, NV
first time at the Rio (adios Riviera) and things get epic
 
INDEPENDENT EVENT
Hard Times 10-Ball Open
Hard Times Billiards
Bellflower, CA
just a lil pre-Vegas warm up tournament
 
INDEPENDENT EVENT
West Coast Challenge
$4,000 added One Pocket
$10,000 added 10-Ball
California Billiard Club
Mountain View, CA
last event at this location before they close (sadface)
 
INDEPENDENT EVENT
Cole Dickson Memorial 9-Ball
Family Billiards
San Francisco, CA
for legendary road player Cole Dickson
 
INDEPENDENT EVENT
Pots 'N' Pans Memorial 9-Ball
Pool Sharks
Las Vegas, NV
celebrating hustler Bernard Rogoff, better known as "Pots 'N' Pans"
 
THE ACTION REPORT
TAR35 | Dennis Orcollo vs Shane Van Boening
TAR Studio
Las Vegas, NV
second and third days
 
THE ACTION REPORT
TAR33 | Francisco Bustamante vs Alex Pagulayan
TAR Studio
Las Vegas, NV
second (1P) and part of third (10B) day
 
THE ACTION REPORT
TAR32 | Ronnie Alcano vs Jayson Shaw
TAR Studio
Las Vegas, NV
GREAT match • Andy Mercer Memorial 9-Ball Tournament coverage
 
INDEPENDENT EVENT
Chet Itow Memorial 9-Ball
California Billiards Club
Mountain View, CA
drank too much to do good coverage, but here it is, anyway
 
CSI POOL
Jay Swanson Memorial 9-Ball
Hard Times Billiards
Bellflower, CA
let Robocop show you how to run a six-pack, Citizen
 
THE ACTION REPORT
TAR31 | Mike Dechaine vs Shane Van Boening
TAR Studio
Las Vegas, NV
ALL HAIL THE HOVERCAT
 
THE ACTION REPORT
TAR30 | Darren Appleton vs Shane Van Boening
TAR Studio
Las Vegas, NV
the boys are back in town
 
 
10+1 INTERVIEWS
» Huidji See
» Donny Mills
 
 
EVERYBODY WAS KUNG-FU FIGHTING
the best kind of New Year's Sandwich
that's not okay
 
 
READER'S CHOICE
you know that I'm no good
on being a reasonable human being with realistic expectations
 
instasham series
stories from the distant and slightly-less-distant past
 
the only people for me are the mad ones
questions, tournaments, bets, running 26.2 miles

• LINKY LINKS

PARTY ANIMALS
The Action Report
purveyor of fine challenge matches between highly-skilled players of note
 
PUBLICATION
Cue Times Billiard News
Colorado's best resource for all things pool-related
 
CASE
Jack Justis Cases
the choice of champions
 
CUE
Sugartree Customs
made by Eric "Slower Than Snails" Crisp, if and when he feels like it
 
CUE
Tucker Cue Works
"If you feel the need to ask me how your cue is progressing every week then maybe there is a better choice of cuemakers out there for you."
 
MEAT
Kurzweils' Country Meats
yes, meat

damages

 

 

Hello.

I’ve disabled the comments on the blog because I’ve gotten too lazy to keep up with them. You can always email me if you feel like you must say something. If your emails are interesting or funny, I may publish them.

I’ve got some stuff in the works but need a little warming up to get back in action. In the meantime, happy alcoholidays y’all!

Today’s post brought to you by

  • Fast&Loose Designs, purveyors of sarcastic and non-sarcastic billiards shirts, all shirts are $15 through December 31, 2014
  • QVNNY

 

 

mundane moments in a mundane life

 

 

I saw that almost every table was in use. It had been a hot, humid day and everyone had had the same bright idea to escape to the reliable air-conditioned darkness of the pool hall. The best practice tables reserved for the serious players were all occupied, so I took one in the no-man’s land amongst the recreational players.

I walked over to my table and cleared off all the chalk cubes from the table except for two. I placed balls one through ten and the cue ball on the table. The tray with its remaining five balls went on the shelf set into the wall which I shared with the next table. I placed my eye drops in one of the cups of the ball tray and a tip tool in another. I took out my usual bottle of iced tea and shoved the bag under the shelf with my foot. I looked at the orderliness of everything and sighed with contentment.

I leaned my cue case against the shelf and tried to unzip the cover. The zipper pull had broken some time ago and I had replaced it with a paperclip. As I tugged at it, I suddenly became aware of feet clad in very white canvas shoes. I looked up and saw him, college-aged, dressed in very white shorts and a pastel pink polo shirt with the collar flipped up. His hair had been bleached orange. He was holding a two thousand dollar cue. I felt he had been watching me for some time. I smiled at him in a neighborly manner and went back to tugging on the zipper. The case finally opened, not because the zipper had worked, but because the zipper had ripped from the fabric. I heard a loud hiss of disapproval. I looked up and he very pointedly moved his leather cue case, which had also been leaning against the shelf, away from me. He curled his lip at me in disgust and walked back over to his table where a girl, dressed almost identically in white sandals and shorts, pink polo, and orange hair, was lining up a shot.

Only then did I become aware of what I looked like.

My clothes were sweat stained and dirty, as was my bag, my now-broken cue case, and my own self. No matter. I had come to work on my game and these were the clothes I wore to work. I assembled my cue, put in my earphones, and got down to business.

I started with some games of ten-ball. After I finished, I sat down and drank a little iced tea while observing my pink-and-white neighbors. Almost everything they had was expensive. The one outlier was the girl’s bright pink cue. He directed her on how to shoot. She dutifully followed his instructions. He saw me watching and scowled. I smiled back and resumed practicing.

I switched to eight-ball and played well.

When I sat down at the end of the set, he no longer looked upon me with contempt but with real hatred. I smiled charmingly. He turned to his shot and viciously struck the ball, missing the pocket by a good foot-and-a-half. It was her turn, now, and she carefully drew the line from pocket to object ball, then from object ball to cue ball. She considered the cue ball meditatively as he paced irritably behind her. She bent down to shoot and stroked oh-so-slowly a dozen times before rolling the cue ball to just barely tap the object ball. No rail. Foul. He swooped in and snatched the cue ball. Eagerly, he set up a shot, made it, and bricked the next one. Her turn again. She spent several minutes on a shot that ended in a miss. The angrier and more impatient he became, the slower and more conscientious she became, which only made him angrier.

I switched to nine-ball and played even better. The set took me a half-hour, but it felt like only a few minutes. I sat down again and looked to my neighbors.

They were no longer playing together. She sat at attention on a barstool and watched as he played nine-ball by himself. His movements were jerky. He had not been a good player to begin with and his increasing speed which indicated his increasing frustration served only to bring his game down. Watching him, a curious thought crossed my mind.

I went to my table and racked the balls. I broke and made four balls. The rest lay open and I ran them out. The whole game took less than a minute. It was the most perfect game I had played all year. I sat back down and looked over at him.

 

If there had been no one else in that pool hall he would have tried to kill me.

 

Sweaty, red-faced, and trembling, he racked the balls on his table. He almost tripped in his hurry back to the head of the table. I glanced over at her. She had not moved, I do not think she had even blinked. His glare would have melted sand dunes into rivers of glass. He lined up the cue ball and took a few rapid warm-up strokes. He swung and struck so hard the sound made me flinch.

 

Miscue.

 

The cue ball rolled forward a few tired inches as wisps of dust spiraled up like smoke.

He made a strangled sound, picked up the cue ball, and threw it at the rack. She raised her arms instinctively and I jumped off my stool. Then we were all in a Mexican standoff. Her arms swayed awkwardly at her sides as she wavered between offering him consolation or solitude. He stared murderously at me, sweat sticking his hair at odd angles, his collar wilted and askew, his shorts spattered with chalk, and his shoes smudged where he had stumbled against himself.

I said one word.

 

“Tourist.”

 

He tore apart his cues, flung them into his case and without latching the top, practically ran out the back door. After a spell, she collected the balls and put them in the tray. She disassembled her cue and put it in its case. She carried the balls, her case, her purse and a jacket he had left behind to the front counter. The light over their table winked out.

She glanced at me on her way out. There was no anger in her eyes, only confusion, and I struggled against the flood of understanding seeping in at the seams. I knocked the balls dully around the table. He had got what he deserved. I had proved a point, won some sort of war—hadn’t I? No. We had all lost. But she was the greatest casualty and would suffer most of all.

 

 

podcast: you know that I’m no good

listen to my rant “you know I’m no good” in colorful sound with much colorful language // sponsored by Heath Willard

Continue reading podcast: you know that I’m no good

this is what happens when I drink a lot at a tournament

 
 
Well,

Continue reading this is what happens when I drink a lot at a tournament

learn from the mistakes of others

After a moment spent grasping for words, he looked me in the eye and said, “You play like me.”

Continue reading learn from the mistakes of others

and when you gaze long into an abyss

As we watched and chatted, something hovered at the edge of my thoughts, obscured by the fog of very old memory.

Continue reading and when you gaze long into an abyss

podcast: no clever title

reading of Instasham post “no clever title” by a small angry asian girl

Continue reading podcast: no clever title

no clever title

He knew I was lying.

Continue reading no clever title