I do hoard my food posts so I can use them in times of posting famine. There are plenty in reserve for the upcoming leaner months.
butter, bread, & knowing better | 1
I have written about some of the listed tournaments already so here is a quickie review of them with links.
I fell short on the first stop (“without ice cream, there would be darkness and chaos”) of the Tour of Insanity, but that was all right. I had discussed the upcoming tourments with some of the people there and had gotten all warm-fuzzied out planning road trips. Whee! Road trips! They make pool affordable!
I traveled up to this tournament with some local dudes. I had been playing fairly well recently, so I was pretty gung-ho about going and doing some damage. And then, I was derailed by a very small thing that had very large consequences. I ended up winning one match and losing two, which was NOT what I came to do, but that is what happened.
So now, I am all about “Airplane mode FOREVER”.
|3.||Women’s 9-Ball, bar tables|
I thought I had all bases covered by this time. Hell, I knew what airplane mode was and I used it religiously when allowed. I did not allow for the fact that time and people have made me complacent over the years. Complacent enough that I try, very hard, to do what I call “BE GOOD ABOUT IT”. When I say, “I tried to be good about it”, I mean that I made myself uncomfortable and risked my own tournament well-being so as not to inconvenience my road partner because I think, “I can handle it”.
I like to think my road partners know how important tournaments are to me, but that is not always the case. This is because different things mean different things to different people, and even when we are going to the same tournament, we don’t all go for the same reasons, nor do we risk the same things, be they money or something intangible.
I tried to be good about it at this tournament (“the face that launched 726 ships”) and I was good about it — except it was at my tournament performance’s expense and I crashed and burned like a magnificent mofo. I lost my first match in a single-elimination tournament.
This tournament was across the country from where I lived and it was expensive as all f#ck. It was a donkeypunch to my wallet, that’s for sure. I swore I would never let it happen again.
I had previously committed to traveling with others for this tournament waaaay back during Stop 1 on the Tour of Insanity.
I had not been doing well in my tournaments and had only been hemorrhaging money with no transfusions at all. This was a local tournament and that was heartening. Expenses would be lower and I had historically done fairly well in this event. I usually made at least enough money to break even. I had worked hard on my game as much as I could within my budget and I was looking forward to doing well.
The players I would be staying and traveling with (RP1 and RP2) did not want to go down the night before (even though I offered to pay for the hotel for all of us). I was apprehensive about this since I always preferred to be at the tournament the night before when possible. But, I wasn’t the one driving so I acquiesced to their wishes and did not press the issue.
The three of us stayed out FAR too late. I had worked late at my job all week and had just taken the bus three hours to meet them at the pool room, I was SO F#CKING TIRED I could have died. However, the two players I would be staying with were nervous and wanted to practice so I was good about it and did my best to practice with them and offer them pointers. We did not sleep until well past 3:00 a.m.
We were up at 6-motherf#cking-30 a.m. I did not understand this. We did not need to be at the pool room until 12:00 noon and the drive to the pool room would only take an hour and a half, perhaps two hours at most. But, once again — I was good about it. Since they were doing me the favor of driving me down there, I was beholden to their schedule. We picked up RP3, another player at least as serious as myself, and the four of us drove through the rain to meet destiny. We arrived at 9:00 a.m. The pool room would not open until 11:00 a.m.
When the tournament started, I was falling down, limbs-shaking tired. I lost my first match 7-1, then lost a grueling second match, 7-6. I had never done so bad in this event but there is a first time for everything. My road partners were still in and so, I did the smartest thing I could ever have done — I went to a bar next door and proceeded to drink.
The drinks were cheap, the bartender was sympathetic, and there was a boxing machine that measured the force of your punch. RP3 soon joined me after being knocked out of the tournament and the two of us did our best to make the most out of a sh#tty situation via good conversation and alcohol. I was soon back to being able to tolerate the human race and I had the highest score on the punching machine. The lady that knocked me out of the tournament stopped by after being knocked out of the tournament herself. She is quite a bit taller than me and when she tried the boxing machine, she destroyed my high score.
Then, we got text messages from RP1 that basically said she was leaving with RP2 and going home. OMG! WTF? She had all of our things in her car! I had my wallet, but that was it. Clothes, cues, everything else — that was all in RP1’s car. She would not respond to our texts and I came to the realization that yes, RP3 and I would be stranded two hours away from home. In the rain.
I went over to the boxing machine, fed it a dollar, and swung. I regained the high score by an impressive margin.
In the end, RP3 and I got a ride to the hotel (which I had already paid for in advance) and decided we might as well sleep before finding a way back home the next day. We ran into RP1 and RP2 (who was fast asleep in the car). RP1 had decided not to leave us stranded. Hooray. More drama ensued throughout the night, but, f#ck it, I was tired and I was going to sleep. F#ck. It. All.
The next day, there a second-chance tournament (that I wisely did not play in). My RPs all played in it. There was more squabbling, more personal drama, and more retardedness. I tried, very hard, to be good about everything. I kept telling myself, this is the last time this will ever happen so just keep your cool and you’ll live to play another day. You’ll live to play another day. You’ll live to play another day. This will never happen again. You WILL live to play another day. Pool is not supposed to be this hard. You show up. You play. You go home. Never again. You’ll never travel with people who don’t care about pool the way you do ever again. This will never happen again. It will be better next time. It will be. It will be. It will be.
Same time, same channel — tomorrow.