I hadn't been to that beer bar before. It was on the other side of the state and not in an area that travelled to with any frequency. But it was 9:00ish on a Thursday night and I figured I'd find some action on a couple of games of pool. I am a pretty good pool player, better than most and, truth be told, it isn't often that I meet my match. So, I knew I'd be able to stir things up at this joint.
There were half a dozen guys there. The bartender was a consumer himself despite the state law prohibiting that. There was "painter" guy, obvious from the blotches on his shirt and pants; and "landscaper" guy who was wearing a "Ferdie's Fertilizer" T-Shirt, a tanner than tan tan, scratches on his arms, and no finger nails. "Pan Head" was the fat biker type: black jeans, black T-shirt, leather vest, and black boots. I hadn't seen a "Hog" in the parking lot so I guessed he just liked the look. And there were a couple of teen-ish "dudes", likely not really able to legally drink anything with alcohol in it, but the cut-offs, flip-flops, tank tops, and backwards baseball caps gave them the look of credibility and, as I said, this place looked like it winked at the refinements of state law.
I sat down at the bar, ordered up a beer, and waited my turn at the pool table. The table itself was a ill-used relic with worn felt, what looked like tired cushions, and cigarette burns all around the edges; in other words, your typical beer bar pool table. There was a rack of cues on the wall and there didn't appear to be a straight cue among the lot. I noticed, however, that nobody in the place had brought their own cue. "Amateurs--every one", I thought.
I came up in the rotation and shot "Eight Ball", the game d'jour. I played with 'Pan Head" who turned out to be a fairly skilled player. I shot with modest skill losing with three of my solids still on the table. Another beer and half-an-hour later I was up again and wound up with "Painter" guy, an o.k. player, and I won going down to the Eight Ball. They bought me another beer.
There was a "No Gambling" sign above the bar but, like I said, I sensed this place really didn't care much for legalities, so I offered to shoot a game for a round of drinks for the house. Everyone agreed. I took on "Landscaper" guy, who was a terrible player, and I managed to lose by seeming a more tipsy than I actually was.
I got myself red in the face and bellowed, "O.K., you two kiddies, I'll play both of you for $50! You can each have a turn before I take a shot. That's fair!"
They looked at each other and smirked. "You got a deal, old man! Rack 'em!"
I beat them. They were good players but they couldn't figure out bank shots on tired cushions. I had adapted to that during those first games I played.
It turned out they had been over confident and didn't have $50 between them but the bartender bailed them out. He said, "I'll play you two out of three. If you win, I'll pay you their $50 plus another $50 of my own. If you win, you'll pay up $100. How does that sound?"
I said, "You ARE on!" Things were going my direction.
Bartender was a very good player and made things interesting. He won the first game; I won the second. The third game boiled down to the eight ball on my shot. It was nestled right against the cushion by the center pocket. That's when I got cocky. I called my shot.
"I'll bank it in the opposite in this pocket, the center pocket right next to the ball. Double or nothing!"
