Fast, for thursday100plus
Title: We don't play that slop here
Written for thursday100plus.
prompt, Fast
Bobby, first person.
***
I’m sitting in my one of my favorite places, enjoying a Sazerac neat. The bartender has my number, cause I’m pretty certain he stocks the rye just for me. Though tonight, I’m favoring watching the pool table over getting drunk. There’s a kid, 23 maybe, who’s been hustling pool for the past 2 hours or so. He’s pretty good, and he’s got a lot of money in pocket that he didn’t have when he walked in.
“Hey, old man, you wanna play?” he asks me, catching my attention with the old man bit. He knows I’ve been watching him. I shrug, in that yeah-sure kind of way, and drain what remains in my glass. It’s been a while since I’ve played, but it’s my game, and perhaps more importantly I’ve watched the kid long enough to know his game.
“You wanna break?” I ask, as I watch him rack for 9-ball. He’s looking at me like I’m clueless, thinking he’s found his next mark.
“Sure,” he plays the break lightning fast and splinters the balls across the table. He makes the 4 on the break. I watch him sink the 1, closely followed by the 2. I can see his play a few balls ahead and I know he’s going to lose it on the 5.
There’re lots of things I like about pool. For one, it’s not a team sport, and I’m not a team guy. Another, it’s physics, sometimes fast, sometimes finesse, but it’s angles and english and seeing it all play out as many shots ahead as you can muster.
I watch him call the 3 into the far corner pocket. He’s calling all his balls, with a slight almost unconscious gesture of his stick. It’s not really an ego thing, it’s an 8-ball habit. I remember learning to play 8-ball as kid. I learned through losing, a lot. I never saw the next shot, I only saw the one right in front of me. And, I always took it with all the strength I had in me. The old guy that ran the place also ran a few over on me. He told me once - we don’t play that slop here. As in, we don’t just play shooting balls blindly. You call your shot, and if you’re good you set up the next few along the way.
Just like I thought, he makes the 5 and plays safe for the 6, turning the game to me. I stand a moment, figuring how to play the 6 to get all the way through to the 9.
“You gonna take a shot, old man?” he says, again with the old man. And, I am, compared to him anyway, an old man.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding slightly, leaning over for the 6. For certain shots, the game takes reach. And, my height - it gives me reach. Even though he played safe for the 6, it wasn’t safe enough, cause I make the 6 and leave the cue ball perfectly set for the 7. I see an understanding dawn in his eyes.
“Best of 7?” he asks, and I know he sees it as well. He sees I have the 7, 8, and 9, and I have the game. I crack my back and think about my life, the job, not too far from a pool game really. Though lately I’ve been playing it fast, and have lost track of some of the finesse. I think about the advice from the old man in my life all those years ago - we don’t play that slop here. So, for tonight, I leave the whiskey behind the bar and agree to the best of 7.