For a couple years during grad school, my best friend, Scott, and I became obsessed with playing pool. Over time, we got pretty good at it — to the point where it was not outside the realm of possibilities for either of us to run the table. We even set ourselves additional challenges such as requiring the final eight-ball shot to be a bankshot. We used to joke that we should try out for the Olympic Billiards Team.
Throughout the intervening years, I haven’t played as much — no more than a couple times a year. Yesterday, I ventured into the basement of the Husky Union Building over my lunch hour and shot a couple games.
Man, do I suck!
I need to practice. Pool is one of the few things in my life I ever got really good at, and I don’t want to lose that.
We have a large, mostly un-used room in the basement that could easily accommodate a pool table, but Amy has discouraged any steps I’ve taken in the process of looking for one. As usual, she has good, unassailable reasons, and I’m not trying to paint her as a harpy or anything. My argument, however, is that a pool table would not only permit me to practice and get back up to my former glory, but it would be a valuable educational tool for Ray.
When I was a kid, my grandmother had a pool table in her basement. My cousins and I would spend hours down there engaging in healthy competition and learning about geometry, physics, concentration, and self-discipline. We weren’t outside roaming the neighborhood vandalizing cars, killing kittens, drinking, and smoking — which is what I imagine kids without pool tables do.
Plus, there’s a really nice looking table on Craigslist for only $700!
