Best, Worst, Fastest, etc.

Best Drive: California and Oregon coastlines

Fastest speed achieved:
1. Over 120mph on the taxiway at the Longmont, CO airport
2. Many other triple-digit-plus speed bursts in every state

Biggest Pleasant Surprises:
1. 28mpg in non-stop traverse of Wyoming at 80mph.
2. no back problems - I thought the Corvette would be torture!
3. OnStar "concierge" service was great for making hotel reservations at the last minute and with no hassle whatsoever.
4. The head-up display also shows navigation info (next turn direction/distance)

Best Pool Shooter - "Georgia Boy", Aurora, Colorado

Best Performance in a Tournament - Paradise Pool Hall, Denver
Worst Performance in a Tournament - Table Steaks South, Denver

Best Hotel:
1. The Hilton in Santa Fe, New Mexico
(Best Pillows and Best Toilet Paper)
2. The Westin in Whistler (the bed)

Most Overpriced Hotels:
1. Westin in Seattle
2. Rennaisance in Vancouver

Best Looking Women:
1. Barbie, the bride at the wedding in Whistler, Canada
2. The Front Desk clerks, Hilton in Santa Fe, NM (Amanda and Red)
3. The Hostess at the (???) restaurant in Philadelphia, PA,

Best Party:
1. George's bachelor pary, Whistler, Canada
2. My father's 91st birthday party in Philadelphia, PA

Best Meal: At the Terra restaurant, in Vail, Colorado,
with Samm and Chisolm

Best Memories:
1. Spontaneous standing ovation by dozens of high school kids as I blasted past them along the California coast, top down.
2. Close wins against "Georgia Boy" in straight and 8-ball
3. Visiting friends I haven't seen for way too long: Kate, Susie, Samm, Heather

Signs of the times:
1. Fat-man shower curtain rods that bow out are almost standard in all hotel rooms nowadays. They were unknown 10 years ago.

Day 54: Del Mar, CA

There was a powerful magnet pulling me home,
and I drove non-stop until I had used
the entire full tank to the point where
the low fuel warning came on.
Then a quick stop for gas only and then
back on the road until I hit home!

I was so wired after this marathon high speed drive
that I unpacked everything and went thru
two months of mail before I re-hung my hammock
and hit the first ball on my Gold Crown.

And so, in the fullness of time,
Fast Mikie's Epic Road Trip is over.
As I write this, there are only 26 days left
until the US Amateur Championships
so I better get back to some serious practice.

I learned a lot, about life and pool.
Now all I have to do is execute...

Day 53: Flagstaff, AZ

Damned if you do, damned if you don't...
I left the windows open a crack in the Corvette,
so it wouldn't build up so much heat in the sun
while it was parked, and it rained and now
the carpets are wet!

While on the subject of rain, it's not supposed to!
Not this time of year, and not around here.
But it has rained a lot recently
because everywhere you look it is a light green color
instead of the expected dirt burned-out brown.
A green desert! Go figure.
It must be El Nino, or the Greenhouse Effect.
Unquestionably, it is the fault of Man,
and his opposable thumb.

I couldn't wait to get out of Santa Fe, New Mexico
and blasted off without filling up the tank,
which is a good thing because I accidentally found
the cheapest gas of the entire trip, only $2.91
for premium, at a no-name exit in the middle of
nowhere, New Mexico.

Didn't even stop for lunch, just grabbed some
trail mix and kept on going, going, going,
straight through to Flagstaff, Arizona.
Only one more state to go!

As trashed as I was when I got to Flagstaff,
I had to tour a bit on historic Route 66.
It sure ain't what it used to be!

Day 52: Santa Fe, NM

The pool hall opens at 4 in the afternoon,
an indication that the game is not a priority here.
With nothing better to do, I toured the city on foot.
There is only so much native art, jewelry, pottery, and junk
that I can take, so after thoroughly covering the
historic center with all the tourist traps,
I became totally bored and went back to the room for a nap
until the pool hall opened.

The place is called The Catamount, upstairs over
a restaurant and bar.
About six tables, all set low enough for midgets.
The cloth is very slow, probably the IPT stuff,
and was a real challenge to get used to.
Really have to let my stroke out and even then
it was difficult to get around the table using 3-4 rails.
This was the first time I had the opportunity to
spend some quality practice time on the slow cloth,
so it was a real education.

The place was filled with tourists,
daters, mom/dad/kids,
and none of them seemed to be serious shooters
except for one guy dressed in hideous pastels
getting his brains beat in by a guy who looked
like he had just escaped from prison.
There was no way I wanted to get in the middle of that!

So I practiced a good bit,
studying the nuances of slow cloth,
and left early (before closing time)
so I can get up early,
and get outta this burg and back on the road.

I'm getting antsy for home.
It's almost like I can smell the ocean...

Day 51: Santa Fe, NM

If ever I needed a change of scenery, it is now.
Denver is a great pool town, but it's getting old.
I forget how long I've been here;
the days have all blended together into one too-long blur.

I crammed the Corvette with all my stuff,
which by now seems to be a lot more than I started with,
and slipped it into gear, only to realize that
I had no idea where I was going next!

So I entered a few places into the navigation system,
just to see how far away they were,
and if I could make it in a reasonable drive-time.
I wanted to go to Durango, CO but it was too far (8 hours).
Santa Fe, New Mexico was the better choice because it
showed up as only 5+ hours, and better yet,
it was a whole new state!
I need a new state.

It was a great ride, especially getting to
the far south end of Colorado,
and climbing up into the mountains into New Mexico,
then into some magnificent wide open spaces.
For the entire drive, the horizon was filled with
huge thunderstorms, punctuated with flashes of lightning,
fingers of fire from an angry god.
Intermittent rain, some light, some very heavy,
but always brief and unexpected.

In one instance, I could see in the roadway,
just about a hundred yards ahead,
an extremely heavy rainshower, but it was only
about 10 yards in size, and on all sides of it
there was clear road!
I have always been fascinated with weather, in all forms.

New Mexico is truly the Land of Enchantment.
The geography is spectacular, with huge mesas
and rock formations and mountains, all separated
by such vast expanses of nothing at all.
I found myself driving for more than an hour
and the horizon had not changed a bit,
as if I were on some slow-motion treadmill.

I had never been to Santa Fe before,
but from what I have heard of it,
I always wanted to check it out.

My first impression of the place was
unfavorably tainted by frustration in finding
the hotel because my navigation system
insisted in having me drive the wrong way
down a one-way street and no matter how
I tried to come at the place from a different
angle, there was just no reasoning with the computer.

The solution was to push the OnStar button,
and an assitant pinpointed my location immediately
and gave me turn-by-turn realtime instructions
to come at the destination from the
other end of the city. Success!

First impressions of the place were that the place
is filled to capacity with tourists who seem
to have bags full of money and little imagination
on how to spend it...
Santa Fe is a town of small shops selling all sort
of native jewelry, art, pottery, clothing,
and just plain stuff; all greatly overpriced.

The singular attraction which draws the tourists
is that Santa Fe happens to be high in the mountains
and therefore much cooler than any place for
hundreds of miles in any direction.
And in August in the southwest, that is Huge!

The bellman who assisted with my luggage
noticed my cue case and identified himself as
a pool player, saying he shoots with a Meucci
and a Pechauer, but he had never heard of Samsara,
the maker of my playing cue.
He told me about the only place in town
with decent tables, and I went to check it out
but it was completely dead at 10pm,
although the tables were in good condition
and recently recovered in what looked like
the new IPT cloth.

I was just too exhausted to practice,
so I left with the intention to return the next day,
went back to the hotel, and crashed,
drifting off to sleep with thoughts of
the intriguingly cute Amanda, the front desk clerk,
who reminded me of the line from an old song:
"You don't have such a beautiful face, but ba-by,
you got what it takes for me!"

In the morning, as I delivered my laundry to the
front desk, half expecting to see Amanda again,
I was floored by a spectacular, tall redheaded beauty,
to whom, when she asked if she could help me,
I could only stammer a few unintelligible words
as I handed over my bag of used knickers and t-shirts.

This is a signal that I have been on the road way too long.
My condition is now elevated to "Critically Vulnerable".
When random hotel clerks can get me acting silly
and thinking thoughts which can only lead to
a complete and utter destruction of life as I know it,
well, it is time to seek the safe harbor of Mikie's Fun House.
Hermits should not be allowed away from their caves
for extended periods.

I need to be reminded that for every completely
amazingly beautiful spectacular and magnetically
attractive female in existence, there is most likely
some guy who is totally at wits end having to put
up with her, or who has just booted her out.
This is the great Circle of Life, a viscious circle
if ever there was one, and one which is addictive.
It is only by great focus and will that one can
break free of it, but like alcoholics and gamblers,
no person is ever cured, we just live one day at a time.
While I have never had alcoholism or gambling
addictions, I have suffered greatly with my fascination
for extraordinarily attractive females, the cure for which,
as I have found, is the complete withdrawl from public
places where such potential disasters seem to lurk.

Sex is a Madness, to which we give ourselves willingly,
and delude ourselves with the rationalization that it is Love,
the kind of Romantic Love which is the stuff of poets.
We have been brainwashed since birth with this delusion
which must be followed, lemming-like, by the masses,
if only to guarantee the suvival of our species.

I can not expect you, dear reader, to understand this,
but I can only assure you that since I have adjusted my life
to conform to these principles I have found a peace
and harmony in my life as I have never previously known.
I have come to describe it as the Sweet Serenity of Solitude.

Day 50: Aurora, CO

Awoke feeling amazingly refreshed and alert,
ready to shoot pool for the first time in a week.
But first I had to endure a marathon phone conference
for the bank's board meeting.
After that, which ran to 7:30pm local time,
I rushed over to the pool hall, without eating.
Can it really be that I prefer pool to food?

"Georgia Boy" was engaged in a friendly game of 9-ball
with some rube who had no hope of winning
the 'friendly' stake of 5 bucks a game.
GB saw me come in, and without exchanging a word,
he pointed to the next table, his favorite,
making it obvious that he would be with me soon.
The Rube was nearing his limit of 50 bucks in the hole.

So I bellied-up to the counter, got the balls,
and started in shooting, just to get loose,
not expecting much after a week of inaction.
But YO! I was shooting like Willie Himself!
It was like I had super-vision because I was
cutting stuff in from all over the table.
Even Quiet Pete who was sitting in a nearby chair,
and who, as his name would imply, rarely speaks,
was driven to exclaim "Nice shot" several times
when I would pull off some amazing display.

He was a bit baffled when I chose a shot that
was a virtual guaranteed scratch, and also
a close to impossible cut, and I accomplished both,
simultaneously... always a fun thing to watch and do.
He asked why I didn't take another much easier shot
that was available and that would give me better
position for the runout.
When I told him that I was running the tables
in Rotation (always lowest ball first),
he went back to Quiet mode and never said another word.

Soon enough, Georgia Boy had cleaned out The Rube,
and he sauntered over with his Balabushka already
stowed back in its case, which he put next to mine,
and went off to wash his hands of the blood and grime
from his last battle, and to prepare himself for me.

We played for four hours, all 8-ball games,
even though that game is way down his list of preferences,
but since it is the game I need improvement with,
and since he is my teacher-in-absentia,
and since I am paying...

Our session taught me a lot, or it might be more precise
to say that our session reviewed a lot of what I
already knew, but needed to get hammered into my head again.

How many times must I hear things like:
Full Stroke.
Use Less English. (especially when using Inside English)
Center Ball.
Shoot With Confidence.
Keep It Simple.
Don't Overthink.
Killer Instinct: Finish Him Off.

His slip-stroke is mesmerizing and his presence
at the table is smooth, natural, and so full of confidence
that the rare miss leaves any witness, and himself,
completely dumbfounded.
But it isn't about him, really, it's all about me, learning.

He tells me, several times: "Don't open your legs!"
But I have absolutely no idea what he means, until I ask,
and he gives me a look of complete frustration,
the way Einstein might look at an idiot doing 2+2=9.
And explains (?) that I am opening my legs when I shoot,
as if that is the explanation I needed. Duh.
And then he translates again, this time with success:
"Stay Down".
OH!! STAY DOWN! Why didn't you say so?
Probably because he speaks a different language
learned from 50+ years of playing for the rent money.
A language I could barely expect to understand
especially after playing him only a few times.

And, of course, if HE is frustrated with my stupidity,
just think about how frustrated I am.
And there are all the normal miscommunications too,
such as him telling me to hit with low left
when he really means low right,
and I would normally hit the shot with low right,
but since God is telling me low left, I figure
low left is going to reveal some secret result,
but of course I miss the shot and it looks
utterly moronic to him and he tells me again
to hit it with low left, and I do, and I miss,
and then he takes the table to show me how to
hit the shot and he hits it with low right
and gets perfect shape, and I remind him that he
told me to hit it with low left and he tells
me that the shot needs low right, not left,
as if I had it wrong all along and I would have
to be the complete buffoon that I look like
to hit it with low left regardless of what he says,
(if in fact he did say such a thing, which is ridiculous).

It's not worth arguing about, of course,
and as the student I need to just let it go
and learn the lesson.
Another instance comes up where he tells me to
hit with low inside, but I tell him that I think
I should use outside middle english, so that
I push another ball to the rail to shape the next shot.
He shrugs and says "Show me", so I do, and it works.
And now we reach a place where he lets me try stuff my way.

I explain to him that when he tells me how to hit each shot
that it slows down my rhythm, and makes me think too much
and then I can't hit anything right, and that maybe
if we just played a few games without comments from him
I would shoot better, so he goes with that plan.

He wins the first game, I win the next two.
He wins two, I win one, and on it goes and I shoot good.
Good enough to stay with Georgia Boy,
and that's plenty good enough for me.

It's midnight.
No food since lunch.
The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
Gotta call it quits so I can get some sleep,
so I can get back "on the road" the next day.

I drive GB to the 711 near his home,
he gets out, we shake hands, and then we are gone.

He's one hell of a shooter,
with a slip-stroke that is pure butter,
and probably knows as much about the game
as any man alive.

It was an honor to be his student,
just for a little while.

Day 49: Denver, CO

The Road Trip is back in session!
After 3 hours sleep last night,
I got up at 5:30 this morning
to shuttle to the airport for the flight
from Philly to Denver.

Checked in to the hotel,
but all they had was smoking rooms.
YUK!

Went to pick up the car at the Chevy dealer
after they did the 5,000 mile service.
I asked them to wash it before I picked it up.
That was a week ago.
They hosed it off, but they sure didn't wash it.
Still bugs on the windshield, and dirt on the rims.
And the trunk latch, which was only working intermittently,
and was supposed to be fixed under warranty,
failed the second time I tried it.
So much for earning my "complete satisfaction"...

Then, back to the hotel, to check out of the smoke,
and into another hotel, which is nicer, cheaper, cleaner.

I'm dead tired.
Couldn't shoot pool now if my life depended on it.

Georgia Boy called to see if I'm back in town.
We'll shoot some pool tomorrow night, for sure.
And then the next day I'm heading out of Denver for good.
I'm thinking maybe Durango is the next stop.
Then Santa Fe, New Mexico, and then Winslow, Arizona,
then Phoenix, then HOME!

El Maestro is in Las Vegas, with his 8-ball team,
playing for the championships of the whole USA,
and on a personal mission to win
as many of the mini-tournaments as he can.
I wish I could be there to watch,
but they allow smoking in the tournament rooms,
so there is No Way I'll be there.

Day 44: Philadelphia, PA

No, I didn't drive from Colorado to Pennsylvania
in one day. I flew.
It's my annual pilgrimage of homage to my father
who turns 91 years old this week.
My deal is that as long as he keeps having birthdays,
I'll keep coming home for the party.

I left the Corvette at a dealer in Denver,
for a 5,000 mile checkup, oil change, and wash.
And I left my cues in Denver too,
so I'm probably not going to play a lot of pool
over the next week.

Day 43: Vail, CO

Chateau Woodson is the epicenter of hospitality.
Samm and Chisolm collaborate on preparing a great meal,
and lucky me is the guest of honor. Yum!
These people are first class.

That is the good news.
The other news is that before dinner
Chisolm kicks my butt at 8-ball
his favorite game, and the game
with which I need the most practice.

Chisolm is a recognized BCA instructor,
so I asked him to critique my game,
and he said that my fundamentals reveal no flaws.
(That's good to know!)
And then he gives up some cool stuff,
showing me some shots that I had never seen before.
I'll reveal these later, when I get back to San Diego,
and in my regular "Adventures of Fast Mikie" blog.

After dinner, Samm and I play another two sets
with results similar to the previous night.

Sleep comes more easily tonight
as I get acclimated to the elevation.
I understand that triathletes train at
high altitude so that they perform better
when they get to the big competition.
Kind of like Superman and Kryptonite in reverse.
Maybe tomorrow, when I get back to Denver
I'll shoot like Efren Reyes!
Yeah, right.

Day 42: Vail, CO

After a week's delay while her pet turtles recovered
from a nasty case of some kind of fungus,
I finally got the green light to visit with
Sammantha Diep and Chisolm Woodson
at Chateau Woodson, their retreat in Vail, CO.

About 2 hours west of Denver, at an elevation
of almost double that of the Mile High City,
Vail is one of the foremost ski resorts in the USA.
And at that elevation, it is difficult for
flatlanders like me to breathe.
But I did ok.

As soon as I arrived, I was shown quickly around,
put my bags in my room,
and was instantly engaged in some 9-ball with Chisolm.
He ran the first rack outright after I missed on the break.
Then he ran the next rack, and I was two down
having lifted my cue only once.
This dude is one excellent player.
The walls of his pool room are lined with trophies,
and there are many more propped up on the floor
because he just hasn't got around to hanging them up.
And they are all from 2004/5/6, so he has been BUSY!

Back to the game...
The table is absolutely the finest Diamond table
I have ever played on.
Covered in Simonis 760 (yeah, SEVEN sixty!)
it is faster than anything in my experience.
You can draw the ball almost with thought alone!
And the cushions are very lively.
Flat, level, and great lighting make this
a true pleasure to play on.

After the first two games, Chisolm showed
signs of being human, and I won the next several,
and then we started trading back and forth.
We weren't keeping score but we agreed that
we were about even, so I can feel good about that.

We took a break for dinner, and I insisted my treat.
The took me to what must surely be the finest place
in all of Vail ("Terra"), because the food was spectacular.
Best meal I've had on the road so far.
We were all stuffed, but went back to the retreat
and Samm and I played some 8/9-ball in the
US Amateur format until about 3AM, and that was
all I could take so I called it quits after
winning two sets, 7-4 and 7-3.
Samm said I was shooting pretty good, and
I do remember making some nice shots,
but I think I got lucky a couple of times too.

As tired as I was, I had difficulty getting to sleep
because of the elevation and thin air,
but probably conked out at around 4AM.

We will be playing a lot more.

Day 41: Aurora, CO

Forty one days on the road,
and forty one days left until the US Amateur tournament.
Seems like some sort of turning point.

Last night was another trip to Rack 'em Billiards,
and this time I got lucky.
"Georgia Boy" CJ Carlton Hines was there,
and I got his attention with a discussion about
how to practice.
I challenged him with The Sorto String,
and told him I have only seen two people on the
planet do it successfully (El Maestro and me!),
and although I set it up for him at least
a dozen times, and although he got close,
he joined the ranks of all the others who
have tried and missed.

But I have to say that his stroke is so pure
that it was a real pleasure to watch him try
and I felt sure that he would be able to do it
if he bore down and gave it a few more tries.

Then I gave him the toughest one I know,
an exercise with only six balls,
with the 1, 3, and 5 on the lower long rail
and the 2, 4, and 6 on the foot rail,
all placed at the diamonds.
The object is to run them all into the corner
without touching any rail
except the one on which they are frozen.

"Georgia Boy" gave it a few tries,
and did quite well,
but the shape from the 5 to the 6
at first gave him trouble,
then he became fascinated with this shot,
and then he fell in love with the shot,
and after a few more tries he succeeded
with running all six balls, as required.

I have never seen anyone do this!

He liked that shot on the 5 so much,
with its very difficult position on the
short side of the 6 ball,
that he kept shooting it several more times,
just for the fun of it.

It felt good to be able to show him something
that he got so much enjoyment out of.

Next he showed me an exercise he does,
which is set up a lot like The Sorto String,
except that the 1-ball is off the foot rail,
and the object is the same, but using draw
instead of following to the rail.
I tried it and instantly saw the challenge.
He said he has done it once or twice.

We went on to play some nine ball,
not as a real challenge to him,
but as a learning exercise for me.
When I would miss, or have a question,
we would stop and play the shot different ways,
or play alternate shots for different shape.

It was in the middle of one of these games
that I had an epiphany regarding reverse english draw
to get precision position.
I have used only outside english, if any,
on my draw shots, almost never inside english,
but once the situation arose in our game
that absolutely required it, and he made me do it,
did I see the beauty of this obscure shot.

Now I'll be looking for opportunities to use it,
so that I burn it into my brain so well
that maybe I remember it when/if I need it.

I talked with El Maestro about this shot this morning
and he reminded me that he has shown me this shot
in the past, (but my feeble brain can only hold so
much wisdom at once), and that this one shot could
easily be the difference between winning and losing
an entire match.

I am humbled again by the prodigious knowledge
of my instructor, El Maestro.
And I am reminded of these eternal words of Lao Tsu:

The greater the island of knowledge,
the greater the shoreline of wondering.

Day 40: Aurora, CO

It has now been forty days that
I have been wandering in the wilderness!

Yesterday morning a man walked in to my bank,
the bank I have been working to build for
the past 6 years, and slipped a note to a teller
saying he has a gun, and demanding cash.
He walked out with $6,500.
Here's the news item.

What's all this got to do with pool?
Not much, but it pisses me off,
which harshes my mellow, and I need my mellow
to shoot good pool
so it took me some time to deal with the issues
(anyone hurt? no. etc...)
and get back to pool.

However, I did have some good fun with it.
I called a few friends who are depositors,
and told them about the robbery,
and that nobody was hurt, but that they
got $6,500 and that it was all (my friend's)
money, because we just happened to be
counting it at the moment and it was
sitting on the counter at the time.
Darn bad timing, good buddy...
Another few minutes and it could have been my money.
I'm sure you have insurance for this sort of thing,
right? I'll help you fill out the paperwork,
when I get back in town...

Ha ha ha...
Well, I guess you gotta make lemonade, etc.

Later, when the excitement wore off,
I headed out into the night to Rack 'em Billiards
to see if I could get a game.
As I open the door leading down the stairs to the room,
I hear... nothing! Absolute quiet!
The place was like the catacombs in Rome.
(I've been there!)
There being no chance of a game,
I set into my practice routine,
and got more familiar with my new shaft,
the Predator 314 series 2.

I definitely am noticing a reduction in the
amount that I have to allow for deflection with this
shaft compared to the standard 314 shaft.

And the extra length is coming in handy too.
It seems to give a better balance to the cue
and I notice I'm holding it more forward,
which has got to be a good thing.

My practice session started out great.
I was running 8-ball racks easily,
first the stripes, then the solids,
then the next rack the same way, etc...

And then draw practice,
the Sorto String,
short rail shots with precision position,
then long cut shots with position.

I felt good, and was shooting good,
especially after 4 days off.
Fast Mikie's back!

Day 39: Denver, CO

No pool yesterday.
Didn't even think about it, except once.
And even that one time I did think about it,
was when I had the thought that
I hadn't thought about pool all day.

This morning, I feel like my sleep deficit is gone.
I feel energized,
ready to take on the great unknown of the day.
I do my yoga, and because I am feeling so strong,
I do my cherished headstand yoga posture,
which I have neglected for far too long.
The headstand (aka "sirshasana") is the
King of all yoga postures because of the
great benefits it brings to mind and body.

Yoga legend says that it brings
droplets of immortality to the practitioner.
And with immortality, invincibility.

I am reminded that I must rededicate myself
to continual physical and mental conditioning.
And I am reminded that it is highly unlikely
that I will face another pool shooter who
has done a headstand today.

Today is a good day to shoot pool.

Day 38: Englewood, CO

Just when I think I have escaped my addiction,
they pull me back into it.

Yesterday was supposed to be another day without pool,
a third day of rest and recuperation
from the excesses of billiards to the point of bonkers.
But my reputation and past have conspired to do me in.

I have a very good friend, Scott, who lives in the area,
and I have not seen him and his wife Sally since
this time last year when I spent a week at his cabin
high in the Rockies, breaking in his new pool table,
and giving him some beginner-level pointers in the game.

Yesterday we got together for lunch at the Cool River Cafe
which is a very upscale place, even with valet parking,
so the last thing I expected to see was the 6 green tables.
We had a great meal, and Scott kept me spellbound with
stories of his mountaineering exploits.
There are 50 peaks in Colorado over 14,000 feet,
and Scott has ascended all but 10 of them,
with plans to do them all.
He told me a most amazing story about a recent adventure
in which he hired a professional guide to climb with him
in a 3-day adventure to climb 4 of the remaining peaks,
but this highly experienced guide took him up the wrong
mountain, ("Peak 18") which was much more difficult
than any of the planned peaks, but they made it up
and down without mishap, so it is a testament to Scott's
extraordinay conditioning, skill, and powerful will.

After lunch, Scott surprised me with a visit to
the Cool River Cafe billiard room, which was
outfitted with six 8' tables in good condition.
Unfortunately they were all booked,
so we moved on to another high-end night spot
which had about 10 tables but only one of which
was a 9-footer, so we played some 8-ball
for several hours.
Scott's game has improved substantially
over the past year, and shows how much he
focuses and dedicates himself to excellence.

Later on, Scott's wife Sally joined us for dinner
back at the Cool River Cafe, with some more pool
and appetizers before the main meal.

Scott has some strong political feelings,
and we got into a great conversation about the
current world events and what needs to be done.
By the end of the meal, we had solved ALL of
the major global problems, so if you notice any
remaining problems in your area, just let me
know and I'll bring it up with Scott.
I'm sure he can deal with it to your satisfaction.

In fact, I made the suggestion that Scott should
consider running for President of the US.
He is eminently qualified, having been an Eagle Scout,
father of 3, legal degree, international businessman,
(software business in Moscow, Latvia, ++++),
very intelligent, solution-oriented,
happily married only once, Christian, and even has a dog.
And, Sally would make a great First Lady!

So remember, you heard it here first:
Scott Robertson for President!

Although my plan to escape pool for the day
was a complete failure, it was a great time
with a great friend.

Day 37: Longmont, CO

In another day escaping my Destiny (pool),
I looked up my best flying buddy Art Annecharico
at the Longmont airport where he keeps his biplane.

We had lunch with Dan Murray,
a builder of flying machines,
a true artist in wood and metal,
and, like Art, a most excellent pilot,
and, like Art, wingman on some
of my flying adventures.

We hung out at Dan's hangar,
and told some of our true but amazing flying stories,
some of which we have told many times together,
but they never grow old,
because they keep us young.

Art has a Maserati Quatroporte,
with a V-12 engine of 425 horsepower,
so he was eager to see what my Vette would do,
and encouraged me to open it up on the airport taxiway.
It's a small airport, so the taxiway is not very long,
but I got to 120mph before I figured it was time to brake.
That was with the transmission in automatic mode.

Next, Art wanted to see how fast I could go
using the paddle shift (manual mode).
I should have suspected something right away,
as Art and I like to play practical jokes on each other.

One of the things he taught me
early on in my flying career,
is that you can get away with almost anything once,
but never, never, go back and do it again.
(this in regard to flying under bridges, etc)

I had always taken this very good advice,
and played a very nasty practical joke on him
which involved him flying under a bridge in Cairo, IL
TWICE, in the summer of '96 on our USA tour.
For that story, click here.

That's one of the stories I re-told at lunch,
and we all had a good laugh about it,
so when Art wanted me to take a second high speed pass
with the Corvette down the taxiway today,
I should have been more tuned in to the situation.
But I did it anyway.
When we got back to the hangar,
Dan mentioned a police cruiser had shown up just 5 minutes later.
But Art and I had already exited the area.
Close call...

Art is one of those "most unforgettable characters".
He is truly generous, compassionate, funny, open,
and full of life.
I have learned a lot from him.
He had one errand to do, and I tagged along.
We went to the home/office of Louie Psihoyos,
an extraordinarily celebrated photographer.
Here's one of his more famous shots
taken in 1995 of Bill Gates demonstrating
the capacity of a CD:


Louie was in the South Pacific at the moment,
on board the sailing ship of Jim Clark
(one of the founders of Netscape)
working on a five year Hi-Def video project
designed to help raise global awareness
of conservation and protection of our oceans.
Art was there to review the early video clips
and to offer advice on how to proceed with the project.
Click here for story about Louie Psihoyos
Click here for story about Jim Clark's awesome $30 million, 289' sailboat
(it is the world's largest privately owned sailing yacht)

This was just a small part of
just another day in the life of Art Annecharico.
Did I mention that Art is "highly connected"?
;o)

That was a real kick seeing something so big, and yet
in the embryonic stages.
Look for it in 2011...

Too soon, it was time for me to head back to Denver,
and on the way out of the airport,
Art pulled alongside in his Maserati,
ready to test his V-12 against my V-8.
I pulled ahead by a car length before
we had to rein it in for the stop sign,
and Art claimed he missed a shift
and wanted a "do over"...

Yeah, right, Art.
I'm not going to fall for that one again!

Day 36: Denver, CO

No pool today.
Didn't play, didn't read about it,
didn't even think about it.
Pure rest and relaxation.
Alone.
Ah, the sweet serenity of solitude!

Day 35: Far, Far Away

This post is coming to you from
"Far, Far Away" because that is where my mind is,
or rather that is where it must be,
because it certainly is not on pool.

Samm called me out yesterday, at 5:30pm,
for 10pm on Sunday night, my choice of pool halls,
and to bring my video recorder to tape the event.
That gave me 4 and a half hours to prepare,
but I did not prepare for this match in the way I should.

Instead, I had too big a meal (Chipotle)... yum!),
and wasted time watching a monster thunderstorm go by
(I love the thunder and lightning).
I did not go through my pre-match routine,
did not meditate, did not rest, did not stretch.
Nada, zip, zilch, zero.
What can I expect from such a lakadaisical attitude
except poor play on my part, and defeat?

And that's exactly what happened.
I certainly played poorly, according to my own standards,
but I was very lucky to have won the first set
after struggling to hill-hill.
The second set we agreed to shorten to a race to 5
instead of the customary 7 games
because the pool hall was closing and wanted us OUT,
so they could go home.
I was all in favor of that, just to stop the madness,
because I was missing balls my little sister would make.
My mind was all over the place, even thinking about
how I would have to admit all this in my blog today.
Samm won the second set, so we split for the day.

Am I taking our matches for granted?
Has Samm become a friend instead of a deadly enemy?
Am I just getting sloppy?
Where is my discipline?
Am I playing TOO MUCH POOL? (is there such a thing?)

I do know one thing for sure,
trying to shoot pool at 2am is a real challenge for me.
My whole schedule is completely shifted.
It's not like a simple time zone change (jet lag)
which I can adjust to in a couple of days.
Rather, this is a shift of my whole light/dark rhythm.
Note: do research on "circadian rhythms".
When I wake up at noon, because I got to sleep at 4am,
I have missed at least 5 hours of sunlight that
I have been used to for most of my lifetime.

But that would be only a part of it.
I must get back into pre-match routines which I
have established and which will work for me.
I must treat every opportunity to shoot pool as
an extraordinary event, and to prepare for it,
and to treat every shot in the same way.

Meanwhile, I'll take a bit of a break, do some reading.
I brought three books with me:
Point The Way, by Timothy Miller ("The Monk")
The Pro Book, by Bob Henning
The Advanced Pro Book, by Bob Henning
All three books have excellent material on the mental game.

During this break from competition,
I'll visit with a couple of friends in the area.
Art, my flying buddy and wingman on our USA Tour
(see my Biplane Adventures)
and Scott, who was on my board of advisors of my TeleMagic software adventure.

And during this little break,
I will have some time to get my rhythms back in sync,
to exercise, meditate, and consider again the
Meaning of Life, and Pool.

Day 34: Aurora, CO

Playing pool late into the night,
and beyond into the wee hours of the mornings,
and the necessary sleeping late into the day,
breakfast eaten at 2 in the afternoon...
all of this leads to a blending of one day with the next,
a continuous blur of tables, faces and food,
and any meaning of life seems to evaporate.

After more than a month on the road,
I have become a pool hall junkie,
an automaton driven into the night to seek out
colored balls and green cloth in dark and dirty places.
Can nothing save me now?

Last night I shot pool with "Georgia Boy",
who is also known locally as CJ and/or Carlton,
the 67 year old black dude with a slip stroke
and a quiet, easy, confident manner developed over 50 years
of shooting pool for a living... successfully.

The day before, after I met him and watched him play,
I asked him to give me a few lessons,
he tried to get rid of me as some pest
(as he told me later)
by telling me it would cost me 35 bucks an hour.
But, being addicted to pool,
I could not be put off so easily,
and I agreed to the price without question.

Now that I had called his bluff,
he had to deliver,
and we met up at Rack 'em Billiards in Aurora, CO
at 5pm, whereupon he said "Let's shoot some pool".
I told him that he would probably do very little shooting,
but mostly teaching and showing me what I'm doing wrong,
and how I should be doing it right.
He liked that, and we started in on my biggest weakness.

I told him I could not draw the ball,
and he said of course I can,
set up a short, straight shot and told me to draw the ball,
and sure I can draw the ball on a short shot,
but as the distance increases between the cue ball and object,
my draw wanes and eventually disappears altogether,
which I demonstrated to him.
I told him that Strickland and Fisher can draw the ball
the length of the table with apparent ease,
and that I was certain that there is some secret technique
or unpublished way of thinking that creates such magic.
So I asked him "What should I be thinking, to draw the ball?"
His answer was very Zen: "Draw the ball".

He also reminded me that Strickland and Fisher have
spent years of practice on this one shot alone,
and that the cloth used in their matches is new,
and therefore offers almost no resistance,
while the stuff we were playing on is like
wading through molasses.
I felt somewhat better, but still could not draw better.
Then he told me to focus on the bottom of the balls,
not just the cue ball but also the object ball.
That got my attention as a new technique,
and it seemed to help.
I hit a few dozen shots for him,
and my draw actually improved,
but there is no shortcut to hitting a million shots.
Practice, practice, practice.

We moved on to some of my other trouble shots:
Shooting over a ball, shooting from the rail,
break shots, reverse english shots...
I guess I have trouble with just about every shot,
except maybe straight in short shots,
and I've even missed a few of those too,
but I'm not going to waste his time
and embarrass myself by mentioning that.

He patiently watched me flub along,
and gave me pointers on each of these shots,
showing me how he does it,
telling me about variations of each shot,
and setting up the balls for me to try over and over.

I'm not going to get into the details of each shot,
and the secrets of how to shoot them,
as it would take too long for this forum,
and also because I ain't gonna give away his secrets!

We took a break for dinner at the local Olive Garden,
where he said grace before the meal,
and kept me fascinated with stories of all the names
famous and obscure, who he had the pleasure to
come in contact with over the years.

He lived and played in New York City,
shooting pool at Ames' before it was used in the
movie "The Hustler".
He was there in the audience when Luther Lassiter
beat Cicero Murphy (another black pool champion)
for the world straight pool title.
What is little known is that Cicero Murphy
had just previously beaten Lassiter in the tournament.

I'm sure the stories could have gone one forever,
and his language is colorful and funny
(he calls people he doesn't like "mammerjammers"),
but I'm more addicted to pool than I am food
(especially after I've eaten)
so it was back to the pool hall for more...

This time we just played 9-ball,
and as I would run a few balls
then screw up on position or miss,
he would set up the shot again,
we would have a little discussion about it,
and I would have another go at it,
several times if need be,
then continue the rack.

After 7 hours, he called it quits,
and I drove him home.
He asked several times if I felt I had learned anything
and if I got value for my investment in his time.
Of course, I did, and I just hope that I can
remember it and put it into practice when I need it.

We'll probably meet up again for more,
either in this life or the next.

If there is a heaven for pool shooters,
the cloth is new, you never miscue,
the tables are level and the toilets are clean.

And I'll be able to draw the ball
the length of the table...

Day 33: Aurora, CO

I read in the Cue Times
that there is an 8-ball tournament on Friday nights
at the "Rack 'em Billiards" pool hall in Aurora,
so I drove over there hoping to get some more 8 ball practice.
When I got there, I learned that the tournament
is played on small bar tables, not regulation 9-footers.
That killed it for me, as I have no interest
in playing on the mini-tables
because the US Amateur championships are played
on the big tables, so that's where I focus.

OK, so I decide to shoot some balls, solo,
and try out my new Predator 314 series 2 shaft
which I just had shipped in to me from home.
I ordered it before I left on this trip,
and it didn't arrive in time for me to take it with me.
The new shaft is supposed to have even less deflection
than the standard Predator 314 shaft,
which is alread one of the lowest deflection shafts
available on the market.
I ordered this new shaft 1 inch longer than my others,
figuring maybe it might come in handy on stretch shots.
I did notice that it changes the balance of the cue
but just a bit, and I quickly got used to it.

On the table next to me was a solo guy setting up
straight pool break shots, then going for the runout.
Imagine, straight pool!
Nobody plays that anymore, but that's the game I love.
So I asked him if he wanted to shoot some straight pool,
and he jumped at the chance.
In no time at all I had a comfortable lead in points,
when in comes an old black dude, white hair, and
he sits down, starts talking with my opponent (Calgary Dave).
They were doing a lot of talking because Dave was
doing a lot of sitting while I was doing a lot of shooting.

But every once in a while I would miss, and go talk
with this black dude who turns out to be the most
interesting guy I have met in this entire trip, so far.
Check this out:
He is 67 years old, and has played pool for more than
fifty years, and still plays with the same
BALABUSHKA cue he had made by George himself,
which he showed me and allowed me to hold in my hands.
It was the first time I ever touched one of these
legendary cues.
He said he paid $250 for it but now it is worth
several thousand dollars, but of course he would
never sell it, and plans to leave it to a friend.
We talked some more, as I had really no interest in
playing any more straight pool with Dave, when I
could be talking to this living repository of
all things pool for the last half-century.

I told him that Cecil Tugwell,
a legendary black player, showed me how to
shoot one-pocket, and soon he was going on about
a whole list of great black shooters,
who he knew and played.

I asked him if he would like to shoot some pool,
and he said he only shoots for money, period.
I told him I don't gamble and so it looked like
I wouldn't see him play, but after a while he
seemed to be getting the itch to hit some balls,
and he made the proposition that he would
take Dave's place and the lower score and
we would finish out the game in progress.
When he made that proposition,
he didn't know that I only needed 3 balls to win,
and Dave needed something like 25,
but he went ahead anyway.

And then the magic happened...
Without any warm-up at all, this man just
started running balls with an ease and fluidity
I have very rarely seen.
His stroke is so smooth it must be seen to
be believed.
Pool players call it a "slip stroke" because
the cue moves forward in the grip hand,
so that instead of pushing the cue forward
using a grip, he actually throws the cue forward
and catches it in one motion.
Extraordinarily beautiful, and very effective.

Soon enough, he only needed a few balls, maybe three,
so he counts what he needs, continues to shoot,
and then the strangest thing happens: he misses
the winning game ball!
So he IS human, after all.

I hardly felt right about running the few balls
I needed to win, but I did it anyway.
And that is the story of how I beat
the team of Calgary Dave and "Georgia Boy"
(his pool hustler name)
on a Friday night in Aurora, Colorado.
And it's all true.

Georgia Boy and I agreed to meet again on Saturday,
and he will give me some lessons.
I would love to get a video of his stroke,
but he wasn't too excited about that idea.
Maybe I can sweet talk him into it.
After all, I did get him to play without gambling.
Stay tuned...

Day 32: Aurora, CO

Last night's Nine-Ball tournament at Paradise Billiards
came out pretty good for me, better than I expected.
Samm told me there would be some real good shooters,
and there were definitely some pros there, including
Melissa Little and Meghan Meinrich from the WPBA,
and probably some local pros, judging from their
performances, but since I'm a stranger in these parts,
I wouldn't recognize their faces or names.

The rules were more to my liking, with races to 5,
so the longer the race, the better for me.

My first match started out looking like it would be
a repeat from the night before where I took two losses
in my first two matches, and was put out of the competition.
So, last night, my first opponent dropped the 9 on the break.
Then popped an early 2-9 combo, and I was down 2-0
and only had one shot!
It was looking grim, but I came back and won the
next 5 out of 6 games to win the match.

The next match wasn't so easy.
This guy was shooting them in from all over the place,
and while I took a couple of games from him,
he was definitely controlling the table and
deserved the win.
I told him I would see him again in the finals!

My next match went well, as I was shooting good.
There was no stress, no nervousness, and even
though the place was poorly air-conditioned,
I was maintaining my cool.
I kept telling myself just one ball at a time.

In a big surprise, the next match was with Twitchy
the guy from the previous night's 8-ball tournament.
Since he was shooting so well in that one,
I started thinking maybe he was going to be the
guy who would put me out of this one.
But, again, I just focused on one ball at a time,
and soon enough I was winning 3-0.
That's when he said:
"OK, now you've got my attention!"
and he really started bearing down hard
and came back to win the next few games,
but it wasn't good enough because I won the match.
That really felt good!

My next (and last) match was a real heartbreaker.
We went back and forth until we were both "on the hill"
needing only one game to win the set.
I was faced with a relatively easy cut on the 8-ball
to get position on the 9 for the win,
but I gave it a tad too much reverse english
and threw the 8 into the tip of the cushion
and rattled it.
Of course, my worthy opponent got out easy,
putting me out of the tournament.
He lost his next match to the tournament winner.
Twitchy, who had been hawking my action since his loss
said "That was the first shot I saw you miss all night".

The only real highlight of that last match
was a really fun shot I made.
During my early matches,
I had been having trouble with combination shots.
And that really bugged me, because they didn't seem
to be that hard, so when I was faced with a
FOUR BALL combination along the rail to sink the 9,
I was thinking it would probably be smarter to
play safe rather than go for the win.
But it just looked sooooo tempting.
It was not really lined up, with some slight
jiggy mis-alignment, and with 4 balls,
(five with the cue ball) to figure out the angles,
it was hurting my brain to calculate the exquisite
details, and considering the double & triple shimmed
pockets, I went back and forth on the wisdom of
even trying it, and then figured, what the heck,
and let the force be with me, hauled off and
went with my gut, and pop, pop, pop, pop, plop..
the 9 ball dropped clean!
How sweet it is...

Day 31: Wheat Ridge, CO

Yesterday afternoon I drove out to Table Steaks South,
to check out the tables and hit some balls.
What a palace the place is!
Frank Burgess, the owner, spent some serious coin
on making this the best pool hall I have been in, ever.

The tables are triple shimmed, and tighter than
anything I have experienced.
Shots I could have sworn were IN,
just rattled and laughed at me.
Playing on a table like this could definitely
sharpen the eyes.
Note to self:
Consider triple-shimming my Gold Crown IV.
Last night was, um, interesting.

The manager Mike ("Kermit") O'Connell treated me right.
And knows some San Diego players, and wanted me to
give big-ups to Tina Pawloski (sp?) who he met when
he was in the area for the WPBA Viejas tournment (March?).
Says he was a good shooter but prefers poker,
where there is less practice required and more money!
Can't argue that point.

So I shot a couple of hours,
then back to the hotel for some rest before the tournament.
Eight ball, double elimination, race to 4 on the winner's side,
race to 3 on the loser's side. Ball in hand.
No 3-foul rule.

Samm told me that this tournament draws the best players,
and that there are NO easy draws.
But I had no problem in the first round.
I made it through the first round without missing a shot.
That's because I got a bye.
;o)

But Samm was right, of course.
My first match was with the guy who came in second.
I got two games from him, but he ruled.
My second matchup was about the same story,
but I was not shooting my best.
I felt a bit off, distracted, and the
triple-shimmed pockets weren't helping any either.

After my 0-2 barbeque, I stuck around to sweat the action.
It was great people-watching, for sure.
The most noticeable was a guy I called Twitchy.
By far the most hyperactive player I've ever seen.
Could not be still for a second.
Probably twenty warm-up strokes,
raced around the table, up/down/up/down on the shot,
and talking to himself and anyone else constantly,
acting out his displeasure every time he missed,
pointing to where he should have left the cue ball.
I guess we have all seen players like this.
Maybe they think they can get over on the opponent
with all the hystrionics, but they are all bluff.
He made it to the semi-finals, but was bumped
by a guy I call The Fat Man.

The Fat Man was a consumate player, in my book.
He was quiet, composed, and never rattled.
He glided around the table just like Jackie Gleason
in the movie The Hustler, and his gut was just as big.
Watching The Fat Man and Twitchy go at it was
a study in contrasts.
I couldn't have been more pleased when The Fat Man won!

Jackie was another quiet player.
She won a spot on the IPT tour.
I mentioned Samm's name and she smiled and we talked.
I asked her why not WPBA and she says she feels
that men and women should compete on an even level.
I totally agree, of course.
She seemed to be suffering from a head cold,
and didn't make it all the way through.
She was put out of the tournament by The Kid.

The Kid seemed to be no more than 19 years old,
and had one of those side-arm strokes like
Keith McCready.
Real quiet type, but he could sure shoot pool.
In fact, he eliminated the owner Frank Burgess.

In the semi-final matchup of The Fat Man and The Kid,
it was the age-old story of Experience vs. Youth.
Experience won, giving me reassurance for my own game.
But it was close!

The finals were between The Fat Man and The Mouth.
The Mouth could not shut up.
There was nothing he, or his opponent, did that
did not get some comment.
If he wasn't talking about something in the game,
he was complaining about his bad back or knees.
The match went hill-hill, and when The Fat Man
racked the balls for The Mouth to break,
The Mouth complained that the balls were
not racked properly according to BCA rules.
They went back and forth about this for 5 minutes,
The Fat Man refusing to re-rack.
Finally the deadlock was broken when The Mouth
banged the rack with his stick, and then
of course a re-rack was mandatory,
The Fat Man relented and the final game was on.

All during the match, both players were doing soft breaks.
This set up a chess match of safeties
so the games lasted forever,
until someone saw the light of day and went for the run.
It was really good pool to watch,
and of course I was rooting for The Fat Man.
The Mouth missed his runout, leaving The Fat Man
partially hidden behind a ball for a long shot on the 8.
He took his time, considered his options for safety play,
walked around the table, decided the only option was to
go for it, knowing he would have to juice the cue ball,
and without any fanfare, and not a word, got down,
lined up, fired at the 8 ball, and...
I wish I didn't have to say it,
but it rattled!
Damn!

The Mouth ran his remaining 3 balls for an easy out,
and the win.
This was not a night for the good guys.
Including me.

Samm text-messaged me this morning,
asking if I had fun.
My reply was "Does the mouse have fun with the cat?"
Maybe you catch my drift.

Tonight is a 9-ball tournament in Wheat Ridge,
with more top players...

Day 30: Englewood, CO

Short note about yesterday's entry,
which was written at 3am and therefore
while I was mentally and physically Gonzo,
so it may be excused that I forgot the best part.

Samm treated me to a meal of Pho, (say "fuh"),
her native Vietnamese specialty,
which is a soup of noodles and meat
(I chose chicken, which tastes like chicken).
However this soup requires some skill to consume.
Hold the spoon with your left hand whilst
using chopsticks to load it with noodles,
a bit of meat, and some seasoning,
then pop the whole thing in your mouth.

Yeah, right. Have you ever tried using
chopsticks to load slippery noodles onto
a spoon held in your left hand?
I think this whole chopsticks invention
is simply another way for Asians
to show their superiority over Westerners.
After all, they train from birth to use chopsticks,
so of course I am going to look like a complete buffoon.
And from that lowly self-image,
I am supposed to go shoot pool with her!
Very crafty, Samm!

Samm could probably draw the cue ball table length
whilst holding the cue with chopsticks!

It should be said, however, that the little bit of food
that finally did find its way into my mouth
was very tasty.
The starter, a nicely done springroll with a peanut sauce
was also very tasty, and didn't need tools to eat.
Great meal, Samm.
Thanks again for the most blog-worthy experience.

During our meal, the sky opened up and rained,
like a fat cow pissin' on a flat rock.
(one of many colorful expressions picked up on the road)

After this very generous gesture on Samm's part,
we went over to Table Steaks East, where she is the pro,
and I sat in on a class she teaches, for free.
It's all about pool, of course.
This evening there were two students, Jennifer and Eric,
both of whom agreed (me too) that she is an excellent teacher.

All of the above happened last night,
before we went back to "Rack 'em" for our two sets.

---

Tonight I'm on my own and
plan on entering an 8-ball tournament.
Samm has other business.
Stay tuned...

Day 29: Aurora, CO

Samm and I split sets in the US Amateur format.
Close scores.
Good practice!

She is excellent at picking her way through a rack,
and it seems she is better at 8 ball,
while I seem to do better at 9 ball.

My strategy of just focusing on the shot at hand
appears to be paying off.
And my emotional control is better because of it.

Break needs work.
Long draw needs work.

Samm will be taking a few days off for other biz,
and I'll be entering a couple of tournaments
over the next couple of days.
Should be very interesting!

Day 28: Aurora, CO

Here I sit all bleary-eyed, the morning after,
trying to make sense of the previous evening's events,
and wondering if there is any sense to be made
of anything, ever, and questioning the essence of
winning and losing.

It has been observed quite rightly that
"every dog has his day" and that
"even a blind squirrel finds a nut"
and that given enough time
a hundred monkeys with a hundred typewriters
will eventually rewrite Shakespeare.
So, Alfie, what's it all about?

After the previous evening's Mikie-destruction derby,
I resolved to play only one ball at a time,
and to start fresh, forgetting the past,
letting go of the future,
not needing or wanting a win,
just playing the game in the Here/Now.
Only This Ball.

I got a haircut, did some laundry,
and listend to my self-made hypnosis tape
just prior to our rematch scheduled for last night.
My mind was clear.

Samm and I met up last night at "Rack 'em" in Aurora,
a fine billiards establishment with lots of
honest Diamond tables, with challenging pockets.
First on the agenda was a race to 7
in the US Amateur format (8 and 9 ball).
I got off to a good start, and it stayed that way,
all the way to the ultimate ball,
which I rattled in the jaws,
which, if I had made it would have given me
a most incredible 7-0 win
over a most worthy opponent.
But that 9 ball just sat there,
deep in the pocket, but still not dropped,
making everything that came before it irrelevant.
Samm dropped the 9 and went on to win the next 2 games
before scratching on an 8 ball,
giving me the win at 7-3.

After the match,
which progressed without a word between us,
I had to admit to Samm that her absolute rock-solid
composure is extremely effective.
There was not a single change of expression,
nor a single display of any emotion whatsoever
from her during the entire set.
This is most intimidating, even for a player
who is winning 6-0 with a shot on the game ball,
and that could very well be the reason I missed it.

So, Samm, what you have shown me is
the art of doing nothing,
the strength of quiet,
the power of composure.

I had noted this style of yours in
the matches we played the previous evening,
and I was determined to reign in my emotions,
and was generally successful, except
for once when I miscued after running
thru a rack of 8 ball and getting perfect
position on a very tricky shot,
and it was then that I lost my composure
and blurted out something stupid and irrelevant,
which only serves to reduce my own power
and increase the confidence of the opponent.

I came here to learn.
I sure hope I have learned to keep my mouth shut.

Again, on that very topic,
I was reminded that even in victory I have much to learn.

I was born and raised in Philadelphia,
shot my first pool there at Willie Mosconi's place
near my high school.
Philly is a trash-talking town.
It's what we do, it's who we are.
Bluster, bravado, bluffing, smack-talking...
it's all the same.
We do it because we learned it in the streets.
It's a survival tactic, I suppose.
Think Rocky, think Muhammad Ali.
This means that we talk smack before a match
to get over, to get an edge on the opponent,
and we talk smack after a win, rub it in,
to demoralize the opponent in case of a rematch.
And when we win, we glory in it, we bathe in it,
we wallow in it in a most disgusting,
but very Philadelphia way.

And here in Aurora, on the last day of July 2006,
our two cultures collided, and Samm showed me the way,
reminded me that there is a more perfect way to win.
With composure, with style, with grace, and with compassion.
Especially compassion... knowing that on any given day
even a dog like me can win, if the planets align,
my opponent is having an off day, and
the balls roll favorably for me, not her.

How much of any win is the result of personal power
and absolute control of the situation?
Does any single win prove anything?
Or is it just a moment in time, of no importance?
Is there any value in a victory dance and trash-talk?

Or would it be best to simply let it all go
and remind myself that on another day, another place,
the tables will surely turn, and
it would be best if I simply kept my big mouth shut.

I can hear my father's voice,
telling me this as a wee lad:
"You can't learn with your mouth open."

This is a most excellent opportunity for me to
grow by playing and watching closely a true champion.

Thank you, Samm.

---

During some quiet moments on the road
I get the chance to check out some pool-related sites
and here's one of the more fun/interesting
on the subject of snooker:
"Adventures of a Northern Snooker Hero"
I found this site after seeing that a lot of hits
were coming to my site after being referred by his site.
Check it out. Funny, no-holds-barred style of writing.

Day 27: Aurora, CO

Before I go one moment further with this blog,
I must add something to yesterday's entry.

True, I did snivel and whine about how poorly I played,
and never once did I mention my worthy opponent's play.
How completely egocentric of me!
(What else is new?)

So then, let me set the record straight:
Samm Diep is an awesome pool player.
I came here to learn from her,
and here are some observations:

1. Totally focused, no talking, no emotion while shooting,
but when not playing pool, she is a total sweetie,
a real, warm, funny, and compassionate human being.
2. Great preshot routine. Always sets up the shot right.
3. Excellent shot maker.
4. Excellent strategy player.
5. A real credit to the game. No trash talking.
Perfect manners and composure.

(She didn't get to be BCA 9-ball champion for nothing!)

I need a lot of work to be just half the player she is.

---

Today is turning out to be a great day!
I discovered a Whole Foods market across the street.
Although I have never been inside one of these stores,
I have heard about them.

When I walked in, I almost wept with joy!
(Good food can do that to a guy.)
What a wonderland of tasty, nutritious treats!
These people know how do do things right.
I going to buy some of their stock.
Click here for stock info.

So, goodbye greasy french fries at Table Steaks East.
Hello fresh fruits & juices, McCann's Irish oatmeal...

Where, you might ask, have I been that
I have not been inside a Whole Foods market?
Well, remember the bit about me being a hermit?
OK, but even hermits have to eat, right?
True enough, but I have a secret weapon which
shields me from the world in general,
and from food stores in particular.
You see, I have had the same cook for the last 20 years.
Amazing, but true!

Carol, if you are reading this,
you probably already shop for me at Whole Foods,
but if you don't, check it out, if there is one nearby.

I'm really looking forward to my next meal!
Road food totally sucks, but I have found
"acres of diamonds" directly across the street.

In other, totally non-pool related and
completely insignificant news to anyone else,
the hotel returned my dry cleaning in half a day,
and done to my specifications (no crease in the pants).
Isn't it amazing what life on the road will do to a person,
that they obsess over the smallest comforts?

Good food and clean clothes.
Life is good again.

---

Tonight I will again shoot pool.
One ball at a time...

Day 26: Aurora, CO

Allow me to introduce Sammantha Diep,
the 2004 BCA women's 9-ball champion.
(check out her website)
We met up last summer when I was in Denver,
and played some pool in the US Amateur format
(race to 7, 8 games of 9 ball, 5 games of 8 ball)
and although I won against her last year,
just prior to her winning her 9-ball crown,
last night she won all 3 of the sets we played.

I got started slowly, down 3-0,
and while I won half of the next 8 games,
so did she, and won the set 7-4.

We played at the place where she is the house pro,
a place called Table Steaks East
just a few miles from where I'm staying.
I visited the place in the early afternoon, solo,
just to check out the tables.
There's an old beat-up Gold Crown III,
with tight pockets, and a bunch of no-name tables.
I chose the Gold Crown, just to check out
the tight pockets, and test my skill with them.

In the afternoon practice, I felt real good,
and was sinking balls from all over,
hardly even noticing the unforgiving pockets.
After a couple of hours I started getting real tired.
I think it was that big mess of french fries I ate.
So I called it quits and went back to the hotel for a nap.
I felt I would need to rest up for my match with Samm,
who is a true night-owl.

We started playing around 9pm, and didn't quit till 2:30am,
and even though the hour was way later than I typically play,
I was feeling good, strong, and alert the whole time,
so I can not attribute my poor play on the late hours.

What was it?
I'd like to say it was the altitude.
Denver is the "mile high city" and it takes a day or so
to acclimate to the elevation of 5,000+ feet.
But I'm not going to blame my performance on anything
but my mental condition.
I was just not playing the shot in front of me.
I was playing the whole set, the last time we played,
I was writing this blog (in my mind)
and what I would say if I lost, or won.
And, once I got down in the score, I was playing the score,
not the shot at hand, and I was thinking negative,
and the whole downward spiral that comes from that.

I guess this is what they call "paying your dues".
There's a whole lot of losing that comes before winning,
and yesterday was just some more of the un-fun stuff.

I KNOW I can play better pool than I did last night,
and I will.
I absolutely will.

Day 25: Aurora, CO

Another long distance drive,
the full length of Wyoming,
from Sheridan all the way thru to Denver, CO.

Interstate 25 in Wyoming has more roadkill
than any place I have ever seen.
Probably 2-3 flat animals every 20 yards!
Mostly jackrabbits, I figure, judging
from the fur and feet.
Maybe a coyote here and there.
What a mess!

Speaking of dead stuff,
I'll bet I collected every bug in eastern Wyoming
using the front of my car to catch 'em.

I stopped for a brief rest in Cheyenne, WY
for a cup of Starbucks,
and noticed a curious thing:
there's a lot of people wearing cowboy hats!
Men, women and children all wearing Stetsons.
Do they wear suits on Halloween?

Also did a hand-wash on the car, myself!
It is said that a man only truly gets to know
his car when he washes it himself.
So now me and the Puple Penetrator have shared a moment.
It is also said that a clean car runs better,
and it sure ran fine for the final push of 120 miles
into Aurora, CO.

I expect to be hanging out here in the Denver area
for a while, shooting LOTS of pool,
and catching up with some good friends.