The Nine Ball Doesn't Care How You Feel

We open at seven. The coffee is usually going by six thirty, because I like the hall quiet before the day gets loud. This morning I am racking the front table, and I am thinking about a kid. I use the word kid loose. He was maybe twenty six. For a while there he closed this place down every Friday.

Good stroke. Better than mine ever was. On a hot night he would run four racks and the whole room would go still to watch him work. And every single time, right at the moment he should have chalked his cue and walked out a winner, he would say the word.

Again. One more. Double or nothing.

Here is what nobody tells you about again. It never feels like a decision. It feels like the natural next thing, like taking another breath. The table is hot, your hand is hot, and a little voice tells you the universe owes you one more good roll. It does not. The nine ball has no idea you are on a streak. It sits there the same as it sat for the fellow who lost his rent on it last Tuesday.

I watched that kid turn a hundred good nights into one bad morning. Not because he was weak. Because he was strong, and strong men trust the heater. That is the whole trap. The better you feel, the more the next bet looks like a sure thing instead of a coin flip wearing a nice suit.

So here is the only tip I will ever give you, and it is not really about pool. When you feel that pull to go again, right then, at the exact moment it feels the most obvious, that is when you set the cue down. Winning is not the last shot. Winning is the walk to the door with money still in your pocket and tomorrow still yours.

The kid does not come around much anymore. Last I heard he is doing alright. Got some help. Got a handle on it. I hope he reads this one. The rack is open. The coffee is on. Come tell me your story sometime.

Sal