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JUST POOLIN' AROUND



It was Saturday morn' and the air was clean. The verdant fields were wet and green,

But we're not concerned with the weather here, even though it was perfectly clear,

But the acrid smoke and the din of night and discernible forms in fluorescent light,

And movements about a field of green in an atmosphere that was not so clean.

Fat and thin and short and tall; they gather around a table and ball

Like swords from scabbards they draw their cues and the various other tools they use.

Brushes and powder, sandpaper and chalk; cigars and beer and churlish talk.

You may have guessed, if you're no fool, you're about to witness a game of pool.

Sandy is first so he chalks his cue and D.J. steps up to the table too.

Up and away curls wisps of smoke with giggles and laughs at the off-colour joke.

D.J. smiles and scratches his chin and the game of pool is about to begin.

Sandy will flip and D.J. will call. "Heads!" is the yell and they watch the coin fall.

The coin hits the table and goes into a spin, not in a hurry for either to win.

It comes to a stop and the side you can see is the head with the date, nineteen sixty-three.

Sandy puts in the coin and pushes the jig and all the balls fall with a crash that is big.

He puts the rack on the table and fills it with care and arranges the balls so all will be fair.

The triangle's removed and the scene is set. Now all that's left to do is to bet.

No good pool game ever is played in which a buck or two isn't made.

The audience gasps and things grow still as D.J. throws out a brand new bill.

Sandy matches it with a grin. A two-hundred dollar game is about to begin.

In starting a game with that big a stake, they will set down some rules before the break.

Eight ball's the game. They played it before, and with standard old rules they'll play it some more,

With the exception of one little thing. They'll bank the eight to make it interesting.

D.J. leans down and prepares for his break with hope against hopethat the eight ball he'll make.

His concentration is not quite clear. He stands and takes a drink from his beer.

Again he stoops over that table of green. The look on his face is hungry and lean.

In order to win he will have to work fast. The C-note he bet, you see, was his last.

He breaks from the center as some of them do, using top english so the cue will go through.

The ball hits the rack with a terrible crash and spreads them thin like a fan in the ash.

D.J. sees what he does and lets out a roar. The cue bounces up and goes off on the floor.

Blood rushes to his head and he curses and moans as Sandy just smiles at the table he owns.

He sizes things up to see what to choose. The spread is so good he can't possibly lose.

The two is sitting right next to the eight. The five and the seven are sitting in straight.

The one-three combo in the corner is good. With the four and the six who knows where he stood.

They are both sitting next to the rail and either one can cause him to fail.

The big ones also are sitting just fine, provided he could get a cut on the nine.

The fifteen and eleven will go in the side. He powders his cue to make a smooth slide.

Taking a thoughtful sip from his glass, he sees a shot that will show he has class.

He takes careful aim for a minute or more and hit the six in the corner right off of the four.

In his effort to try for an early win, the cue ball follows the green one right in.

The crowd laughs and jeers at the very bad start. One man suggests that they shoot in the dark.

D.J. looks at the field in disbelief, then manages a silent sigh of relief.

The four has come out to the center spot. He couldn't have asked for a better shot.

With the table still open it will do no harm to take advantage of the sale of the farm.

The four is way too far down the green and with a shot at the seven a scratch could be seen.

Still he could place the ball where he would and that makes nearly any shot good.

D.J. smiles and swallows his pride and decides to try the nine in the side.

With top right hand english he'll come back on the ten and with some luck he'll know what to do then.

The crowd is surprised. He has taken the stripes. Maybe he'd better play without lights.

But D.J. smiles and keeps his cool. He's about to show them how to play pool.

The nine goes in just like driving a car, but the english carries a little too far.

That means he will have to cut in the ten or shoot the fifteen and come around again.

The thirteen's a nearly impossible shot, especially with the four sitting on the spot.

He takes careful aim and taps the cue slow. The crowds sips their beer as they watch the ten go.

The cue rolls to the corner, the cut was so thin, but stops short of the pocket and doesn't go in.

The fifteen in the side will be easy to cut, if only the pocket in the corner was shut.

With a little low english and maybe some right he could come back on the twelve, but it will be tight.

He chalks up and powders and sips from a can and tokes from a smoke someone puts in his hand.

He looks at the crowd and takes a deep breath and goes back to his game as silent as death.

He sinks the fifteen with a bit too much right. The cue goes to the corner and down out of sight.

Sandy was sitting and drinking his drink just long enough to have time to think.

The seven and five are both straight in shots, if he could break the two and the four off the spot.

If he could do a slight cut on the five, the thirteen might make that spot come alive.

The five goes in and the thirteen hits the eight and toward the side pocket it goes real straight,

But it meets the eleven and saves Sandy's hide. The eight ball doesn't quite go in the side.

The near-miss makes the crowd breathe a sigh and Sandy's throat is a little more dry.

He wets it again with the rest of his beer and fills it again with a quart that is near.

A bank or a cut on the seven will go or a long shot to the one-three combo.

He shot the long shot and shot it hard rearranging every ball in the yard.

The cue is sewed up behind the fourteen and the one is the only ball to be seen.

With the twelve in the way for a straight in shot, he'll have to bank to the opposite spot.

If he uses some right and cuts a bit thin, Sandy can get out of the spot he is in.

He leans on the bar a minute to think and takes a sip from his newly filled drink.

Somehow the shot just doesn't seem right. The cut on the one is a bit too tight.

The only alternative shot he can do isto try for the seven by a bank with the cue.

He decides the one is the shot to play since the seven has the four almost in the way.

He banks the one and it goes straight in as if pulled by a string on a pin.

The cue does just what he knows it will do. It caroms off the end and lines up with the two.

Sandy breathes easy and D.J. knows why. More shooting like that and C-note, goodbye.

D.J. says, "We're even, my friend, and we're still a long way from the end."

Sandy knows about the seven and four. After the two ther is no easy score.

Sandy smiles and shoots in the two and thinks he will then decide what to do.

Since the two has to go stright in, it won't do a thing to help him win.

The only thing now is a bank on the four. He is taking potluck and hoping for more.

He can't believe the luck he has found. Then a bleery-eyed drunk buys the house a round.

Sandy could bank the four, he supposed, and then he discovers the banks are closed.

He misses by a hair but that is enough. Now it's D.J.'s turn to show his stuff.

"The fourteen straight in all the way down," D.J. says walking slowly around.

A little low left will break out the eleven that is out in the middle kissing the seven.

CRACK! goes the cue and the fourteen goes plop and he gets his break along with the drop.

He has the eleven nearly straight in, but the twelve and the eight are at opposite ends.

While he is thinking what he should do he stops and takes a short sip from his brew.

He taps the eleven ever so light. It goes down to the corner and drops out of sight.The twelve and the cue are lined up real great. With a slight cut on the right he can come back on the eight.

Sandy is sweating at the sight he can see. D.J. has two left and Sandy has three.

He hits the twelve and his english is true. It drops in the corner as he wants it to do.

The cue ball goes crazy. I know it is wrong, but it goes 'round the table and far too long.

It runs right into the seven and four and goes in behind them six inches or more.

He'll have to shoot throught them to get it in straight. Then he remembers they are banking the eight.

His fgather once told him if he hit the right spot, he could get it right in with a three-rail shot.

D.J. gets a tight grip on his pole, with the eight on the rail just short of the hole.

He knows that his english is a little high right. He won't shoot hard and he won't shoot light.

It hits the first rail and goes to the end. It hits and bounces and hits a rail again.

The tracking is true but it seems a bit slow to go all the way down and make the eight go.

D.J. is tense and the whole crowd is too, waiting to see what the white ball will do.

It rolls nice and easy. The speed isn't much. You can hear a slight click on the eight, just a touch.

It seems like eternity for just a short spell. The eight rolled toward the pocket...

teetered...

           ...then fell.