Golf is hard and so is Pool

Golf and the Yips

One of my favorite quotes about golf is from Winston Churchill. Sir Winston allegedly described golf as “a game where you attempt to send a small ball into a small hole using implements wholly unsuited to the purpose.” I can’t think of a better

...and tomorrow
I shall be sober

description, frankly.

There have been times when I felt as though I could do anything I wanted with a golf club and the ball would react as I envisioned. I recall playing a round of golf with a non-playing girl friend riding along with me in the cart. I had badly hooked my tee shot on a par 4 and the ball had come to rest in the middle of a parallel fairway about 170 yards from the green with a large stand of trees between the two of them. She asked me what I was going to do to remedy the situation. As I took my stance, I said, “I’m going to hit a high fade over the trees and it’s going to land right on the green.” I’m pretty sure her response was something like, “Yeah, right.”

I took a swing and the ball took off, rose up over the trees, turned right and fluttered onto the green about 10 feet away from the hole, exactly as I’d seen it in my mind’s eye. I walked back to the cart to put my club back in the bag, feeling pretty studly, as the young lady asked me, “Wouldn’t it be easier to just hit it down the middle of the fairway, first, instead of having to go over the trees?”

That’s golf in a nutshell; momentary flashes of brilliance surrounded by longer periods of abject stupidity.

My putting suffered from the yips for a number of years. For those of you unfamiliar with them, the yips are a psychological problem that infects a part of your golf game, usually putting although Charles Barkley 

He actually poses
like this during the swing

suffers from it in his full swing. (There are videos on YouTube but I don’t recommend watching them if you play golf. The yips transfer through the eyes. You have been warned!)

For about seven or eight years, attempting to putt in the 20 – 30 foot range was very uncomfortable. I’d pull the putter back and then twitch as I was about to hit the ball. As you might imagine, the ball didn’t do what I was hoping it would, most of the time. The result is that one begins to feel it coming on and can only just watch and hope for the best as if having an out of body experience with a golf club in ones hand.

It was so bad that I almost gave up the game. Somehow I managed to push the yips out of my putting so that, nowadays, I’m regarded as a very good putter. I don’t recall how I accomplished this; probably better off forgotten anyway.

Unfortunately, the yips now inhabit my chipping and short game. Typically, the ball will either travel about three or four feet because I’ve hit the ground behind it

(golfers call this the chili-dip or the Hormels after that famous brand of chili) or it will run quickly across the green, missing the hole by a wide margin and into a much worse location because I’ve bladed the ball and it didn’t get off the ground at all.

When my best friend plays with me, he will turn his head when I’m about to play a short shot around the green. And encourage others to look away. I can’t blame him but it must be very hard to do. Like not looking at a traffic accident as you drive slowly past it; don’t you just have to look?

Operators are standing by!

The good news is that this past weekend, I played 9 holes with my best friend and found a method for swinging that doesn’t hurt my arthritic wrists! There may be hope that I can continue playing this great game. And hitting the ugliest chip shots with a smile on my face.

Or maybe I’ll have the time to devote to fixing it.

Pool and the Yips

I play pool, I think, for many of the same reasons that I play golf. It’s difficult. It’s mentally challenging, probably more than it is physically challenging. And since the player is the one that is solely responsible for success or failure, I don’t have anyone else to blame for a poor shot. All of that appeals to me. Along with the fact that you can drink while playing, I suppose.

I usually get an hour or two on Sunday afternoon to practice my pool game. I spend the time doing some drills for speed control, quality of stroke, and to cement my pre-shot routine. I also spend time doing something called a Q-skills drill which is a semi-scientific way to track progress over time.

My practice sessions over the past month or so have been really good and I feel as if I’ve reached a new level in my game. That makes last night’s occurrence all the more disturbing.

Monday night is league night for me. I play in an 8 Ball league at one of the few remaining pool rooms in the area, Diamond Billiards. It’s a BCA league (for all of you that care about such things) and is very competitive. My team is made up of 5 people, and we’re all pretty fair players. Halfway through the current session, we’re in first place.

In my first match last night, I broke dry and my opponent scratched on his opening shot giving me ball in hand anywhere on the table. I set up for an easy shot in the side pocket with just a touch of angle on it so as to play position for the next shot, slightly down table. I went through my pre-shot routine, got down on the shot, went through my mental checklist and shot. The object ball hit the point of the side pocket, ricocheted over to the other point of the pocket, rattled back and forth and did not fall. I had managed to miss my opening shot with ball in hand!

Just a bit outside!

I was so stunned, I don’t remember walking back to my seat. My teammates were all staring at me, wondering what happened. I was trying to determine what I’d done to miss that easy of a shat (truly, the easiest possible shot). The only thing I could come up with was that I’d been trying to cheat the pocket and had over-done it, causing the ball to catch the edge of the rail by mistake. Meanwhile, my opponent was running the table and played a safety with 2 balls left. I got back to the table with almost nothing to shoot at, managing to make a couple of shots before missing a very difficult safety of my own and my opponent ran out.

In league play, when you do something dumb like this, your teammates are there to pick you up, and cover your errors.  Or, they abuse you relentlessly for the next 30 minutes or so, just to help you remember that stupid stuff isn’t tolerated. Whatever. I’m guilty of it, too.

I managed to get my groove back a little bit in the second game although the other team kept getting these silly rolls when they would miss and leave us with really bad position from which to shoot. I lost that one, too.

In the third game, I broke dry and my opponent was running out when he rattled a ball and left me a shot. I ran the rack out, making some very difficult shots and playing some pinpoint position. I felt like I was back!

In the last game, my opponent ran down to the 8 ball before snookering himself. When he fouled trying to hit the 8, he gave me ball in hand. I didn’t even think about what had happened in the first game as I plotted my path to run out the rack. (Having very short memory is essential to confident shooting.)

I set up my first shot, made it and got perfect position for the next one. I ran every shot just as I had drawn it up in my mind and it was a difficult layout with a tight cluster of 4 balls at one end of the table that required a break out shot to enable the run out.

With only the 7 ball and the 8 left on the table, I was set up for a very simple touch shot in the corner where the cue ball would strike the 7, make it in the corner pocket and then roll forward about a foot for position on the 8 in the other corner. The shot required a gentle stroke with just enough speed to accomplish everything.

I got down on the shot, went through my mental checklist and shot. The object ball, I could immediately see, was slightly offline and hit the point of the pocket. It rattled back and forth, and stayed up on the table.

The cue ball rolled forward into perfect position…..for my opponent to shoot the 8 ball into the opposite pocket to win the game.

Yep, did it again.

Some rather colorful language came out of my mouth, quietly, as I slowly walked back to my seat amongst my teammates. They congratulated me for the great run, even if I did choke on the most important shot of the game. (These words were said with a smile, at least.) I truly have no idea how I missed that ball. Probably a tiny eye movement at the last second.

Now these two shots, that I went brain dead on, aren’t really the yips as the yips are typically a constantly repeated, psychologically driven phenomenon. And I didn’t see them coming, as you can when you really have the yips. But damn. They hurt just as badly.

I guess it’s back to the practice table again this weekend.  Good thing, too, since it’s Labor Day!

Odds and Ends

Take a road untraveled

Two weekends ago, I took a new route on my bike in an effort to expand my riding range and to continue to challenge myself. 

I took off Sunday morning, a beautiful day, and headed away from home on a country road that I travel by car several times a week.  It’s always interesting to me how roads that seem flat while traveling by car become painful hills when attacked with two skinny tires.

It was early so the first five or six miles passed in relative quiet.  I heard a dog barking off in the distance. A flock of geese took off from a pond as I went past and spent their first thirty seconds trying to get airborne while honking loudly.  Does the honking help?  Is it similar to my gasping loudly when I’m about halfway up a small climb and running out of breath? Or is it more like the sound I make when I finally crest that hill and head down the other side, thrilled that I don’t have to pedal for a little while and can just enjoy the gravity while I try to reduce the wind resistance?  If I could fly, I’m thinking it would be from the sheer joy of breaking the bonds of earth.

I took the last turn into the little village of Montpelier and started through town, past the library and the baseball field.  Now I was heading onto a stretch of two lane blacktop where the speed limit nudges fifty five and I hoped that the shoulder remained as wide as I remembered for as long as I remembered.  I needed about four miles until I could get off this road and make a turn to a more residential route.  I made sure my blinking red light under my butt was on and continued to turn the cranks.

Ten minutes of so up the road, I spied a couple of vehicles in my mirror coming from behind.  I double checked the shoulder (looking good) and stayed in the center of its three feet of safety.  As the truck and car approached, I heard their speed drop and they both swung out into the middle of the road to afford me a wide berth.  I raised my hand in thanks as they rolled past and both drivers waved.  

I love being out in the country, sometimes.

No other cars passed as I made my way to the turnoff and continued this, for me, new route.  It was totally new to me as I couldn’t remember ever driving on it but My Bride had suggested the loop and she knows what I like to ride.  I continued to the stop sign signaling the end of this road, next to the parking lot of the road’s namesake, Hopeful Baptist Church. 

We have a lot of roads named for churches around here and in every case, the church is still there.  Most have a founding date in the late 18^th or early 19^th centuries so you know the roads are old and winding.  And rolling, too.  At one point, I had found myself enjoying a series of rollers going ever downhill but then I saw the pond and knew that the hills were about to go the other way.  Sure enough, around a gentle bend, the next series of rollers headed uphill. Steeply.  Dammit.

I took a quick break in the church parking lot, drank some water and ate a Honey Stinger Waffle for some energy.  These are so good, you could eat them like candy; I limit myself to eating them on bike rides in excess of two hours to control the addiction.  It's working so far.

I saddled up and headed off.  The ride continued on, eventually winding up on a road that I frequently ride but in the opposite direction.  When you’ve never gone that direction before, it feels weird.  I didn’t recall it being downhill the other way, so why is it uphill now?  Gravity messes with you, a lot, when you’re on a bike.

I passed my house and continued on a more familiar road that I’ve ridden dozens of times in the past year.  I was heading back into the suburbs of Henrico county and Glen Allen.  Here the roads are a little bit wider so that a cyclist should feel a little safer.  No sooner had I thought that, than two cars passed me with no room to spare and cars coming in the other direction.  

Seriously? Do you just not see me or do you have no imagination of what would happen with a slight mis-judgement?  Must be the latter as I’m wearing an optic yellow jersey.  I look like a new tennis ball with black shorts, riding a bicycle.  Dumbasses.  

Sometimes I hate the suburbs.

Another hour of dodg’ems and I was back in my driveway with no further incidents.  I’m feeling good about my riding and glad that the days are getting longer.  After-work rides are coming up, soon, and with a little more time I’ll be ready for that century ride in June.

Pool Story

I was traveling a few weeks ago, a semi-annual sales meeting, and we had a team building activity one evening at a place called Lucky Strikes.  This is a chain of bowling centers (I learned that they don’t call them alleys anymore; when did that change?) that isn’t aimed at league bowlers as much as it is at young urban professionals looking for something other than just a bar.  

The place specializes in videos, music, a full bar, decent bar food, and (oh yeah) bowling.  They also have a collection of pool tables, at least they have in the three different places I’ve been across the country.  These were 9 foot Brunswick Gold Crowns (nice table!) with red cloth (ewwww!).

Our group had the run of the place with about five or six players on a team.  Everyone was eating munchies and drinking adult beverages while bowling, some for the first time in twenty years, I later learned.  One of my friends from the office grabbed a set of balls for the pool table and asked me if I wanted to play. He knows that I play in a league and he is pretty competitive so I’m sure he wanted to see how he stacked up.

I racked up a game of 8 ball and invited him to break.  He did and made a ball.  He missed his first shot but I could tell he had a decent stroke.  I grabbed one of the house cues, surprised to see it had a decent tip on it.  And then, I couldn’t miss.  It was almost silly.  I ran that rack and then broke, and ran the next rack.  Then I broke and ran the next rack.  Then I broke and ran a fourth rack.  (People were beginning to stop and watch our games.) I was beginning to wonder what was going on and then I noticed how big the pockets were as I pulled balls out of the corner pocket.  At least five inches wide, about a half inch larger than normal.  No wonder!  It was almost hard to miss.

It was fun to look like I knew what I was doing for a little while.  Fortunately, the next game of bowling was about to begin and we turned in the balls.  The guy that I handed them to asked how many racks I'd run.  Jeez, everybody was watching.

Hope I didn’t queer my action, too badly, around here.

Healthy Anniversary

Last weekend brought about April 7^th which is the one year anniversary of my decision to change my lifestyle and affect my health in a positive way.  Since then, I’ve managed to lose about twenty pounds and reduce my body fat content to less than fifteen percent, down from over twenty five percent. 

I work out at least three times per week including cardio (elliptical trainer or cycling) and weight training.  This has become an integral part of my life now, so much so that when I miss a workout it affects me mentally.  I’ve figured out how to get my workouts in, even when traveling, and that has made all the difference.

I still eat unhealthy meals, I just don’t do it all the time and I watch the portions.  In fact, if I eat too much my body tells me and is ruder about it than before.  And, I eat a lot of fruit and vegetables to help offset the bad stuff.

I still drink adult beverages but I pick my spots with them.  I occasionally drank to excess before and I expect I will again but I’m much more thoughtful about what goes in my mouth and down my throat.  I know that liquor is a slow poison.  Fortunately, I'm not in a hurry.

I was also able to get off all my prescription medications for high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and high blood sugar (pre-diabetes).  That stuff was treating symptoms, not the root causes; the root cause (me) has been addressed and I don’t need them anymore.  I do still take something for acid reflux and I can’t seem to shake that one but I will.

I’m happy with myself.  I’m happy with my life.  I’m happy with my health.

That’s a good anniversary to celebrate!

Pool - it's an addiction....

I play pool.  It’s one of the things I really like to do, especially when I’m playing well.  When I’m playing badly it makes me nuts.  Not nuts enough to quit altogether, although I’ve threatened to do so many times, but nuts enough to stop for shorter periods of time.  Like a day.  Okay, maybe an hour.

I think anything that has that much of your attention is healthy and unhealthy at the same time.

The game of pool has been around since the 1600s and was originally played by royalty.  Legend has it that royalty wanted a game to play indoors when the weather didn’t allow for the playing of croquet.  Pool was originally played like croquet on a table top.  The green cloth on a pool table is meant to mimic the grass of a croquet field.

  

I’ve been in pool rooms where the tables were about as well kept as a croquet field, come to think of it.

The reasons I like the game so much are many.  It’s incredibly exacting; the difference between a good shot and a bad one are sometimes measured in microns.  There are times when you’ve hit a shot so perfectly and it still doesn’t go in and you can only wonder what you did to cause that.  That’s another reason I love it; causation.  When I’m at the table, I’m responsible.  My success or failure is all on me and my skills, not my opponent’s ability to defend.  I like to be responsible.

Like golfers, pool players have no one to blame but themselves.  That doesn’t stop us.  Some of the best excuses I’ve ever heard have been in a pool room.  Sometimes, to keep our sanity, pool players won’t own up to mistakes.  We attribute things to the “pool gods” or bad rolls.  There’s even a theory that we’re on a large ball that is traveling at several thousand miles per hour, while spinning at a thousand or so miles an hour and then you hit a ball into another ball and each of them has some spin; it’s a wonder one ever goes into a pocket on purpose!

I always blame myself because I didn’t see anyone else hanging on to my cue. 

I also like the varieties of games that can be played on a pool table.  There are dozens of different games, all with their own nuances.  Eight ball is the one seen in most public places with nine ball a close second.  They’re completely different games in that one is about cue ball movement and offense (nine ball) while the other is about patterns and choices (eight ball). 

One pocket is often described as chess on a pool table; it’s very popular among players that like to play for money and is one of those games that require a lot of playing time to learn.  A knowledgeable player can often win against a more talented player that doesn’t know the game’s subtleties which makes for some interesting matches. 

Straight pool, officially known as 14.1, is a game that blends all of the pieces of good play into one contest.  It’s also making a comeback after a long hiatus in the pool world.  I saw several younger players at my local pool room playing a game to 150 the other night and that made me smile.  It was fun watching them work to wrap their head around a pattern of their own choosing instead of connect the dots as happens in a nine ball game.  The difference is like trying to paint something by Monet on a blank canvas instead of paint by numbers.  Not everyone can do it.

There’s even a game called billiards played on a table with no pockets and three balls.  The object is to shoot a cue ball into another ball that then strikes three cushions while traveling around the table before striking the third ball.  This scores the shooter a point or billiard.  A really good player may do this five or six times in a row.  The first time I tried it, I had a no hitter going for almost an hour.  It’s a very difficult game and beautiful to watch when played well.

There’s the perception that pool is a game played by seedy individuals in places your mama wouldn’t want you to be.  This reputation is earned to some degree, I guess.  The financial aspect of running a pool room dictates that you can’t put one in an upscale mall.  As a result, they tend to be placed in “lower rent districts” and may attract more of a blue collar clientele.  Having spent plenty of time in pool rooms around the country over a forty year span, I can tell you that the folks that play there are just like you and me, however.  The demographic may be different than your own.  The conversations may be more colorful that what you hear at home.  But the concerns they have, the laughs they share, and the celebrations of success are just as genuine as those in any board room in the country.

My local pool room has been around for about twenty years.  On many occasions, when a regular has passed away or had some bad luck, a large glass jar appears on the front counter with the person’s picture and a quick note that describes what’s happened.  In almost no time at all, the jar is full of money that is used to offset expenses.  I’m always impressed by how quickly people will respond in a crisis and how deep they’ll dig into an almost empty pocket to share what they have.

I’m a league player and even run the league that I play in.  It’s an eight ball league with anywhere from fifty to one hundred members.  It’s one of the most competitive leagues I’ve ever seen with no quarter given to anyone.  And in all the years I’ve run or played in it, I’ve seen very good sportsmanship practiced by the members.  There are exceptions, of course, as there always are.  But these are often managed by the other players in the league and require little direction from me.  That speaks well of the game, in my opinion.

My league has players from all occupations and all age groups.  I’ve had players from eighteen to eighty five years of age.  I’ve had unemployed laborers, plumbers, executives, college professors, lawyers, real estate tycoons, bikers, roofers, tow truck drivers, sales people, and dentists play in my league.  That’s a colorful group!  And they all interact as you might expect because they have differing beliefs, values, politics, families, diets, and behaviors.  But they unite over the game of pool.

We all play the game because we all love it.  And hate it.