Now On Wednesdays (Mutiny!)

Teams break-up for a lot of reasons. Sometimes people lose interest. Understandable - pool isn't for everyone. Sometimes a common time-slot can't be agreed upon. This is New York City, everyone is busy; it can be hard to nail down four people for something once a month, let alone once every week. Other times, the chemistry just isn't there. Not everyone gets along, there's a personality conflict, an inability to relate...or, in my team's case, the team captain turns out to be a borderline sexual harasser, compulsive sharer of too much information, and gives everyone the willies. Which in a pool hall - with its usual cast of derelicts and scoundrels - is no easy feat.

Take my first opponent of the winter season. Married, with kids, yet he talked to everything with a vagina that walked by. But his case of the bitches aside, I could talk to him. He was charming in a roguish kind of way. I was never creeped out, and at least half of the women he accosted enjoyed the attention. And he never pushed things past personal boundaries.

This was not the case with our former captain. Every night had a level of awkwardness that swayed between uncomfortable silence and clunky conversation to abject revulsion. Maybe we were too judgmental(but probably not).

Either way, for the winter season, the team lineup is me, Alex, Mike, and our newest member Jen. We mutinied over to Wednesday nights, hoping to avoid awkward encounters with our former leader.

Of course, he joined a Wednesday team too. Game on.

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As I said, my first opponent was a pussy-hound. No shame in that(depending who you ask), but it did make for an extremely slow match. He flirted with the waitress every time she passed by(and I'll admit, I didn't mind that this kept a beautiful blonde at the table for at least five minutes at a time).

He had played Alex the season before, playing well above his six rating. Smoothly telling Alex he didn't usually play this well, he ran out the first game of eight-ball and didn't look back. That rubbed Alex the wrong way, and he was pissed after he lost the match. Talking to the guy later at the bar, I could see why Alex hated him, though in person he was almost impossible to hate to his face. He was polite with a facade of modesty. He oozed used-car salesman charm. I tried to act surprised when he told me he was currently a broker; I didn't have to act when he told me he used to dance professionally for the Metropolitan Opera. He hit on a trio of twenty-something girls pre-gaming for a night at Webster Hall moments after telling me about his triplets. If he was on my team, I probably would have liked him; called him a 'devilish rogue', doing shots while noting which waitresses were the cutest.

He wasn't on my team though, and this night, I wanted to beat the crap out of him. Enact some revenge on behalf of Alex. And I did(sort of).

I won 6-5, but it should have been 7-4 or 7-3. And by "should" I really mean "could" which really means "I fucked up, but I have an excuse I half believe".

I was clearly the more-skilled player, even though I dropped the first game of eight-ball. From there, I won three straight, making some impressive shots. We were on Table 11, which had tight pockets. Knowing that bothered my opponent, and it kinda bothered me, but I was still making the shots I should make. Until nine-ball, anyway.

Our match was almost two-hours old by the time we got to nine-ball. He took frequent bathroom breaks. He yammered on about his name, his kids, his wife - in addition to the flirting, this was putting us in danger of finishing sometime around 10:45(after a 7:45 start time!).

After winning my third game, ensuring I'd win the match 6-5 worst case, I said(well, thought) fuck it, and dismissed any competitive imperative I might have had three hours earlier.

The worst case ended up coming true when I, hungry and tired, jawed a nine-ball. I shook his hand, wished my best to his damn wife and kids, went to the bar and ordered some food and a beer. Hunger won out over fatigue, but by the thinnest of margins - I was slumping and eating with sloth-like speed after my boneless buffalo wings finally arrived. I tried my best to engage Mike in conversation. He and Alex had won, our newest member Jen had lost in a tiebreaker, making for a much better start then the last two seasons.

It was after midnight when I got home. I put my cue in the corner, dropped my things, let my jacket slide off and crumple to the floor, fell into my bed and to sleep. I woke up a half-hour later, managing to get undressed and hang up my coat, retaining some kind of civilized dignity.

I was exhausted, and it was only the first week.