Lording over the table

One of my favorite questions to ask players that I meet is "where else do you play pool?" Back in February I was in Best Buy looking for an internet router when I spotted a woman carrying a pool cue case. I went up to her and asked her a little bit about pool, if she was on a league, etc. I asked her where all she played and one of the places she mentioned was the Stoned Crow. I recognized the name but couldn't say I'd ever been. A few weeks later I paid a visit and I instantly recognized the sign outside from having walked by so many times. I walked in and was the only customer present. I got a seltzer with lime, tipped the bartender and went to check out the pool table. It's in the back of the place, in a room with a high vaulted ceiling and a skylight. So I put in my quarters and began hitting some balls around, at which point one of the people working said "The game room doesn't open until five o'clock." I looked at the time and saw that it was 4:45. An awkward moment, followed by me saying something like I'd only be a few minutes. I continued practicing, feeling a little annoyed about the situation when the guy came back and said "You might need this" and flipped on the light above the pool table, as if to suggest that only a poor player would practice in such a dim room.

Determined not to let that be my defining Stoned Crow moment, I went back a couple weeks ago, on a Saturday night. I had read online somewhere about some owner of the bar "lording over the pool table." And sure enough, there she was, the owner of the bar, Betty Gordon. We struck up a conversation and I found her to be pleasant, but I couldn't help but be surprised that she spent so much time dealing with the pool table. I told her I had read about her and I asked her about the bar, the neighborhood, the pool scene, etc. She went on to say how there are never any fights and that the players are always very skilled. Another thing I had read that was easily confirmed was the immaculate condition of the pool table. What I was not prepared for, however, was the doubles-only rule.

As an aside, I hate playing doubles. One of my favorite things about playing at my home bar of Sophies is that the list almost always has the words "No Doubles" written on top. I always feel that pool moves quicker, both for the players and the observers, when it's played head to head. In doubles, when you're only shooting every fourth turn, it's hard to catch that gear and get into a groove. In fact, when I come up next on a list and the people ahead of me are playing doubles and they ask me if I have a partner, I'll suggest taking them both on, me against them (aka "Canadian Doubles"). Because otherwise you risk getting paired with a stranger, somebody who is a weaker player. Then that person misses easy shots and loses the game and you've waisted the quarters, as well as your long-waited-for turn at the table.

Despite all that, I went ahead with it, relieved when Betty said she'd find me a partner as opposed to me having to ask around. I played two games, each time with a different partner. On the second game, win or lose it was going to be my last game. I had even put on my jacket thinking I might not get another turn when eventually it was my turn, a shot at the 8 and the game. It was one of those bank shots you could probably make blindfolded, the kind where you get tired of analyzing it and just go for it. It was a long, cross corner bank about 3/4 the length of the table. The 8ball rattled beautifully in the corner pocket and fell in. Despite the shot looking harder than it was, Betty paid me a nice compliment, saying "You're a very good player."