Pro Pool Workout
#9
In the first part of this series on “Playing with the Big Dogs,” I related my experience of losing to Troy Frank in the 2001 U.S. Open. I shared exactly what happened and my reaction to those events. In this second part, I hope to redeem myself by sharing another experience. What it’s like to play a Big Dog and win!
About two weeks before a Texas Express event at Bogart’s Billiard Cafe in Livonia, Michigan, I starting working on a new alignment aspect of my pre-shot routine. I could see that this new distinction was going to have a good impact on my game, but it wasn’t fully in place yet.
I hoped it would stabilize by the time of the tournament, but that wasn’t the case. So I stayed on the practice tables late the night before in a last ditch attempt to lock it down. The next morning before the tournament, I accepted a challenge match from a Chicago player to warm up. I found it difficult to take my attention off the new technique and focus on what needed to be done in the moment. As I result, I played terrible and lost.
After the match I still had a few minutes before the tournament began. I found a secluded corner and had a serious conversation with myself. The last few months had been a very trying period for me as a pool player. My commitment to the game had caused serious problems in my marriage and financial situation. It looked like I was paying a very steep price to pursue my ambitions. I was deeply frustrated.
I could not take it anymore. I prayed for a sign. “Lord,” I entreated, “give me a sign. Don’t let me continue in this direction if it doesn’t have your blessing. Give me a sign that’s so overwhelmingly obvious that it would be impossible to misinterpret. If you want me to give up this pool thing, let someone hit me over the head with a cue or something.”
A few minutes later, I was called to my first match. It proved to be a grinding affair where I posted an early lead and then struggled to put it away. As soon as I sank the final nine-ball and broke my cue down, I heard the tournament director call the next match over the sound system. “Bob Henning and Jose Parica on table number seven.”
This was great! Parica was certainly the best player in the event and I was excited and pleased to play him. As I made my way to the table, I formulated a quick game plan. I was simply going to play my best.
A line of spectators four and five deep were gathered around the table by the time we lagged for the break. Jose won and after I racked the balls, he broke and ran out in the most delicate and effortless manner I had ever seen. I racked them and he did it again. His touch on the ball was incredibly light and there was a perceivable, palpable quietness around him. In the aura of that silence, I reaffirmed my decision to just play my best.
I don’t remember whether he missed or just didn’t make a ball on the break. Either way, I finally got to the table in the third rack. My recollection of the next eight games is very sketchy. At times I was aware of my posture and reflexively straightened my shoulders. I also remember putting my playing cue on the floor under the table whenever I exchanged it for my breaking cue.
I made the nine-ball twice on early caroms and once on the break. There was one three-bank safety that didn’t go as planned, but it came up safe anyhow. I don’t remember missing any other shots or Parica ever getting to the table except to rack the balls, although I suspect there must have been one or two safeties which he was unable to convert.
My clearest memory is when Parica was racking the balls for the eleventh game. I heard a spectator behind me say to another person, “Bob’s got Jose eight to two!” I looked up at the scoring beads strung above the table and it was true. I was on the hill.
This brought my ego partially into the game. I checked the rack and saw that Parica had left the last three balls loose and almost an inch from the rest of the stack. I pointed to them and motioned for a re-rack. This brought a little more of my ego into the match and as he nit-picked with the rack, I could sense the momentum slipping away. In an instance I realized that he had slug-racked me not to diminish the outcome of the break, but to distract me.
“That’s fine, Jose, that’s fine!” I yelled. “I’ll take it.” But it was too late. I hit the one off center, sent the cue ball flying around the table, and didn’t make a ball. Parica came to the table with an open shot and ran out the next two games. When I finally got to the table again, the score was eight to four.
I don’t remember how many balls were on the table when I started, but I sure do remember the last two. Stay here... stay here, I said to myself, as I aimed a table-length eight ball into the corner pocket, stopping the cue ball right where I needed for an easy shot on the nine. I knocked it in and stepped around the table to shake Jose’s hand. I didn’t realize until I joined a group of friends at the bar how truly ecstatic I was feeling. When Conrad Burkman asked me how I was feeling, I blurted out, “It’s better than sex!”
So what happened? First, I believe I played my best game and I think most players bring their top game to the table far less frequently than they think. In other words, I believe most players are capable of playing at a higher level than they suspect. Secondly, I believe the idea of playing Parica, who ended the year as the highest ranked player in the world, was too much for my carefully constructed game. It overwhelmed the conscious control I often impose on my game and allowed me to play unrestricted by my own limited mind.
Lastly, I had zero attention on technique during the match. I never focused on how I was doing it. I only focused on staying in the present and doing what was necessary. And this made me incredibly aware. When I examined both of the carom shots on the nine-ball, for example, I could see the weave of the cloth and specific markings on individual threads. I could see exactly where I wanted the base of the cue ball to be when it hit the object ball. I normally don’t see things so clearly because I’m partially in my head trying to figure out what to do instead of looking at the situation with full consciousness.
I learned a lot from this match, and I hope to learn even more as I continue to develop as a human being, pool player, and trainer. One thing, however, is undeniable. I asked for a sign that day and I believe I received one. And the deepening of that relationship is the greatest gift of all.