Thursday, February 26, 1987
Daily Nebraskan
Page 5
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Ken
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BY
KEVIN
COWAN
Doug CarrollDiversions
And there were the signs, ragged left,
towards the back of the bar: "NO SPITTING,
CUSSING OR GAMBLING" and "NO SMOK
ING BY THE POOL TABLE." I always get a
Jack out of such prophetic commands they
seem to be terminally ingored. Placed there
for posterity, as it were.
Half-full and empty packages of Marlboro
"red box" litter the small, round bar tables.
An assorted number of the chosen elite
the pool players drink pop. The majority
are well into their fourth pitcher. The older of
the bunch are deep into their shots, on the
way to a drunk that would pickle the most
experienced connoisseur of cheap whiskey.
That, however, is one of the things that sets
pool aside from other recreational sports. You
can be directly in the eye of a raving drunk
and still play a flawless game of Eight Ball. In
fact, sometimes the alcohol lends a well
needed hand ... it seems that pool tables and
liquor form a workable coalition.
Such is the initial setting for an average
meeting of the cues a local pool-league
tournament.
The festivities kick off at 7:30. Each player
tosses in a couple of bucks- to plug the table.
Those who don't sport custom-made pool
cues select from the warped ones available
from the host bar.
The teams this evening are Cee Gees
versus Harry's Wonder Bar. The ages of the
players run from 31 to 70.
No national anthem. No formal introduc
tions. They are there to play pool, not to
glorify the barside pasttime.
Jeff, my source, and I sit at one of the round
tables awaiting his game.
While waiting, we delve into the technical
aspects of league pool. There are a number of
different leagues, each with their own inter
pretation of how Eight Ball should be played.
In this particular league, a group of six play
ers play a set-of three games ech the total
is the match. Some of the leagues use the
"game" as the common denominator for
acquiring the win. Jeffs league uses a system
of points based on the number of balls the
opponent has left on the table when the vic
tor sinks the Eight Ball.
Despite one fanatical outburst from one of
the Harry's Wonder Bar players over a scratch,
the atmosphere remains placid. Word (and
scoresheet) has it that Harry's shouldn't be
that hard to beat. As well, some of Cee Gee's
best players have turned out for this game,
the second to last of the season.
More pitchers, more pop, more whiskey.
Signs of a vicious drunk now stand out in a
few of the players' eyes and stances.
"For some of these guys it's their only night
out," Jeff explains. "Next week we're at
home. That should be a real party."
"Defintely have to be there for that one," I
reply.
Onlookers sit at the bar. The tables are, by
squatters rights, reserved for those involved
with the players or the game. A small group of
college transients attempt to commandeer a
table and are ostracized from the rest of the
clientele. They remain only a few minutes.
One of the Cee Gee's cohorts approaches
Jeff and rambles off a story about getting
arrested for DWI, possession of a controlled
substance and assaulting an officer. His non
chalant attitude was, to say the least, com
mendable. Anybody who's in that much trou
ble and can still laugh is either a chronic
sociopath or severely confused. Still, there
are times when ignorant bliss would be a
welcome friend.
Toward the middle of the third series, the
match is close but not close enough to war
rant a fervor from either team. Harry's team,
with passive fatalism, seemed to be sliding
down the tubes.
All final thoughts of winning are put to rest
as Chris, Cee Gee's best, runs the table
sealing the tournament. Jeff won the first two
of his games and was brutally beaten in the
third.
"Must have made him mad," Jeff remarks.
Such is the life of a live-on-the-razor's-edge
local pool tournament.
Much of the talk, toward the end, centered
on next week's home game. Reminiscing
about the alcohol-frenzied pool games, build
ing up to a night that would end with a slight
burp rather than a mighty belch.
I was on my way to Cee Gees after having
my brain scrambled from seeing "Platoon."
Some simple conversation and several hundred
beers offered a much-needed escape from the
movie's intensity.
Within the walls of Cee Gees were only a
handful of people. I recognized three of them
from last week's "night out."
A quick inquiry to the bartender told me
that no decent party would happen this even
ing. "I think they're going to forfeit," said the
bartender.
This made no sense to me at all. The hype
had been so omnipresent last week; I saw no
way in which a devout drunk could be
avoided. As fate would have it, a phone call to
Cee Gees from another bar confirmed the
worst of my fears forfeit because of a "no
show" by the home team.
Which, I guess, completes the circle of the
nature of a local pool league their creed
, "Sworn to fun, loyal to none." , :
