The joy of playing pool
“Surely joy is the condition of life.”
Joy. Possibly my favorite word. It’s my life’s dangling carrot.
If I had to describe my disposition as a kid, I’d have to say I was joyful. I’m a natural optimist, and even in the darkest, lowest moments, I seek out the light, and always have. I’m lucky for this, it’s not something I earned or chose, it’s just how I’m wired, and I’m wildly grateful for it.
The tone of most of my newsletters so far might be painting a picture of gloominess. And while it’s true that I’ve been digging up some painful things, and my heart feels a bit pummeled, there’s a thread of joyfulness throughout it all. So this week, for my sake and yours, I wanted to write about something which naturally brings and keeps a smile on my face. I gave a sneak peek last week - a picture of my dad lying below his pool table, smiling at his puppy. (And thanks to an informed reader, I now know that the puppy's name was Ralphie!)
Growing up, I was exposed to the game of pool quite young. I have a memory of being in a garage with a pool table, and trying to stretch high to reach the pool balls. My mom played pool league, and many of her closest friends (still, to this day) were her teammates. I remember my mom telling me that her ex-husband taught her how to play. She begrudgingly recalled that he set up drills over and over for her to master particular shots.
I always loved playing pool, any chance I got, but I didn’t start playing regularly until I was nearly 25. I had a bit of a sour taste for it - though I adored the game, we can chalk up my delay, perhaps, to a youthful rebellion. I took for granted that pool was there, and gravitated toward other activities that felt exclusively mine, like playing musical instruments and golf.
But that all changed when I joined a group of strangers who met weekly to play pool at the local pool room - Hard Times Billiards of Sacramento - I quickly discovered that I had some natural talent, and that I lost track of time when playing (which I now recognize as reaching a flow state, something I can only reach when playing pool and writing). I fell madly in love with it, and Hard Times would become my sanctuary. It wasn’t long after joining the weekly group that I found myself there every day, mostly to practice alone, and eventually to also play with seasoned regulars. I soaked up knowledge any chance I got. I was obsessed. And it brought me more joy than anything else ever had.
Within a year of starting, I was playing league multiple nights a week after work, and started to dabble in tournament play. I ended up playing on a regional women’s pool tour, playing in two-day tournaments all over Northern CA and Reno. After that first year of tournaments, I joined the board of that tour and helped organize and run the events. I continued to improve and learn, playing in national tournaments, at the amateur level, then semi-professional, and in early 2020, played in my first professional tournaments.
I’d worked incredibly hard to reach that level of play, and enjoyed the process. I LOVE drills, and trying to master shots. Anytime I can find someone willing to set the balls up for me to shoot drills is a good day.
But things took a drastic turn when the pandemic shut down pool tournaments around March of 2020. All the momentum I had toward achieving my dream of playing professionally came to a screeching halt. And, as is the focus of this newsletter and my writing in general - May 1 2020 was the day that I discovered that my mom’s pool playing ex-husband was my biological father.
Those first few days after the discovery, while I was in a cyclone of shock and glee, still not knowing if my dad was alive, or whether he’d accept me as his daughter, I scoured the internet for any information about him that I could find. One of the most unbelievable things was this picture from his high school yearbook, that I found through Ancestry.com’s archives:
A scan from my dad’s class of 1955 senior yearbook photo.
I’ll never forget the feelings I had when I first saw it. Not just that my face so closely resembled his, but that he was clearly a gifted pool player and must have found great joy in the game, even back when he was in high school. I was sitting in my bed when I found this picture. I held my phone in disbelief, looking away and back with blurry, tearful eyes, thinking the words “pool shark” would disappear and I’d realize I’d imagined the whole thing.
When I met my dad one week later, we were both at a loss for words with all of it, but especially this connection. It didn’t take long before we started chatting like two pals about their favorite hobby. I’d come to find out that he started playing pool at just eight years old, and he too fell immediately and madly in love with the game. We discovered that we both prefer a 19.5oz cue, that we were both proficient at shooting with our non-dominant hand. He shared stories about playing in the U.S. Open in Reno in the 80’s, and rattled off names of the top players of his era, many of whom are still well known giants of the game. We gushed over an old and somewhat unpopular game called straight pool, or “14.1 continuous.” (If you’ve seen the Paul Newman movie “The Hustler,” this is the game they played.)
I offered to play for him the YouTube videos of my semi-final and finals matches from a national tournament I’d won in February of that year, just three months prior. It was my first national title. I observed him watching me, seeing him smile proudly, and commenting on shot selection or defensive moves that only a true pool player would appreciate. It felt like I was just hanging out with one of the seasoned regulars at Hard Times. But no, this was my dad.
In the years since that day with him, I’ve reflected countless times. What are the odds of this? Is pool playing genetic?! Yes, my mom played pool, but it was more of a social thing for her, she didn’t play tournaments or enjoy doing drills. My dad and I both reached a level that I can only describe as obsessive. We both found our truest, deepest joy, in this game.
It’s impossible not to wonder what it would have been like to grow up with him as my dad. Not just brief exposure to pool tables, but having him as my coach. I can see this so clearly in my mind. He’d move the stool around so I could stand tall enough to shoot with proper mechanics. He’d patiently set up shots, explaining intricacies as I devoured it. We’d both quietly grin at each other when that difficult shot or concept clicked into place. Pool would be ours.
It’s bittersweet that we didn’t get that. But, being the natural optimist that I am, and desperately wanting to find that joy - I say pool was our thing, even if we never got to play together. It’s still our thing, and it’ll continue to be as long as I’m alive and indefinitely ogling over the beautiful game that found us both.
Until next Sunday…
Stephanie
P.S. - enjoy a few pool-related pictures below!
From left to right, my dad Bobby, my uncle Joe, my uncle George, and my grandfather, Joe Sr., playing pool at my dad’s house, circa mid-70's.
Our birthdays are one day apart, and we were able to celebrate together once, in 2020, about a month before he passed. My uncle Joe and aunt Jackie had this cake made for us as a surprise. Best birthday cake ever!
Pic courtesy Sandro Menzel, 2023.
