When the silver linings turn to gold
Greetings, all!
I came down with a nasty bug late last night (Noro virus is the suspect, I do not recommend), so writing fresh material today for the newsletter seemed out of the question. But I’m happy to announce that this week I’ll be sharing some of my actual book writing - continuing on last week’s theme of playing pool.
This is a portion of a chapter where I describe my experience going to my dad’s home state of Pennsylvania for the first time, for a pool tournament. I ended up playing the worst pool of my life but it didn’t matter for a second - getting knocked out of the tournament so early led to the opportunity to drive to the Pittsburgh area to see where my dad and uncles grew up, and meet my dad’s lifelong best friend, Red. Red was so close to the family that he was lovingly referred to as “the fourth Drakulic brother.” There’s a lot more about Red in other chapters of the book but you’ll need this insight for the following section.
Additionally, I talk about two of my closest friends, Eleanor and Emilyn, who are both fantastic pool players and two of the kindest people you could ever hope to meet. They both started playing pool at a very young age, taught by their father. Their sweet mother calls me her “other daughter.” The similarities of these family bonds, and close knit friendships, struck me as I was writing this chapter. I feel very lucky to have known deep, hopefully lifelong friendship, and it’s very fitting to intertwine these stories here.
Hope you enjoy this sneak peek, which will continue in next week’s newsletter.
“Friendship is the fruit which the year should bear; it lends its fragrance to flowers, and it is in vain if we get only a large crop of apples without it.”
During the first week I spent with my dad, mid-May 2020, I told him proudly that I would soon be going to his home state of Pennsylvania. I’d entered the women’s pro event at the Super Billiards Expo in Philadelphia, which was originally scheduled for the end of April 2020. When I shared this news, he beamed, and asked me to share with him the tournament bracket and the link to the livestream of the matches so he could follow along. The idea of playing in what would have been my second ever professional tournament, the first being only a few months prior in January 2020, was nothing short of a fairy tale. My pool player dad would be rooting on his pool player daughter in his home state.
At the time that I was sharing this with him, SBE had been rescheduled for June 2020. Unfortunately, due to Covid-19, the 2020 SBE went on to be rescheduled multiple times before it was canceled entirely. My entry carried over to the 2021 SBE, which was also rescheduled and ultimately canceled. The next SBE to occur, for which my entry could finally be used, was at the end of April 2022, a year-and-a-half after my dad died. He never got to root me on, or send me encouraging text messages. “You got this, honey. Just play your game.”
By the time I boarded the plane from Portland to Philadelphia, the fire that once drove me to compete was barely a flicker. As we passed over the vast green farmlands of PA, I stared out the window, overtaken by a potent mix of ache, longing, regret and grief. Tears blurred my vision but I kept looking out, to hide my miserable face from my neighboring passengers. I reminded myself that somewhere inside me was a gritty, hungry pool player. Wipe your tears and go beat some ass.
I typically traveled to pool tournaments solo, if it was financially feasible. But for this trip, given the high cost of travel, and very low expectations of cashing in the event, I decided to bunk up with my lovely friends, twin sisters, Eleanor and Emilyn. They both had become major support over the years, and knowing that I’d have them both that weekend to comfort and encourage me was the silver lining. I’d been close friends with them and their family since I began playing competitive pool in 2012. At the time I met them, Eleanor had been playing on the pro tour for a few years, and was a top American player. She was not just a friend but a mentor and inspiration, and I’d planned to lean heavily on her and her twin. I’d warned them many times leading up to that trip that I was a bit of a mess, I’d likely cry a lot, I’d probably play horribly, and had I not agreed to split the hotel and rental car cost, I likely wouldn’t be going at all.
Our hotel was a 15 minute drive to the Philadelphia Convention Center, where SBE was held. The morning we three gathered in the rental car, adrenaline so thick in the air you could chew it, I started to feel glimmers of that dormant hungry pool player within me. We hugged and took selfies outside with a view of the convention center behind us, our hair blowing wildly from the wind. I proudly wore a billiard apparel jersey with “DRAKULIC” across the back. We entered the building and found the check-in booth, where we retrieved our Pro Player passes, which we needed to carry with us to enter the pro event arena. We were given a small towel souvenir with the Super Billiards Expo logo and event dates printed in black and we could choose from an assortment of colors. I chose yellow since it reminded me of the Steelers’ legendary Terrible Towel. I thought it would have been my dad’s choice.
This tournament was double elimination, and typically with pro events, they space out the matches so that if you lose your first match, you won’t play again until the following day. That wasn’t the case here, though, and I knew this. I started out strong against my first opponent and it seemed likely that I’d win. I won my eighth game, needing only nine total to win the match, when my opponent started to catch up. I lost my focus and drive, and let my lead go, and before I could gather my composure and my competitiveness, she ended up beating me 9-8.
My second match began not long after, against a player I’d never played before but knew of, as she’d been well known on the pro tour for decades. This match ended up on the streaming table, which typically helps focus me, as I take a bit of extra care to not “play like a donkey,” as we say in the pool world, and have my donkeyness viewed by hundreds of people, live. It’s quite fortunate that I went into this tournament fully aware that not only was I out of practice, even at the casual level, but expecting my pro-level game to show up when needed was a tall ask. I easily played my worst match since my first year competing as an unseasoned amateur (in other words, I played like a donkey), and Dawn Hopkins beat me handedly 9-0. I was tempted to explain to her afterward that I was out of sorts and usually play much better, but chose not to say anything, since in her day I’m sure she stomped many a new “pro” player, and even more likely, couldn’t have cared less.
Day 1 of the event and I was out. Eleanor and Emilyn fared much better than I and were both scheduled to play the next morning. After their last matches of the day, it was nearly 10pm and none of us had eaten dinner. We decided to go on the hunt for an authentic Philly cheesesteak sandwich, naively assuming we’d be able to find one on every street corner, but we had no such luck. We barely managed to find any sit-down restaurant still open, and were shocked that this bar & grill didn’t have Philly cheesesteak on the menu at all. The twins sat across from me in a booth. It’s not uncommon for groups of pool players traveling together to a tournament to find themselves in this situation - one or more of the players are out of the event, and one or more are still in. It can be an awkward situation depending on how each person handles loss. Given the circumstances, it may have appeared as though I was taking my losses poorly, but El & Em knew me well, and sensed my sad state had nothing to do with pool at all.
As I sat there quietly, disengaged from conversation, I checked on my phone how long it would take to drive to Trafford, the town just outside of Pittsburgh where my dad and uncles were born and raised. It was a five and a half hour drive. I asked the twins, fighting back tears, if they’d mind terribly if I took our rental car, leaving them to find alternate transportation for the remainder of the tournament. If they were even slightly miffed at the thought they hid it well, and when we got back to our hotel I packed my things.
Saturday morning I headed west. The first person I called was my brother. I let him know his little sister played comically bad, but it was alright, because I was driving to Trafford. I’d found the address of my dad’s childhood home through public records, along with the name of the cemetery where my grandparents were buried. My plan was to drive to both locations, take some pictures, and then head into Pittsburgh for the night for a little sightseeing. When I reached the halfway point, I called my uncle Joe. My aunt Jackie answered. She asked how the tournament was going and I gave the same answer I’d given my brother.
“You’re what?! You’re kidding. I have to find your uncle! - - JOE! JOE, PICK UP THE PHONE, IT’S STEPHANIE, YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHAT SHE’S DOING!”
Joe picked up, and I gave the spiel once more. He chuckled, this sweet laugh he does that I know means he’s very pleased. “Well, you have to call Red! Do you have his number? If you’re going to Trafford, you have to meet Red.”
My uncle was right, I had to meet Red. It had crossed my mind but the thought of dropping in completely unannounced, or even with a few hours’ notice, seemed so rude that I never seriously considered it. But Uncle Joe said I must, so I asked him to text me Red’s number and I’d give him a call.
I’d only corresponded with Red once, on the phone, after he received a package I’d sent him along with a letter, introducing myself as his lifelong best friend’s daughter. As nervous as I was to make the call, I knew I had to. I’d already lost my dad and George, I’d always regret it if I never got to meet Red before losing him too. I took a deep breath and called. A woman answered, who I assumed was his wife, Denise.
“Hi…is…Red available?”
There was a pause before she answered, “he’s out right now…can I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Stephanie, Bobby Drakulic’s daughter.”
“Ohhh my GOD! OHH MY GOD! Red’s not here! I don’t know when he’ll be back, he went into town. Oh my God!”
Her reaction, to this day, was the most animated and emotional of any I’ve received, at the news of it being me at the other end of the line.
“Well, I’m actually about two hours from Trafford, I’m driving there now. I was in Philadelphia and found myself with unexpected free time so I decided to drive out there. I was hoping to meet you and Red, if at all possible. I’m so sorry for the short notice.”
Many “oh my God”s followed, along with “if I’d known you were coming I’d have made a roast! I’ll tell you what, as soon as Red gets home I’ll have him call you, ok, hon? You drive safe, ok?”
As we said goodbye and I reached to press the end call button, I could hear her screaming “OH MY GOD” a few more times before she hung up her receiver. I was absolutely overwhelmed; I transitioned between weeping and laughing until I couldn’t do either any longer. If my call with Denise was any indication of how special this meeting of Red would be, I was in for a treat.
Steph, El and Em in the Philadelphia Convention Center parking lot our first morning there, April 21, 2022.
From left to right: Em, Steph, El, after we won a team event in Bellingham, WA, November 3, 2019.
