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Weekend Werind: Everybody Out of the Pool Hall

I’m not one to let life get in the way of my plans. And when life does in the way of my plans, and I make new plans, I’m not one to let life get in the way of those. As you’ll soon see.

First, I’ll admit that last week, despite my best efforts, life did manage to get in my way when the local pool hall hosting our 8-ball league closed its doors.

“It’s hard enough to have one independent thought on the weekend, much less two.”

(Side note: The story in that article is actually primarily about a different location of the franchise, which is in a different state and quite a few miles away, and which also closed next week. The story mentions the Boston location, calling it the ‘flagship club’ of the franchise, but that’s all the mention my home pool hall got.

Evidently, bar closings in Danbury, Connecticut are big headlines. In greater Boston, it’s less than nominally newsworthy.

I’m having a very hard time deciding whether this is a good thing, or a bad thing. Possibly, it just means Connecticutians are more crazy for the pocket games than people around here. I can’t say.)

Now, for our billiards team, which has been in a Boston Billiard league with me for nearly three years — and without me for quite some time before that — this was very bad news. No league means no more pool competitions on Tuesday nights. No league means no honing our bank-shot skills. No league means no laughing at the single guys on the team trying to hit on the waitresses all night. And no league means no getting home at two o’clock on Wednesday mornings reeking of chicken wings, beer and billiards chalk.

In other words, no league means a huge disappointment, for all involved. Except probably the waitresses getting hit on by the single guys. But they lost their jobs, presumably, so still, this situation is working out for no one.

Except me, in a way. As much as I hated to see pool night go, I did need a Weekend Werind topic this week. And reprising the billiards-based buffoonery that I’ve written before seemed like a great way to say goodbye, and mention that such shenanigans were unlikely to grace these virtual pages again any time soon. A fond farewell to felt-topped foolishness, that would be just the ticket.

But wait.

In an eleventh-hour rescue, another pool hall right down the street — and now we see why one closing its doors got no mention in the Beantown press — offered to take over our league. It’ll take a couple of weeks to sort out the details, evidently, but next Tuesday, in a scant nine days, we’ll be back to chucking balls off the table, scratching on the eight-ball, and breaking cues over our heads in berserker fits of self-loathing and rage. The usual old Tuesday night routine, just as it should be.

But wait, again. Then what will I highlight this weekend in this post?

Uh… pool. Still pool. It’s hard enough to have one independent thought on the weekend, much less two. So I’m sticking with the original plan, and pointing you towards the previous pool-related posts that have appeared in this space. Sure, the new digs present the possibility of more of these, but hey — they won’t happen in our old pool hall, like the ones below. And even if there’s no real practical distinction in print, at least I’ll know the difference. And also, I’ve got nothing else planned. So life can suck an egg. One curveball in a week is plenty; enjoy the billiards-based posts below.

Pool-Related Posts Plucked from the Way-Back Machine:

A chalky conundrum uncovered: Seeing Red at Seeing Red

Proving I’m just as smooth with a stick in my hand: A Putz with a Pool Cue

And last but not least — why can’t I just play assholes?: Nice Guys Finish… Ahead of Me

That’s all until Monday, folks. Happy weekend, and RIP, Boston Billiards. We’ll miss you.