The pool league brought me to a little dive bar in Mt. Vernon last night. Another one of those places which outsiders would probably drive past and instinctively lock their doors, just in case. You often meet some of the nicest people in these places, and this was no exception. As with most people, you just have to get past appearances to get to the good stuff. Granted, in places like this fashion is a little different than I’m used to seeing. Let’s just say that wearing gold chains so they hang out over your sweater is de rigueur at this place. Oh and I saw a pager for the first time in years too, on someone’s belt with a cell phone next to it no less. I’m talking one of those PageNet pagers with the single button and the single one line display on top. Old skool baby! I kept thinking about that scene in The Color of Money where Tom Cruise wanted to send Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio back to the hotel because the pool hall they walked into, Chalkies, looked so seedy. Remember Mozelle, “the main stick” in Chalkies? Or the old man Orvis who ran the joint? Yeah, most of the guys at the bar last night looked like they thought they were Moselle or the Orvis. One dude was also a dead ringer for LaVar Burton. That’s Geordi La Forge for all you home gamers, or since we’re talkin’ old skool, you may remember him from Roots, or the PBS kids series Reading Rainbow. Yeah, this guy looked like Lavar circa the Reading Rainbow years. Not surprisingly, this guy was one of the friendliest guys at the bar. Good pool player too. Actually their whole team was pretty good. Unfortunately I was matched up with their best player in my first game. I racked the balls and he broke and ran out. Nothing you can do about that, and I respect anybody with that kind of game. Too bad he didn’t respect me though! Real nice guy it seemed, but he took his pool a little too seriously and disrespected me by offering up some advice I didn’t ask for. First was when we were playing doubles and his teammate scratched. My partner wanted to bring up their scratched ball (it’s an option in our league). I looked around for their players, but all were seated, so I just grabbed their ball and spotted it. He jumped up and gave me an incredulous look and I think even a finger wag, saying that he was supposed to spot it, not me. Easy there big fella. We eventually lost that doubles game and then came the unsolicited advice. He was claiming that when my partner had ball in hand, he could have run out by shooting a ball into the side pocket instead of taking the bank. Was bad enough that neither me or my partner asked him what he thought, but his comment was wrong too. Positionally, there was no way to get position on the next ball after taking the shot to the side. But whatever, I didn’t care to debate him on that, but it harshed my buzz. Besides being 0-2 on the night, I was now peeved at the disrespect. As luck would have it, I was matched up against him again in my final match of the night. I racked again, and he broke and began running out. Again, I respect his game a lot, and he ran all the way to the 8-ball and was maybe a quarter of an inch from having beaten me without letting me shoot for the second time that night. But lucky for me, he missed and let me get to the table. Being a little pissed took me out of happy fun-loving pool league mode and put me into competition mode, and in that frame of mind the runout came easily. Totally textbook, no slop and I never got out of line. It felt pretty good even if I was beating up on an old man who probably looks forward to league night more than anything else. Oh well, unlike Vince, I would have no problem beating down a dude with a hole is his throat. As Cartman would say, “Respect my authorita!!”