LSJohn
Verified Member
I played my first pool for money during my freshman year in college. It was a ring game on a snooker table. 5-ball they called it, and it was the 2,3,4,5 played with the same rules as 9 ball. I don't remember the price, but it was probably .10, maybe .25.
Naturally I got my ass kicked, but I was hooked. Whatever my budget was for food and incidentals, I didn't eat much those first few months. Fortunately, these guys didn't play very well either, and it wasn't long before I was able to start breaking even... but that's as good as it ever got.
I play lots of games in the top 1-2% of the population, but that's just good enough to keep you busted if you want to play worse than you want to win. "Present and accounted for, Sir!"
I've never had a lot of money, but most of my life I've had enough, and I don't give a shit about money as long as I have it.
I went through a brief period in my early 20's during which I was really busted, with no immediate prospects other than a j-o-b. Been there, done that... don't like it.
Anyway, that experience took the ring out of my nose, and after I got back on my feet (with that dreaded you-know-what) my go-off days were over.
By the way, that you-know-what saved my bacon another way. I had joined the Marine Corps Reserve right before Vietnam heated up (I feared the draft, not Vietnam because it wasn't an issue quite yet.) I had the standard 13-week vacation at Parris Island and an equal time a Camp LeJeune for Advanced Infantry Training. It's odd, but every single memory I have of that six months is a good one. I know it was terrible, but the good moments are what stick with me.
About that bacon... it was a series of events, each really lucky for me, that did the trick. Near the end of basic training there was a Field Day competition between the four platoons in our battalion and 4 from another battalion that were all at the same stage of training. Our Drill instructors REALLY wanted our platoon to do well.
I had not been a ****-up... I did everything reasonably well during training except one thing: The DI's loved to try out their comedy routines on us, then kick our asses if we laughed. I was constantly in hot water for laughing because I thought they were a riot. Not always because they were funny, sometimes because they were so lame trying to be.
Back to Field Day. It turned out that among the 8 platoons I placed second in chin-ups (which I had done every day in high school and my year of college as part of conditioning for pole vault) and third in push-ups. The DI's were thrilled, and I knew I had moved up in the pecking order among our 80.
Sit-ups, Cage Ball and Tug-of-War followed, then the final event, a "Sprint Medley" relay, but for some reason they did it backward from what I had participated in in high school. The standard (I think) is 110, 110, 220, 440. I can't even tell you what order they used, but I was to run the 220, which was to be last, and the guy ahead of me was running 440. They must have done 110, 110, 440, 220.
As it turned out, the 440 dude had a good lead, but he blew it and I got the baton a few yards behind the first-place guy, who was a little Puerto Rican guy who looked fast. Third place was 10 yards or so back.
Our "track" was grass and dirt and we were wearing low-cut tennis shoes. When I got the baton my feet went out from under me and I hit the ground. Naturally I jumped up hoping to do as well as possible and got going just as third place reached me. Turned out that I beat the third place guy easily, and the "fast" little Puerto Rican wasn't. I caught him at the wire and my whole platoon went nuts.
The outcome was that I was one of 8 guys promoted to PFC at graduation, with the second-highest "marks" in my platoon. (I didn't deserve it... that day made it for me.)
Fast forward a couple of years and I had to get a j-o-b. There was an Army Ammunition Plant about 20 miles from Shreveport which was where I was living. Somehow I was led to apply there. I did well on their written tests and when my interview was scheduled, my interviewer immediately said, "I see you're in the Marine Reserve."
"Yes, sir."
Then he said, "I also see that you were promoted to PFC out of Parris Island." Er, "Yes sir."
"You are a little young for what I have in mind, but with your qualifications, I think you can handle it. I want you to be Foreman over building 7 where we prep .57s and RPGs. Do you think you can handle it?"
Er, "Yes Sir."
Fast forward three or four months. I was well on my way to killing my go-off, but I hadn't slowed my carousing. I overslept on a Saturday morning's Drill Weekend. I showed up about 2 1/2 hours late and my CO -- a hard case if there ever was one -- was livid. He immediately certified me for transfer to Vietnam.
Whooooa Nellieeee!
As luck would have it, my dad was some kind of low-level muckey-muck in the fledgling Republican Party in Louisiana that -- I think -- had recently elected the first Republican member to the US House in almost a Century. Whatever the reality about that, he called someone who called someone who called me in for an interview.
When the interviewer found out that I'd recently been granted a SECRET security clearance (required for the Foreman's job) and was foreman in an AAP, he said, "I think we can work with that."
I know no details, but my transfer was cancelled. All those pull-ups I did and hurdles I ran might have saved my ass!
Naturally I got my ass kicked, but I was hooked. Whatever my budget was for food and incidentals, I didn't eat much those first few months. Fortunately, these guys didn't play very well either, and it wasn't long before I was able to start breaking even... but that's as good as it ever got.
I play lots of games in the top 1-2% of the population, but that's just good enough to keep you busted if you want to play worse than you want to win. "Present and accounted for, Sir!"
I've never had a lot of money, but most of my life I've had enough, and I don't give a shit about money as long as I have it.
I went through a brief period in my early 20's during which I was really busted, with no immediate prospects other than a j-o-b. Been there, done that... don't like it.
Anyway, that experience took the ring out of my nose, and after I got back on my feet (with that dreaded you-know-what) my go-off days were over.
By the way, that you-know-what saved my bacon another way. I had joined the Marine Corps Reserve right before Vietnam heated up (I feared the draft, not Vietnam because it wasn't an issue quite yet.) I had the standard 13-week vacation at Parris Island and an equal time a Camp LeJeune for Advanced Infantry Training. It's odd, but every single memory I have of that six months is a good one. I know it was terrible, but the good moments are what stick with me.
About that bacon... it was a series of events, each really lucky for me, that did the trick. Near the end of basic training there was a Field Day competition between the four platoons in our battalion and 4 from another battalion that were all at the same stage of training. Our Drill instructors REALLY wanted our platoon to do well.
I had not been a ****-up... I did everything reasonably well during training except one thing: The DI's loved to try out their comedy routines on us, then kick our asses if we laughed. I was constantly in hot water for laughing because I thought they were a riot. Not always because they were funny, sometimes because they were so lame trying to be.
Back to Field Day. It turned out that among the 8 platoons I placed second in chin-ups (which I had done every day in high school and my year of college as part of conditioning for pole vault) and third in push-ups. The DI's were thrilled, and I knew I had moved up in the pecking order among our 80.
Sit-ups, Cage Ball and Tug-of-War followed, then the final event, a "Sprint Medley" relay, but for some reason they did it backward from what I had participated in in high school. The standard (I think) is 110, 110, 220, 440. I can't even tell you what order they used, but I was to run the 220, which was to be last, and the guy ahead of me was running 440. They must have done 110, 110, 440, 220.
As it turned out, the 440 dude had a good lead, but he blew it and I got the baton a few yards behind the first-place guy, who was a little Puerto Rican guy who looked fast. Third place was 10 yards or so back.
Our "track" was grass and dirt and we were wearing low-cut tennis shoes. When I got the baton my feet went out from under me and I hit the ground. Naturally I jumped up hoping to do as well as possible and got going just as third place reached me. Turned out that I beat the third place guy easily, and the "fast" little Puerto Rican wasn't. I caught him at the wire and my whole platoon went nuts.
The outcome was that I was one of 8 guys promoted to PFC at graduation, with the second-highest "marks" in my platoon. (I didn't deserve it... that day made it for me.)
Fast forward a couple of years and I had to get a j-o-b. There was an Army Ammunition Plant about 20 miles from Shreveport which was where I was living. Somehow I was led to apply there. I did well on their written tests and when my interview was scheduled, my interviewer immediately said, "I see you're in the Marine Reserve."
"Yes, sir."
Then he said, "I also see that you were promoted to PFC out of Parris Island." Er, "Yes sir."
"You are a little young for what I have in mind, but with your qualifications, I think you can handle it. I want you to be Foreman over building 7 where we prep .57s and RPGs. Do you think you can handle it?"
Er, "Yes Sir."
Fast forward three or four months. I was well on my way to killing my go-off, but I hadn't slowed my carousing. I overslept on a Saturday morning's Drill Weekend. I showed up about 2 1/2 hours late and my CO -- a hard case if there ever was one -- was livid. He immediately certified me for transfer to Vietnam.
Whooooa Nellieeee!
As luck would have it, my dad was some kind of low-level muckey-muck in the fledgling Republican Party in Louisiana that -- I think -- had recently elected the first Republican member to the US House in almost a Century. Whatever the reality about that, he called someone who called someone who called me in for an interview.
When the interviewer found out that I'd recently been granted a SECRET security clearance (required for the Foreman's job) and was foreman in an AAP, he said, "I think we can work with that."
I know no details, but my transfer was cancelled. All those pull-ups I did and hurdles I ran might have saved my ass!
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