Dear Gentle Readers,
Back when I had a fella, we inherited a billiards table through the purchase of our loft. Gabriels Imperator, a pretty good one from what I’ve been told.
For old time’s sake (both the pretty-good boyfriend and the pretty-good table are histoire), I caught a few POV billiards games this past weekend.
A player so impressive that I jotted down his name - - Frederic Caudron - - was averaging over 2 points per inning. That didn’t sound like very much to me, given that professionals can run 15 - 20 - and up. But the commentator indicated it was pretty impressive. Apparently, a top, top amateur might average 1 point per.
Random thoughts …
> Stream Quality. Glitches? Of course. But the miracle of live streaming itself, of multiple camera angles, of savvy commentary, of an engaging chatroom … well … enjoyable is the word that springs to mind. Well done.
> Dress code. Vests, bow ties and long sleeved shirts. Coolio, except don’t the cuffs get a bit grimy? In any case, the air of casual formality provided a certain aura of significance beyond the $2,500 first place purse.
> Shooting ball. It can be either the white or the yellow ball. Any disadvantage to having the yellow one as your cue ball?
> Applause. Three appreciation forms that I noted - - subtle cue stick taps against the floor, standard handclaps and, my favorite, finger snaps like in those old beatnik poetry-reading movies.
> Position. It’s not only extremely difficult to make a successful 3-rail shot, but some of them were actually executed with position in mind. And, on the flip side, as the commentator pointed out ahead of time, there was the danger of leaving an easy shot for your opponent if a certain attempt failed.
> Shot selection. Watching one-pocket games I can at least see one or more possible choices. In those billiards games, as often than not, I often couldn’t even predict which ball would be hit first. Which is more difficult, one-pocket or billiards?
> Luck. It had never occurred to me that Dame Fortuna, in a table with no pockets, would come into play. Yet, a few times in the few games that I watched, a last-minute kiss resulted in, well, another last-minute kiss. The obverse occurred too, maybe it evens out. Although I didn’t lamp any double kisses from Mr. Caudron.
> Heat. I knew that my table could be warmed, but had no idea why. The commentator explained that heat keeps moisture out of the cloth, allowing for greater speed. Apparently heat also discourages the cushions from getting too hard and cold.
> Speed. With the top players, Mr. Caudron in particular, I was amazed at how slowly the cue ball traveled, even in some 5-cushion shots. It seemed, time and again, that there was no way his cue ball could keep rolling enough to make it there. It did. It was pointed out that English can provide a last minute propulsion off the final rail. Mr. C. probably knew that ahead of time.
> Equipment differentials. The balls, according to the commentary, are heavier than standard pool balls. The cloth is different, although I didn’t clock exactly why. More billiards players than pool players wear gloves. For some reason.
> Question. What percentage of shots entail more than three rails?
> Dumb question. Every time a player steps to the table, he choses which object ball to hit first. Would it be a good practice exercise to select the other ball? Practice only.
> Niceties. In the short time I watched, I saw the table being vacuumed. Not just brushed, but vacuumed. The fee to watch some of the world’s best players was $20. There was a photo-op session before the finals where spectators were encouraged to come down to the floor and take photos and videos. The players themselves were friendly and accommodating.
Discussing the obvious with people who know far more than I do is my life,
Sunny
P. S. My former beau contracted with a billiards instructor, a snot, to come to our loft. This simpering guru told me, condescendingly, not to even think about 3-cushion shots until I could regularly make 50 consecutive billiards.
Okay, maybe it was his tone, more than the actual advise, that smarted. Clot-faced wet.
P. P. S. Of the two wine-induced cloth replacements, one was absolutely not my fault.
Back when I had a fella, we inherited a billiards table through the purchase of our loft. Gabriels Imperator, a pretty good one from what I’ve been told.
For old time’s sake (both the pretty-good boyfriend and the pretty-good table are histoire), I caught a few POV billiards games this past weekend.
A player so impressive that I jotted down his name - - Frederic Caudron - - was averaging over 2 points per inning. That didn’t sound like very much to me, given that professionals can run 15 - 20 - and up. But the commentator indicated it was pretty impressive. Apparently, a top, top amateur might average 1 point per.
Random thoughts …
> Stream Quality. Glitches? Of course. But the miracle of live streaming itself, of multiple camera angles, of savvy commentary, of an engaging chatroom … well … enjoyable is the word that springs to mind. Well done.
> Dress code. Vests, bow ties and long sleeved shirts. Coolio, except don’t the cuffs get a bit grimy? In any case, the air of casual formality provided a certain aura of significance beyond the $2,500 first place purse.
> Shooting ball. It can be either the white or the yellow ball. Any disadvantage to having the yellow one as your cue ball?
> Applause. Three appreciation forms that I noted - - subtle cue stick taps against the floor, standard handclaps and, my favorite, finger snaps like in those old beatnik poetry-reading movies.
> Position. It’s not only extremely difficult to make a successful 3-rail shot, but some of them were actually executed with position in mind. And, on the flip side, as the commentator pointed out ahead of time, there was the danger of leaving an easy shot for your opponent if a certain attempt failed.
> Shot selection. Watching one-pocket games I can at least see one or more possible choices. In those billiards games, as often than not, I often couldn’t even predict which ball would be hit first. Which is more difficult, one-pocket or billiards?
> Luck. It had never occurred to me that Dame Fortuna, in a table with no pockets, would come into play. Yet, a few times in the few games that I watched, a last-minute kiss resulted in, well, another last-minute kiss. The obverse occurred too, maybe it evens out. Although I didn’t lamp any double kisses from Mr. Caudron.
> Heat. I knew that my table could be warmed, but had no idea why. The commentator explained that heat keeps moisture out of the cloth, allowing for greater speed. Apparently heat also discourages the cushions from getting too hard and cold.
> Speed. With the top players, Mr. Caudron in particular, I was amazed at how slowly the cue ball traveled, even in some 5-cushion shots. It seemed, time and again, that there was no way his cue ball could keep rolling enough to make it there. It did. It was pointed out that English can provide a last minute propulsion off the final rail. Mr. C. probably knew that ahead of time.
> Equipment differentials. The balls, according to the commentary, are heavier than standard pool balls. The cloth is different, although I didn’t clock exactly why. More billiards players than pool players wear gloves. For some reason.
> Question. What percentage of shots entail more than three rails?
> Dumb question. Every time a player steps to the table, he choses which object ball to hit first. Would it be a good practice exercise to select the other ball? Practice only.
> Niceties. In the short time I watched, I saw the table being vacuumed. Not just brushed, but vacuumed. The fee to watch some of the world’s best players was $20. There was a photo-op session before the finals where spectators were encouraged to come down to the floor and take photos and videos. The players themselves were friendly and accommodating.
Discussing the obvious with people who know far more than I do is my life,
Sunny
P. S. My former beau contracted with a billiards instructor, a snot, to come to our loft. This simpering guru told me, condescendingly, not to even think about 3-cushion shots until I could regularly make 50 consecutive billiards.
Okay, maybe it was his tone, more than the actual advise, that smarted. Clot-faced wet.
P. P. S. Of the two wine-induced cloth replacements, one was absolutely not my fault.
