Pool, Lads & Life

THE “Plex” was the first place we all felt grown up. A dingy little arcade made out of a rundown barn towards the counties edge. It was somewhere to go on our own and meet outside of school. This hadn’t happened before really you see. And so on weekends I’d breeze through the house, offering the briefest of goodbyes to my parents, and walked the way a man with purpose walks, out the door to catch the bus. Hell, even taking the bus when not in a uniform felt grown up. Thirty minutes or so later I’d be there with pretty much every other kid my age from neighbouring villages among some coin machines and games the likes of Street Fighter, Puzzle Bobble and Time Crises. There were a couple of games of chance too. But these were in a section in which only older kids were allowed which was also where the drunks perched themselves on leather stools with the stuffing creeping out of the seems; and six pool tables at the back wall by the jukebox.

Around those six tables during the summer it was hard to get standing space. People waited and watched amidst the smell of brylcreem and smoke and uttered low cheers at impressive manipulations of the laws of geometry. Walking in, you felt like a boss. Ripped jeans and all-stars, a white t-shirt and olive green khaki jacket; the cuffs unbuttoned and hanging loose for extra effect. I’d strut past the claw machines, the little kids playing whatever games they were playing, any shyness I had buried deep.

I’d squeeze into the crowd and scan it to find Con and Brian. More often I’d get there first, so eager I was to watch others play and be sure to get a spot as soon as possible; the only time I was early to anything. I’d dig into my pocket and pull out some shrapnel and place it on the edge of one of the tables to make my intentions clear. The first time I felt comfortable enough to do this was a big moment for me. To part form the crowd with all eyes on you as you make your stake by placing down a not so shiny fifty cents. For others it meant nothing, for me it was me proudly saying … I’m good enough … I belong here.

The house rules were straight forward. The winner stayed on as long as he or she wanted. The challengers were first come first served. And if you arrived to play with friends you had a maximum of three games together before the looser would have to shift and make way for someone else. When you were on black you called your pocket but that pocket didn’t have to stick. Fouls were taken from anywhere behind the line but you couldn’t shoot back table. When players were taking shots there was to be no noise and finally, if it was not your shot, you did not touch the table. You didn’t lean on it, you didn’t put your can of coke on it. You didn’t reach to pick up the chalk; or you would suffer a wrath so hard it would hit you like a wave and leave you cast out like a leper.

Con and Brian arrived together and didn’t take long spotting me.

‘Story,’ Con grinned from beneath a mop of raging blonde hair.

‘Ah me aul flower,’ followed Brian with a wink. He’d been working on growing some dark, patchy stubble and at the same time adopted mannerisms he felt complimented his new “physique.”

‘You around to watch the game later?’ Con asked.

‘Ah yeah should be.’ I answered without taking my eyes off the tables in front of us. Paddy Corrigan, ginger and speckled with freckles stood tall with his cue raised and pointed at the crown of the white ball. He was that little bit older and probably the best player around and could always be found either at the pool tables or in with the local drunks. Paddy gave the ball a nice clean hit and it moved in the shape of a crescent moon around a red and connecting with a yellow which ran slowly in the side-pocket. The crowd that watched sighed and the opposing player tapped the base of his cue on the ground in a show of respect.

‘We were thinking of watching it in Brian’s,’ Con continued.

‘Oh were we,’ chimed Brian. ‘And would that be because my sister is home for the summer?’

‘Thats exactly why,’ Con stated unapologetically. The three of us couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Ya dirty fecker!’ sighed Brian as he came to the end of his giggle.

‘Did you bring anything for lunch?’ I asked. To this Brian unzipped his black Adidas tracksuit and removed from his armpit three packs of Meenies. We each opened one and started munching. More balls rattled into pockets and another player stepped up to face Paddy.

‘I think myself and Laura are going out.’ said Con with an uncertain sense of accomplishment, adjusting the collar on his Dublin jersey so that it remained pointed to the ceiling. I could imagine how he felt. Proud and wanting to share this but also not wanting to feel like a tit just in case he was wrong … feck, I was no better with reading signs after all was I, I told myself.

‘Going out where?’ asked Brian with a mouthful of his own fingers.

I silently chuckled. I was never sure if Brian did things like that on purpose or not but it cracked me up when he did.

‘Nowhere. I mean we’re going out out.’ Con growled in correction.

‘Ohhhh.’ Myself and Brian sang collectively, as innocent as choir boys might. Con was the kind of guy it was easy to make go a little red very fast and us, as his closest friends, were obligated to make him do so.

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Brian again as I listened attentively.

‘She came over to watch, Empire Strikes Back, and we “shifted” a bit.’

‘Oh yeah? I said with a tone of optimism which I figured Con would appreciate.

‘Yeah, it was awesome.’ he replied with a wide grin and teeth practically pinging.

‘Yeah man. Han Solo’s the shit.’ I couldn’t help myself. I felt bad but only for the nano-second before I heard the voice inside his head scream.

‘Shut the fuck up will ya.’ he hissed and I flinched, fully expecting a box in the arm. Brian roared laughing and wiped the crumbs off his fingers on his chest and Con eventually joined in (in the laughing … not the chest rubbing … idiot wink-emoji)

‘So do why you think you’re going out?’ This time I was serious and I spoke in a serious tone so he knew for certain and without a doubt I was serious.

Con gave a squinted look before beginning his answer. ‘Because she hasn’t spoken to me since and Paul says that means we’re going out.’

Brian looked like a puppy who had just been disorientated by a whack on the nose. ‘Your brother told you that a girl who is not talking to you is your girlfriend.’

‘Yup. Apparently they’re “complex creatures’.’' This didn’t appear to offer any clarification to Brian but he was also perfectly fine not pushing for more information while he had a bag of crisps in his hand.

‘What about you and Jenny?’ Con asked me. Clearly looking to compare and see if others were in the same boat as him.

‘We broke up,’ I answered. As it happened I did in fact board that boat and was happy to have Con in there beside me.

‘Oh fuck man that must be rough. You alright?’ He was dead serious. Con’s heart was build with a sincerity I think a lot of people lost when they hit puberty. When they manufacturing what they figured was the best version of themselves to show the world.

‘'I’m grand.’ What else could I say. And it was the truth which made me wonder about this whole romance thing. Did I go out with Jenny because she was god looking and wanted to go out with me or did I like hanging out with her more than I did anyone else? I couldn’t tell.

‘'How long were you guys together?’

‘Twenty-four days.’

‘And who broke up with who?’

‘She did.’

‘Fuck, how did she do it?’

‘She stopped talking to me.’

Brian erupted with laughter. ‘This is why I’ve remained single all these years.’

‘Shut up Brian,’ Con interjected. ‘But that could mean anything … maybe she’s just pissed at you for something.’ I didn’t know what to say to this.

‘A bachelor, thats what I’ll be.’ Brian nattered on serenading himself as if he hadn’t heard Con.

‘Jesus, Paddy’s making short work of that fella.’ Con sensed my reluctance to talk and changed the flow of the conversation. ‘Which table are we on?’

‘Paddy’s’

‘What the fuck man. Why’d you do that? Your’e supposed to get us all on a table. He’ll wipe the floor with you and then we’ll have to go to the back of the line. When are you up?’

‘Now.’

‘Oh good.’

I stepped into the light as Paddy drilled the top of his cue into the small block of aquamarine chalk. I took off my jacket and rolled it up and tossed it under the table. As Paddy broke I went to the jukebox and selected, Save Tonight, by Eagle Eye Cherry. Paddy notched in a red from the get go and so I stood holding my cue to the ground in front of me as the familiar guitar started to strum.

The next three balls came just as easy as the first. Paddy bounced one off the side cushion into the side pocket which resulted in a ripple of “ohhhhssss” from the spectators. He then hit one off another into the corner pocket and then struck the first one again for it to follow in the other. This was a familiar feeling. I’d played Paddy before and when he got in a rhythm it really stuck a wrench deep in my gut. A fifth ball went in … the wrench twisted a little tighter.

Just when I stopped paying attention, when I was daydreaming along to the music, my silent little prayer was answered. Paddy missed. This is all anyone ever wanted when playing Paddy, a chance. Being shut out completely of a game of pool is an awful feeling. But getting a shot to maintain some pride or even garner a little luck makes all the difference in how high you can hold your head when you’re done. I put a little chalk on that stretch of skin between my thumb and index and lined up my shot; and in it went.

I walked around the table, making certain as I did that I looked completely unmoved by my little accomplishment, and thought about my next move. A slow tap at an angle sent my next ball into the side pocket and the white rolled a little further to set me up for an easy corner shot. I hit the white low and hard … the yellow struck the back of the pocket with a bang and the white spun backwards to give me a view at a long shot up the table to the far corner. I lined up again. Before the white even hit the yellow I knew it wasn’t going in. Th ball it off the jaws of the pocket and Paddy stepped up ready to finish me off. But I did well. This was a respectable state to leave the game in I figured; I was wrong.

Paddy nailed another and was one away from the black. He set his sights and arched his back and smoothly ran the cue along his hand. He missed. Fuck … I exhaled this time in very obvious and uncool way. I put a lot more chalk on my cue and looked at the lads. Con gave me a grimace that said, go for it … Brian stuck out his tongue. I took my stance and connected with a clean shot to the side pocket again. Side pockets were my kryptonite … but not that day.

Come tomorrow, tomorrow ill be gone. As the song picked up I found my confidence. You know when you can feel yourself walking smoother and almost glowing with an aura of “my shit don’t stink …”, that’s what it was like. I saw what I wanted. A ball placed against the cushion. I was gonna smack it at an angle and it was gonna ricochet into the far pocket. I bent over, and shot. I barely waited … it sailed in … I was bulletproof.

It ain’t easy to say goodbye don’t start to cry

Girl you know I got to go … lord I wish it wasn’t so. Eagle Eye strummed. I was Snookered now. Or whatever the Pool equivalent of being Snookered was. I got up on my toes a little and tried to see the table as a whole. Paddy clearly thought this was an interesting technique base on how high his eyebrows jumped up his forehead. I got in position and aimed the white against the cushion standing as upright as possible to help me envision the angle.

‘C’mon lad,’ Con called out breaking one of those sacred rules I mentioned earlier. This warmed me a little. I released the white past Paddy’s remaining red off the side and it sailed to connect at the side of my yellow, sending it strolling along the tables edge till it dropped. ‘G’wan son,’ Brian followed Con’s lead. I slammed the next yellow in but I didn’t think about it proper. I was on a high and didn’t consider where the white would go and I found myself “Pooled” again. The black sat at the top of the table by the line. The white stopped centre table and in between, was Paddy’s clown nose of a red ball proudly shining like an apple. I slid my open palm along the felt and readied my shot. If I was loosing this game, I thought to myself, I was loosing it the way Rocky lost to Apollo. I chipped the white. It sailed over the red and then some and landed heavy an inch or so in front of the black. It knocked the right side of the black … the black went in … I blinked.

Arms came around me from behind and then I heard cheers. Con and Brian were smiling at me, holding me like I was an award they just won.

‘He never called his pocket,’ called a gruff voice from the crowd. Con and Brian stood ready to skirmish, scanned the crowd in search of a face to hate. There was silence and all eyes fell on Paddy. Paddy raised a hand like a priest call the room to silence.

‘Yes he did.’ He leaned his cue against the table and then walked away. Paddy was barely gone and Brian grabbed the cue calling, ‘shotgun.’ He put coins in the slot and released the balls with a crash and began setting up again.

‘Where’d you get those?’ Con pointed to the puddles of yellow and purple on my forearm.

‘Ah nothing.’

‘Things tense with your Dad?’

‘I guess yeah.’ On things like this I had trouble looking him in the eye. ‘The school sent a report about my attendance so that tipped things over a bit.’ Con just kept looking at me and didnt make a fuss.

‘You wanna stay at mine tonight?’he asked. ‘Get the SNES out and I’ll give you a Mario Kart Masterclass.’ It was little touches like this that meant the most to me. Giving me a place to go that I didn’t have to worry.

‘That’d be nice.’ I said, no doubt grinning a little but beaming on the inside. ‘First I gotta sort out Brian.’

‘My break,’ Brian shouted with one eye closed and his tongue clamped between his teeth and shooting before I could protest. Con walked over to the jukebox and put on Smack My Bitch Up, by Prodigy and I squared up to play Brian. I sank my shot.

‘Who you fancy for tonight?’ Brian asked

‘United. Free kick from Becks will do it.’ I answered confidently and shot again to which Brian responded with a scrunched up face. ‘Alright champ, leave some hope for the little people will ya.’

Paddy can be found today playing the slots in that section for grown ups. He managed The Plex into his thirties but drink got the better of him. He cant quite play the way he used to on account of his hands; they shake too much. I heard this the last time I was talking to Mum on the phone and I wondered if he was in there now. I took the key out of the ignition and got out of my car, zapping it locked as I crossed the street to The Plex.

It was midweek and mid-afternoon and more or less empty but smelled the same. My sense of dress hadn’t evolved much. I wore black Doc Martens, black jeans and a white t-shirt I was told looked crisp. As I entered the dark I took my tortoise shell glasses which hung from my collar and fixed them on. Brian wore light blue hospital scrubs with a grey hoodie and the most comfortable looking pair of runners I’d ever seen. He leaned against the pool table chalking his cue.

‘Feck sake you know you worked for yourself by the look of ya.’ He grinned as I approached. True to his word he had remained a bachelor and even kept the facial hair.

‘Perks of being my own boss.’

‘You sit in a cafe and drink coffee for eight hours and type.’

‘As it happens I work for nine hours.’ We grasped hands and threw an arm around one another. It was good to see him, he always had me in stitches. Con married Laura and had two wonderful kids that we were godfathers to. Con had tried to break up a fight outside a bar last week and got stabbed in the neck for his trouble. Brian carried some irrational guilt because they didn’t take him to his hospital and me, I don’t think it has hit me properly just yet. The funeral will be tomorrow and Brian and I wanted to see each other before facing Con’s family. To see each other and toast our brother before giving them our support. By playing a quick game of pool.