Sunday, March 27, 2011

The Feel - Now... and Then

"
"The game of billiards has destroyed my naturally sweet disposition."
- Speech, April 24, 1906
Now:
Make sure forward hand is completely dry and free of anything that can cause drag.
Use talcum powder if necessary but much better just to keep it clean and dry.
Smooth feel is the ticket.

Place tip of index finger firmly against tip of thumb and rest against middle digit of second finger, forming a circle around stick six to ten inches from cue tip. Spread second, third and little fingers evenly.  Place these fingers and palm of hand on surface to make stable platform.  Place opposite hand roughly half way from balance point and butt end of stick.  Use thumb and two or three fingers to secure in light grip.  You want it to feel secure and comfortable.

Place cue ball equidistant from first spots on near and side rail.  Or place it close to side rail at second spots. Aim tip of stick slightly above center of cue ball.  Take 4-6 easy practice strokes to make sure stick is aligned to cause the cue ball to strike the one ball.  Draw back slowly, then suddenly move stick forward, accelerating with entire body to cause stick to smash cue ball into one ball.  Proper forward english will cause the cue ball to hit the one ball, retreat slightly while still spinning forward then go through the rack of calls once again, effectively breaking the rack of fifteen balls twice.  You are looking for a feel of controlled violence here.

Begin working geometry and physics on the table and balls.
The geometry of rail and ball angles.
The physics of english, spin and momentum.
Establish rhythm, use patience and a practiced hand.
Get in the zone.
Like many other experiences, the feel of it will stay with you for a lifetime.

Then:
"I wonder why a man should prefer a good billiard-table to a poor one; and why he should prefer straight cues to crooked ones; and why he should prefer round balls to chipped ones; and why he should prefer a level table to one that slants; and why he should prefer responsive cushions to the dull and unresponsive kind. I wonder at these things, because when we examine the matter we find that the essentials involved in billiards are as competently and exhaustively furnished by a bad billiard outfit as they are by the best one. One of the essentials is amusement. Very well, if there is any more amusement to be gotten out of the one outfit than out of the other, the facts are in favor of the bad outfit. The bad outfit will always furnish thirty per cent. more fun for the players and for the spectators than will the good outfit. Another essential of the game is that the outfit shall give the players full opportunity to exercise their best skill, and display it in a way to compel the admiration of the spectators. Very well, the bad outfit is nothing behind the good one in this regard. It is a difficult matter to estimate correctly the eccentricities of chipped balls and a slanting table, and make the right allowance for them and secure a count; the finest kind of skill is required to accomplish the satisfactory result. Another essential of the game is that it shall add to the interest of the game by furnishing opportunities to bet. Very well, in this regard no good outfit can claim any advantage over a bad one. I know, by experience, that a bad outfit is as valuable as the best one; that an outfit that couldn't be sold at auction for seven dollars is just as valuable for all the essentials of the game as an outfit that is worth a thousand. ... Last winter, here in New York, I saw Hoppe and Schaefer and Sutton and the three or four other billiard champions of world-wide fame contend against each other, and certainly the art and science displayed were a wonder to see; yet I saw nothing there in the way of science and art that was more wonderful than shots which I had seen Texas Tom make on the wavy surface of that poor old wreck in the perishing saloon at Jackass Gulch forty years before." - Mark Twain's Autobiography, Chapters from the North American Review, November 1907  
TC's Road King Classic at Mark Twain's cabin on Jackass Hill Road.


A note of interest (to me anyway):  Twain is referring to "Jackass Gulch" in Amador County, California, maybe an hours ride from Sacramento here.  He had a cabin at the end of "Jackass Hill Road" a replica of which is still there today. I have stopped there several times while riding the Harley, just to soak some of the atmosphere... sort of makes a person feel like writing you know?!

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Look At The Horizon...

"You never know what to expect -

You look at the horizon and you see nothing.

That's why you have to enjoy life while you have it."

Old man named Remi sitting next to me on the bus.

(Talking about how Steve Jobs has cancer at 55.) 

Observation made by my favorite UCLA student of alllll
tiiiiimmmmee, daughter Samantha Marie Campbell while on plane, and bus 
trip back to school yesterday.) 

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Wrinkle Walk

Checking out the salmon from the
William Pond bridge

Molly, the tit. hip and I hit the American River Bike Trail today.
Two old dogs... some would refer to us as "wrinkles"
Never would have happened without the newest member of the triad
   The fake titanium hip that likes TSA pat-downs 

We were out there an hour and covered a little over two miles
From the William Pond bridge we saw good sized salmon
Pointed upstream... waiting for lunch to 'drop by'

This all happened smack in the middle of California's gold country
The river, the oaks, the gentle paths for horse, bike and feet
Still beautiful after all these years...

Molly and I jogged out there from the time she was 6 months old
We must have over a thousand miles up and down that pathway
Both of us looking, sweating, smelling, breathing rhythmically

Molly marked a lot of territory along the way today
I wanted to but there are exposure laws...
She probably did enough for both of us though

I daydreamed a little while out there too... "What a surprise!" you say...
"Old codger trips over gold nugget half the size of an NBA basketball!
Ponders what to do with untold wealth!"

Mark Twain, permanently hovering 
Over his beloved Calaveras County looks on and  says;
"That lucky bastard!"

I wonder what Molly was daydreaming about?