I’m pretty good at it, too. I practiced and everything, and entered a contest. It was all official-like, and everyone wore suits and vests and combed their hair and shined their shoes. The pool table was the size of my front yard. It was clean as a whistle, too, and fairly flat. I’m not used to that.

I knew I was a little out of my element when I noticed there were no scorch marks on the bumpers where players put their ciggies down during shots, but I soldiered on. There were no rings on the felt where guys put their pints down, either, which threw me a bit. I felt a little silly putting a pile of quarters on the bumper trying to get the next game, and being informed that the I was already scheduled to play. Weird.

All of that was mystifying and everything, but nothing compared to what happened when I started actually playing. Some old fruit from the audience got up an started taking the balls I knocked in out of the pockets and putting them back on the table! I mean, really, what a cheeky dude. He did it over and over a gain, and even though he did it really quickly, people must have seen him doing it. No one said a word, even though it’s obvious that the other pool player slipped him a fiver before the game.

Well, I outlasted the bastard.