Please Note: The following is not an endorsment to over indulge. It is simply the story of the first time I ever ran a rack and the circumstances leading up to the event. Do You have a story of your own to relate? OnTheCheese - General Discussion Board

South-Pawing It:
The Hustler Out Hustled

� Janice Moore 1997, all rights reserved
(Story Illustration by my mom sometime in late 80's, � Bphrey)

Back in the late 80's, I wanted to be the best Nine-Ball player in the world. Hoping to one-day play on the Pro Tour, I practiced daily. At the time, I was the only female player in town. During the first few years of my "training," there appeared on the scene, a kid who went to the local college; who played me every chance he got. He was a "want-to-be" hustler, whose goal in life seemed to be the desire to beat me. So far, he never had. Of course, the day finally came that he did.

At first I was winning, like always. Then, we changed the game. I was up and he started to talk about quitting, unless I was willing to play "his" game. Greed and pride triumphed, so I agreed, breaking my own rules about changing a game. The end result; he walked out of the poolroom with my car payment. That was the proverbial straw. My personal life had taken a turn for the worse that month, and here I was playing stupid on the table. You never play the other guy's game. Always play your own. Needless to say, that night doing as all good non-drinkers' do; I got smashed. Within the first thirty minutes of entering the local Country-Western club I had downed eight shots of Tequila, and two double Rum-Sours. By the end of the night a few more shots and a couple of more drinks, including a Watermelon Twist. I still don't know what a Watermelon Twist tastes like.

When I got home that night, my mother had to help me take my contacts out five or six times, and to bed just as many. Just when she thought everything would settle down, my father showed up. We had no idea that he knew where we lived, and here he was on our doorstep. Things got kind of ugly. To sum the story up, Daddy tried to hit my brother and before he could, my brother hit him. Leaving Daddy with a busted lip, and a black eye. Quickly, our mother jumped between them trying to stop the fight. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that things could get worse. I had gotten up again. Then she realized that I wasn't exactly aware of what was going on. I was sort of lying on the couch with my head propped up on one hand, watching. That's when she made the mistake of saying his name. The next thing she knew I was facing my father, somehow between him and my family. Surprising her, I calmly and politely told him to leave, "Go home, this is not your home. It's my home. You have your own home. This is our home. You go home to your home." She later told me that I had wedged him between the door and the doorpost. He couldn't come in, and he simply couldn't go out.

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