Pool is a frustrating game. Just when you think you’ve gotten the hang of it, it decides that it’s time to remind you who’s really got the balls. It also makes you constantly come up with stick/ball wisecracks like that.

The laws that govern my game are simple. One good shot is rarely followed by another and two good shots are never EVER, not even if the stars align and cows start producing honey mustard sauce, followed by a third.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not skilled in the game.

Among other amazing on table talents, I have gotten snookering myself down to a fine art. Not even a ball-in-hand can stop me from performing this fine move. This is in addition to such tricks as the “Romeo and Juliet”, where the cue ball, like a bereft teenager, decides to follow its lover into the abyss. And then there’s the tell-your-opponent-you’re-gonna-draw-the-ball-but-play-a-stopshot-instead-leaving-both-stunned shot. Of course, you and him are stunned for different reasons. One’s trying to figure out how he’s managed to snooker himself yet again while the other is occupied mapping out the cruelest/most creative way to inform said one (for the 15th time) that he has as much talent as a crayfish.

Such is the reality of the average pool parlour hacker.