Stripes or solids?

I love to play pool. I'm not any good at it (though I don't totally stink either), and no amount of practice seems to make me any better. I learned to play in my teens when a friend taught me that pool is just elementary geometry - it's all about the vectors. Take the ball you want to sink; figure out where you'd need to hit that ball directly with your cue to send it into the pocket; then, hit the cue ball so its center strikes that magic point on the target ball. It's simple, really. It gets a little more complicated if you have to go off the rail, but it's still just vectors. He also taught me about English, the way to hit the cue-ball low and create backspin so it doesn't follow the target right into the pocket.

Of course, translating the vectors into successful hand-eye coordination is another matter. There's nothing quite like the satistfaction of seeing your ball slam confidently into the pocket, or just drop in with its very last bit of momentum. Nonetheless, I can play and not care in the least if I play badly, or whether I win or lose. Every now and then I'll say to Enrico, "Oh, let's go to Jillian's and play pool!" And because he's a good egg, he always humors me.

Jillian's is a real Seattle establishment, a large pool hall overlooking Lake Union which draws people of all ethnicities and walks of life. The tables around us today included families with children (allowed in only during the afternoons), a group of older African-American gentlement who handled their cues with casual elegance, and a rather rednecky crowd whooping it up near the bar. Pool seems to be popular in the Asian community, and there are always a few tables of Asian patrons. Easily identifiable are the clean-cut students from Seattle Pacific University, a Free Methodist college up the street (the Free Methodist once were the liberal branch of Methodism, opening up their congregations in the 1800s to all races and abolishing the payment-based pew system - hence the "Free" in their name - but their radical progressivism stalled in the 1800s and they still prohibit drinking, dancing and playing cards; apparently, pool is not considered a threat to the immortal soul, however.)

Today, there was a formal tournament going on at Jillian's, and people strode by with their personal cues in leather shoulder bags, very Color of Money. And in fact the walls are adorned with blown-up black-and-white stills from movies with pool-playing scenes. Elegant characters in tuxedoes and evening gowns, down-and-out rascals in dive bars, aristocratic Brits playing billards (and Jillian's does have one true billards table, expansive and pocketless, sitting majestically in the prime window spot; one of these days I'll learn to play that game too).

I just love that place, even with the cigarette smoke and the incredibly slow service and the eight million televisions showing every sporting event anyone could conceivably want to watch. I just gaze out at the lake, take a swig of my beer, and then lean out over that expanse of green to line up my vectors - and life is good.