Lessons From My First Pool Tournament
I recently played in a professional pool tournament here in Seattle at Ox Billiards. I'm just an amateur, but amateurs are sometimes allowed entry into pro tournaments, probably because there's not much money in pool, and they need as many entry fees as possible to make sure the pros get paid. So I was happy to contribute to the pot and get crushed in exchange for watching the pros up close.
The tournament had about three world-class players: Tyler Styer, Oscar Dominguez and Jonas Souto. There were about 5-10 journeyman pros, another 5-10 semi-pros, and about 20 guys who are just good local players who compete in leagues. And then there was me, someone who mostly just plays in his basement, and has never played in any teams, leagues, or formal competitions of any kind.
I've been an avid player since college, but nearly all my playing time has been solo. Most people find this boring, but for some reason I really like it. When I go to pool halls, I usually don’t seek out opponents, because I can get twice as much practice per hour by myself! About five years ago, I got a table in the basement, so I became even more of a pool recluse.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t goal-oriented. I was always doing drills, working on my technique, studying YouTube videos, etc. In pool, you don't need an opponent to test yourself. You can do this pretty accurately by setting up drills or assessments. Here's one of my favorites: set up a nine-ball rack, break the balls, take ball in hand (which means put the ball wherever you want on the table, just once), and then try to pocket every ball in numerical order. If you succeed, that’s a point for you, if you miss, it’s a point for your “opponent” (called the ghost.) When I'm playing well, I can beat the ghost about half the time. Which made me think that I would have a decent chance against many of the local players in the tournament. And that I would have absolutely no chance against the pros, who can torch the ghost. Here's a video of dynamite Darren Appleton winning 29-1.
One of the reasons I've played so much pool over the years is my belief (perhaps a delusion) that there is always room for improvement, even through middle age. This is a very different situation from some of the other sports I've played, like soccer or squash, which rely heavily on athletic abilities that will fade with time. In pool, top players tend to decline after 40, but slowly, and can still play a strong game even into their late 60s. So it's not inconceivable that I will get better in the future.
My goal has always been to reach something like a semi-pro level. That is probably too ambitious, but I like the idea of aiming high. And I have several factors working in my favor. I have good eyesight and hand-eye coordination, and I know a lot about motor learning because I've been writing about it for more than a decade. What is my excuse for not being able to learn this game? It's not like I’m trying to dunk a basketball or run a 4-minute mile. I just need to learn how to hit the cue ball at the right spot, at the right angle, and the right speed. I should be able to do that!
Of course the margins for error are small. That is why top pros practice 6-7 hours per day. That’s as many hours as I practice in a good week, so I know that elite pool is out of reach, even assuming I had the talent, which I don’t. But it still seems to me that whatever distance I am from being a pro, I should be able to cut it in half.
Despite my optimism, I had to admit that my game had plateaued. Although it seemed to me that I was always getting better, objective assessments told a different story - I hadn't improved for at least five years.
So I decided to enter a tournament to kickstart my progress. It's easier to learn from your mistakes when they cause pain, and competition is a good method to create pain. When you miss a shot in your basement it's easy to forget about it, but when you miss a shot in a tournament, you tend to remember that for a long time. In physiological terms, stress enhances memory, neural plasticity, and therefore learning.
In May of this year I noticed there was a pro tournament coming to Seattle in September, and that amateurs could enter. It was already full, so I got on the waitlist and hoped for the best. I was told that I had very little chance of getting in, but only one week before the tournament I got the call. So I practiced for a few days and prepared for humiliation.
When I got there, I felt completely out of place. I knew something about how to play pool, but nothing about the etiquette for a tournament. How do you get on a table to practice? How much practice time do you take before the match starts? Do you shake hands with your opponent? Do you share chalk? What does the referee do? How do you keep score? I had no idea.
In my first match, I played against someone who seemed to be about my level, but I was extremely distracted by the environment. A crowd of spectators were sitting just a few feet from the table, and pro players nearby were chatting about tournaments in Asia and Europe.
I felt like a total impostor, and imagined the better players were easily spotting my mistakes. When I got to the table I felt awkward and inhibited, with a strong compulsion to shoot quickly. Even worse, my hands were sweating and shaky. I missed a lot of balls, and eventually lost 9-3.
But things turned around in my second match. Playing on the loser's side of the bracket (this was a double elimination tournament), I decided to deal with the pressure by slowing down dramatically in my shot selection and execution. This helped tremendously. I missed only a few balls and won 7-2, playing well above my average level.
In my third match, I played literally the best pool of my life. I won 7-0, ran out three times from the break, and missed just one ball. Although I didn’t know it at the time, the match was being streamed, and you can see it in the video below. Start at 1:47 to see me run few tables. My match is in the lower right quadrant. Note that the game is 9-ball, so you need to pocket the balls in numerical order.
After the match I got several compliments from spectators. This was easily the best I had ever played, including my basement. I had no doubt that something about the tournament atmosphere had somehow raised my game.
In the next match I returned to Earth and lost 7-4 against a solid local player, putting me out of the tournament. I had a chance to tie the match at 5-5, and somehow choked on a very easy 9-ball. I didn't get many chances after that. Overall, it was a credible effort against a good player.
Looking back, the tournament was a very satisfying experience. Although I never faced any of the pros, I played well enough at times that I didn't feel like a complete idiot in their presence. I’ll consider that a big win.