The ramblings of an incredibly lousy pool player.
(This blog's about the grand old game of pocket billiards, not one of those pits Jethro Beaudine referred to as "cee-ment ponds." Duhhhhhh.)
Sunday, February 06, 2005
I remember my dying father's fond reminicsences of younger days when he could roll down the window of his car and spit out onto the road. During his last weeks and days, he could hardly summon enough strength to get a bead of spittle from his lip to his chin. Though I would like to start my blogging experience with a blast out the car window, I'm afraid it's more of a dribble that won't make it to my chin.