The Problem With Florida’s Pool Rooms

Well, it’s no secret – the biggest problem with Florida is old people. Sure, they bring their money when they come, but they also bring their declining health, their withered bodies, and their eroding mental faculties. Thanks a lot.

I have one friend who has endured constant pain for the last 5 years and several operations on his neck and spine as the result of one miserable old-timer’s inability to control his vehicle. The old geezer shouldn’t have been behind the wheel but no one in Florida has the guts to take a license away from an elderly person. The last time I had my license renewed, I went to the license bureau and, while I was waiting for my turn, I witnessed an exchange between an old man and the girl who was giving him the eye test. “Can’t you see anything?” she asked, exasperated. “No,” he answered. “Okay, okay,” she sighed. Then she cleared him for renewal. This is what we have to deal with.

I haven’t played golf in 6 years because the courses around here are littered with slow moving geezers who can’t play a round in less than 5 hours.

Well, as odds would have it, a certain amount of these fogies find their ways into the pool rooms. I was down Hammer Heads yesterday afternoon, minding my own business, banging the ball around by myself, when the guy at the next table accused me of slipping over to his table during his absence and stealing his cue ball. Now, this guy is a well-known asshole. The last time I was down there, a week ago, he picked up my friends cue case from a table where it was lying and threw it onto the floor because according to him it didn’t belong there. Now, I’m pretty sure this guy suffers from OCD. He can’t start playing before he puts all the surrounding furniture and knickknacks in their customary places. He even has to put all the TV’s on particular stations. He used to drop into DJ’s occasionally, but the players there soon got tired of his constant complaining nicknaming him McNasty.

Anyway, I told him I didn’t take his cue ball, and that I had no interest in it. I had been playing with a red dotted measles cb that the girl who handed out the balls had placed in the tray. I didn’t ask her why she did it. I didn’t care. But, old McNasty cared deeply. So, I traded cue balls with him to make him happy. Still, unconvinced of my innocence, he later complained to a friend of mine, Bob May, that I had stolen his cue ball. He oughta be locked up in a home some where.

And I Thought I Had It Bad

Call it karma.

A fly, pure and innocent, was buzzing around DJ’s pool room a couple months ago, enjoying the sights and smells and tastes, as flies often do, when it had the misfortune of landing on the table I was playing on. Automatically, almost instinctively, I slithered up to the table and with a quick, deft slap I killed my prey. I was proud. Not that long before, in similar circumstances, one of this bug’s brethren had landed on a bar table I was playing on. Without much forethought, I simply reversed my stick and bopped the bug into oblivion with the butt of my cue. That, however, had been a lucky shot – one in a million; this latest achievement had been a demonstration of speed of hand, a sign that at sixty-one I still had it.

All the glorious feelings dissipated next day when I was forced to deal with a fierce pain in my wrist that was aggravated by the tiniest of movements, like picking up my toothbrush. I nursed it for a couple days, the pain disappeared, and I eventually forgot all about it. Then I started lifting my weights again and before I knew it the pain in my wrist was not only back, it was much worse than it had been initially. Yesterday, at WalMart, I picked up a wrist stabilizer like the ones those suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome wear. Problems, problems.

Then, yesterday, I was contacted by Bloggers Unite regarding the Refugees Unite campaign. After reading some of the reference material, it became clear that there are millions of people out there who are suffering from real problems, problems that make mine look silly.

To learn more about the worldwide suffering of refugees, go here:



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You Had Me At High-Low

It’s not like I’m the first guy who appropriated a line from the movie Jerry Maguire. My wife tells me that a wine-loving friend of hers in Montana has a t-shirt that sports the slogan “You had me at Merlot.” And it was that, of course, which got me to thinking along those lines.

Jerry Maguire ranks up there among my all-time favorite movies, with movies like Heaven Can Wait, As Good As It Gets, An American President, Dave, Shawshank Redemption, and Freeway, just to name a few. I’ve seen it at least ten times, probably more.

“You complete me,” “Show me the money,” “I won't let you get rid of me” – the movie contains memorable lines galore. “You had me at hello” has always been a personal favorite of mine so it’s with great pleasure that I introduce my latest pool t-shirt design. I think this one is number 7 in the series.



With Christmas coming, you'll probably want to order a dozen. You'll find them and other pool tees here.