One Game of Nine-ball Is All It Takes for Me to Reduce a Human Being to a Shrieking Mass of Infantile Garbage
I like to break the cocky ones, break 'em like they're freshly racked.
Those guys who come online and start talking smack? I let 'em play a couple games first. Let 'em get their groove on. I like for them to feel special. I don't say a word, I just jump into their next game. I don't want them to see me coming. I prefer to wreck these guys like a slo-mo car crash.
When they say, "You wanna break?" I let them do it. I tell them I want to learn from their moves. WHAMS! They hit a ball in. Maybe two. Maybe three.
Then I never let them go again. I don't say a word, 'cept to call my shot. I want their ears to be filled with the clack of my balls thudding quietly into the pockets as I name 'em.
My secret to success is the "Diamond Method." I learned this in college from a guy in dreadlocks who came into the bar near campus smoking a joint the size of a Ford Focus. As he explained things to me he drew on the felt with his unwashed finger and I saw the lines he was making hover in the air, glowing purple and red. One time -- I swear -- he didn't even use a pool cue. He simply WILLED the balls into the pockets, and in they flew.
I use a similar strategy online. Without the dope. But I find I need to blast the reggae music...
Uh oh, this guy thinks he's got something. Hand me the Bob Marley.
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