Plowshares to Pool Cues

We met like two ancient samurai under the lantern's light at dusk, our chosen weapons in hand. Battle will be done tonight; fields of green shall run red ere break of dawn. We meet with honor, and with respect, the nod of my head substituting a bow from the waist. My best friend, my brother. And tonight, my enemy. After choosing our battleground, we unsheath our weapons and let slip the dogs of war.

After the previous night of excess and competition, with Myth, Deuce, (Get to tha) Choppa, and his girlfriend Chickepeno, after the day's breaking of the fast in celebration of our fallen friends and foes (which Choppa and Chicky made to perfection), only two of us stood tonight. Accompanied by Chicky, Deuce and I prepared for battle.

The bar wasn't very crowded tonight, a welcome site if not for the bar's ledger, at least for us. There was a table of 6 near the back playing some card games, but the pool table was accessible. We had the same seats as last night, and got a few sodas and waters from Choppa, who was tonight bartending. None of us could fathom a round two of the excessive drinking we did last night. Bar tabs were too high, and stomachs too weak. I was surprised to hear that Deuce made the trip to town a second night in a row, so of course I wanted to come out and shoot some more pool. We've got another 9-ball tournament game coming up this week, we need to be sharp.

It's been an interesting change of dynamic within our social circle. Usually there are those certain few of us who, if they are not working, are always reliable for a night out. I've always felt like within the grand congregation of my local friends, a core group was rock-solid, my own Rat Pack. But over time, things change, and the objective side of my brain finds it fascinating to observe. Someone spends more time with a girlfriend, and soon his absence from the group is sorely noticed. I know this, as I've been guilty of this myself in the past. But of late, it seems like some connections strengthen while others wane, and the roster of closest friends has shifted. To see Deuce this often was a welcome new development. We didn't even receive a text in reply to our invitation to our missing member, one who would stand by my side many nights a week at the bars just a few years before. I know it's not an act of malicious intent, it's just a way things go. Even our choice of bar has shifted away from the dance-club atmosphere to the smaller, more close-knit venue.

Anyways, games of pool were shot and we ate part of a chicken jalapeno pizza (the inspiration for Chicky's nickname, as it is her favorite pizza to get at the bar). I won an impossible three games in a row against Deuce, including missing my first shot at the 8 and ruining my run-out, before he promptly reminded me who was the better shot in the long run. But last night took its toll; the jalapenos weren't sitting right on stomachs not yet recovered. The night was doomed to be an early one.

Two warriors stood facing each other, shoulders bobbing in heavy panting breath, sweat on brow and the taste of blood in mouth. All adrenaline drained from their bodies, their weapons, though light in weight, hung heavy like lead. Battle was fought this night, between friends, between brothers. Honor was upheld, and respect earned. The warriors part ways, their cues cleaned and resheathed. They will meet again, soon, on a different field of battle, this time to defend their home turf together against invaders from another bar. Challengers who would maneuver their armies around the field, eliminate all of our resources as they pocket balls, and win a war of attrition.

Together the warriors will stand, Deuce, Choppa, and myself. With our skills in the craft of billiard warfare honed and tested, we shall repel all opponents, and then claim for our own the next tier on the tournament bracket on our path for victory and conquest!

And unless we all decide to celebrate Easter in the same fashion as we celebrate a Friday night, we'll be ready.