And no, I’m not referring to “teaching an old dog new tricks.” That’s a different article.

About three years ago, I was teaching Vegas, my white lab, to “wave” on command. Following the guidance of a book full of doggy tricks I had purchased, I could sort of get him to do it. He struggled a bit, gave me that tilted-head look of confusion, and just tried to get the treat from my hand. We worked on it for about 45 minutes and I just let him go play.

The next evening, I called him over, had him sit in front of me, and along with the waving hand gesture, I said, “wave.” Well, low and behold, on his very first attempt, he was waving. Without any assistance from me at all, he had remembered everything we worked on and was waving on his own. Nowadays, all I have to do is make the hand gesture and a little white paw comes creeping up.

Not to compare us with dogs, but I couldn’t help noticing an uncanny parallel after a difficult practice session the other day. I’d recently been struggling with my stroke hand inadvertently inching slightly back on my cue whenever my adrenaline starts pumping. I don’t always notice it when it’s happening. I just notice something feels a little off and I miss the shot.

On Monday afternoon, I had a three hour practice session where, before every single shot, I checked my perpendicular to make sure my hand was in the correct spot. Initially, it felt so awkward, like I was way too far forward. I didn’t care. I forced myself to shoot it anyway. Most of the time, I would make the shot. Sometimes, I was so flustered I would screw something else up.

I struggled. Admittedly, I was frustrated. I felt so inconsistent and wasn’t even sure if I was making any progress at all. I finished my practice feeling a bit deflated and left with my tail between my legs.

On Tuesday night, I screwed my cues together, determined to get to the bottom of this. As usual, I threw some balls out and just stroked some shots in to warm up; with some big powerful strokes. It was like a miracle. Everything I was forcing myself to so consciously do the day before was all happening on its own. I could see the shots. My stance and stroke hand all fell right into place. It was effortless.

I was thrilled. I had made progress. Forcing myself to the brink of madness the day before wasn’t all for nothing. Like Vegas, I had successfully learned a new trick. I absorbed as much as I could on the first day and when I gave myself a break and returned to the table refreshed, it all sunk in.

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