WONDERBOYS, a novel by Mike Mason, is a fascinating tale of young pool talents in 1960's New England. Mike has agreed to allow us to serialize his novel here at AzBilliards and we will post a section a week with one week's section archived in case you miss it. If you can't wait to find out what happens to Del and Lombard, you can purchase the book by contacting Mike at mason@azbilliards.com
	WONDERBOYS Scene 61 We had two months to get razor sharp for our mission to bring glory to ourselves, to the Cue & Billiard, to Del, to the marines, the army, the United States, I got psyched up, and Lombard just laughed at me The Whale got in the mood. He took out ads in the sports pages of the Salem News. He had flyers printed up and sent them to all the pool rooms. He called the owners, and he knew most of them, reminding them that they were not competitors, but in the game together, and could he borrow their good players, and asked them to come down themselves. The Whale spruced up the place, ordering new cloths to be installed on all the tables the weekend before the tournament. He had a few dozen new house sticks delivered, and manicured the old ones that were good enough to keep. He had the kids wash the balls and everything else in sight. Jack Fury went above and beyond the call of duty. He had keys to the place, and in his spare time, came in to clean. The Whale never could pay Jack for his work, or even for his cleaning supplies. For the tournament, Jack washed the lights, the walls, the windows, even the undersides of the tables. The white glove would find no dust at the Cue & Billiard. The qualifier was sponsored by the BCA, the Billiard Congress of America, and they had guidelines. Besides the Whale's commitment of matching funds for the prizes, meticulous records had to be kept. The game was straight pool, 125 points, and required a scorekeeper, someone to count each ball pocketed, and keep an inning-by-inning tally on scoresheets. The Whale had plenty of volunteers for duty, and the younger kids went on to perform with distinction. They concentrated more on their matches because they were more spellbound by the level of play, and more conscious of their responsibility. Their teachers would have been proud. It goes to show that with motivation, borderline students could shine. Every time a ball is made, the scorekeeper makes a hash mark on the back of the scoresheet. When the run is finished, the scorekeeper notes the number of balls pocketed, and marks that number in the box for that inning. Your score for an inning is 10 if you run ten balls, 0 if you play safe, -1 if you scratch or foul. Matches are to 125 points, so if you run out in one shot, your average per inning is 125. If you lose the toss and break, then run out, your average is 62.5 balls per inning. Ten shots to win a match and your average is 12.5 balls per inning. The college tournaments were sponsored by the BCA, and we kept score. My highest average was 8-something. I averaged over 11 last year at the Strand. It was a two day affair, Saturday and Sunday, double elimination, $100 entry fee, forty-two players, $4,000 first place prize. The usual suspects were there, players we've seen and played before, the best in New England, and a few from outside, like Pat Fleming, who I think was from New York, and another player who was top notch, Fleming's friend. I told the Whale that Lombard had beaten everybody in the room except the guys from New York, so they might just have a ring game to decide the best. The Whale told me that everyone might as well go home then, because Lombard had beaten them before, too. Pete Femino said he couldn't bet Lombard because he was a prohibitive favorite. I told Pete he could get a good price on me, but he said he doesn't take chances. I figured that one of these world beaters might knock Lombard off to put him in the loser bracket, and meanwhile I would play out of my trees and get a lucky draw, and stand where Lombard had to beat me twice for the championship, and I'm sorry, Lombard, but this is my day. And I do need to tell you of my record. I drew a local, Ronnie Gravel, who I played 100-75 during the week, and I won here, 125-62. I beat Mike Nicoloro, Shorty's friend, 125-123. A squeaker, and Mike and I would go on to play many of those types of games, and they fell both ways. I beat Ken Wilson, another Boston player, 125-89. He had a temper, and lost money to me on that match and many other times when we saw each other. I beat Tommy McGuffin. The same McGuffin I beat at Hampton Beach, only this was a new and improved McGuffin. He must have worked real hard, because he wasn't much not so long ago, and now he was formidable. He still took his time, though, and once, after a break shot, he was staring at the table, his hands on the top of his cue, his chin resting in his hands. His eyes closed. I had to ask him if he was sleeping. He said no, he was thinking. My first match on Sunday, I lost to Shorty, the little you-know-what. He's tough as nails, and he's got nerve, too. I was shooting and he was sitting on the table next to me smoking his chewed-out cigar. When I missed and it was his turn, he whacked the cigar on the side of the table to put it out, and had red hot cinders all over Whale's carpet. Then McGuffin beat me 125-121. I was put through the meat grinder and had the chance to wrap it up when, needing five balls to win, and having five balls open, I elected a slight break shot to open the pack up some more and get some pigeons to dust off. Lombard always told me don't let that cue ball fly. Anything can happen, and it did. I broke open the balls all right, but one of them ended up kissing the cue ball against a rail. I had nothing to do but lose. I tried to leave as tough a shot as possible, but I couldn't. I came in fifth place. I was tied for fifth and sixth, and if that other guy wants to be in sixth place, that's fine. I just know there were four people in front of me. Including Lombard. All copyrights are owned by Mike Mason. No duplication is allowed without his permission.