I used to play pool back in the eighties. Practiced every day in a pool hall on my lunch then down the pub in the evening to play some more, in an a league team, only woman.
So here is a true story from my past.
A bunch of mates and me gathered in the city we were from on Christmas Day Eve. We went on a pub crawl, all a bit tiddly.
My mates were all girly, big hair, high heels lots of make up. I was more the doc martin black tights type, minimal make up.
Decided to head nearer home dropped in local pub of ruffty tuffties
Headed to the bogs as my girlfriends did, where hair was back combed, heavy duty hairspray was re-administered, and loud heavy make up re applied.
I used to watch in awe.
In the bar was a pool table and the girls wanted me to play so I had to have 2 pints of water first whilst awaiting my turn.
Anyway a bloke with “cut here” tattooed on his neck was the winner and my turn was to play him.
Him “do you want me to set up love”
Me “nah I can do it” <sets up triangle balance black and does nifty flick as wind up>
<background silence>
Him “Do you want me to break?”
Me “nah heads or tales?”
I win.
I break good and hard, smart back spin, pot three balls, of the same colour and go on to pot two more.
So he has seven balls on the table I have two.
Me dead pan “over to you”
His mates (various versions of cave occupants) all fall about laughing at him.
Whilst watching him fluff it, my mates hand me a bottle of pils and Joan Jett “bad reputation” is now playing on the juke box.
I pot the other two and place the white perfectly for the “kill” (the black ball).
I am shitting it I have to win this, and win it now, seven balling someone is a major humiliation.
Slug my pils, shaky hand clears
Black goes in without touching the sides.
Much jumping about by my mates.
Whole lotta Rosey comes on the juke box.
I beat to others then left with my mates.
True story and part of my contribution to feminism.