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Without much thought, I opened a stream.
It was a link a friend had sent: “This is good, give it a watch.”
A pool match.
Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much.
But I meant to watch just a bit, and before I knew it I’d watched to the end.
Why I couldn’t look away
The players’ movements stayed in my head.
The way they chalked.
The pace at which they walked the table.
The angle of the back as they went into the stance.
Nothing flashy at all.
But there was no hesitation in any single movement.
Especially the few seconds between settling into the stance and the stroke.
A quiet stretch of time, as if everything unnecessary had been pared away.
Those few seconds stayed with me the whole time.
The next day, I found myself at the pool hall
I don’t think the match inspired me.
Probably.
I just, somehow, felt like hitting some balls.
I took a cue and stood in front of the table.
I set out the balls.
I went to get down on the shot.
That’s when yesterday’s footage came to mind.
It had changed on its own
I chalk the tip.
It was a little slower than usual.
The movements I’d seen yesterday were still there, in my hands.
I walk around the table.
Usually, I got down on the shot right away.
But today, I walked once around the table before stopping.
On the stream, it had looked like the natural thing to do.
Down into the stance.
The angle of my back felt a little different from usual.
A little lower.
A little quieter.
I hadn’t decided it.
But my body was moving that way.
Not that I’d gotten better
I shot.
Missed.
I hadn’t gotten any better.
But something was different.
In the stance, I felt a little calmer.
Walking around the table, I felt I could see the layout, just a little.
Things I hadn’t been able to see until yesterday were starting to show, faintly.
Maybe I’m only tracing that player’s line of sight.
But what if there’s a view you can only see by tracing it?
When I was a child
As a kid, walking home from a movie, I’d find I was walking like the hero.
After a martial arts movie, I walked with my fists clenched.
After a baseball movie, I mimed practice swings.
It was embarrassing, so I never told anyone.
But that feeling was real.
The person on the screen had come inside me, and my body moved on its own.
I thought that feeling had gone away when I grew up.
Until yesterday.
That player is still inside me
When I stand at the table, yesterday’s stream comes back.
The way that player chalked.
The pace of the walk.
The angle going into the stance.
That quiet pause before the stroke.
I can’t copy all of it.
But if even one thing stays inside me, who I am at the table changes a little.
On watching
Perhaps practice in pool isn’t only about hitting balls yourself.
You watch good players’ matches.
Their movements find their way into you without your knowing.
When you stand at the table, your body plays them back on its own.
Just as it did back then, walking home from the movies like the hero.
Growing up didn’t change that.
Next time I open a stream, I might watch with slightly different eyes.
How does that player walk?
How do they get down on the shot?
Where do they pause?
When I stand at the table, that footage plays somewhere in my body.
What you watch stays longer than you think.
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