billiards

Today there was a billiards tournament at the grille and I watched a couple of the matches. There are at least three very good players in the languages schools who can clear the table in less than three turns. I found it discouraging to see how much better they are than me. I’d like to be good at billiards, I’d feel masculine and authoritative, etc. But when I set out to improve, I reach a point where I don’t care anymore (which seems to be a recurring theme in my life…). This sentiment was very keenly evoked while I watched the match between Anthony, the champion of the French school, and the Russian school champion. The guy from the Russian school was tall, well-built, and generally serious looking. He wore a special kind of glove, to help the cue slide more smoothly over his hand, I imagine. He looked to me like a seedy villain in a mediocre spy film, and I actually found him kind of scary, like he could kill a motherfucker in one stroke with one of his exclusive cues that he brought with him to the grille. If you end up like that when you get to be very good at billiards, then I’ll pass.