A couple of times each month during the past 30 months I've thought I was out of my slump. Not back to the pro-level shooting I'd briefly experienced, but at least back to the level I'd enjoyed for years prior to that magical two days. On these hopeful occasions I'd make three or four balls in a row and then excitedly set up the camcorder to capture whatever physical mannerism had turned out to be the secret to my game. The special arm angle, bridge length, or grip position that I'd so carelessly forgotten so long ago.
On each of those occasions my delusions of decency eventually evaporated. Sometimes an hour later, sometimes several days later. I'd start missing easy shots again, and getting shape would become the pipe dream of a has-been.
The jury is still out on this, perhaps the 75th time I've allowed myself to get my hopes up. For a couple of solid weeks now, except for a brief period the other day when I decided to table my trusty Schon for a while, I've played the way I'm supposed to play. The way I used to play.
To put it briefly, I run out when I'm supposed to. How strange it is to make that observation about my game after all this time. How wonderful to catch myself thinking "I'm out" instead of "I should be out" when the balls are open.
Pool, for now, is fun again. I no longer have to hide inside my banks game, where misses are expected, to cloak my inability to make even the easiest shots, to see even the easiest patterns, in other games.
Though this latest streak began a few days before my Seattle trip, I still give that trip all the credit for my recent resurgence. The enthusiasm with which I looked forward to playing against my friends in Seattle, or simply being around "pool people" again, was something I was desperately missing - even though I didn't know I was missing it.
Maybe the monkey is finally off my back. I'm not willing to say it just yet. The memory of all those other disappointments still stings and makes me cautious. I don't know what will have to happen before I'm willing to declare that my game is back for good. Perhaps it will come to me gradually, a persistent level of competence that I'll eventually realize has become my "real game" and is not just indicative of another hot streak. Or maybe I'll experience an epiphany during my practice some night. I'll simply drop into stroke and never look back.
As I said, the jury is still out. I can see the light at the top of the well, but I haven't quite pulled myself out yet. I just hope I don't fall to the bottom again.
Time to go practice.
