“Now that’s what I call a jump shot!”
At first glance, you might think I was participating in a contentious game of hoops with my peeps on the blacktop behind Northside Elementary School, directly across the street from the church parsonage.
However, you’d be totally wrong.
Instead, my big brother and I were taking part in a heated game of billiards against the two Robs—Robert “Robbie” G. Brough Jr. and Robert “Magsy” Magnifico — in the bowels of our one-and-a-half story home next to the little church on North Street.
John had just struck the cue ball at a downward angle to launch it into the air to hop over — basically leapfrogging — our opponents’ ball to successfully strike one of our own.
“What an amazing shot,” quipped Robbie, shaking the cobwebs from his head at the incredible maneuver. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I would’ve never believed it; because the cue ball jumped right over our solids to knock one of your stripes into the corner pocket.”
“And Jaws moves in for the kill!” noted John.
“That’s right, fellas,” I agreed, sporting a Cheshire cat grin while chalking up my pool stick. “Watch as I take youns to the cleaners by putting the eight ball into this side pocket; and then I’ll be laughing all the way to the bank.”
Before getting to the pivotal moment in that adrenaline-charged contest, why don’t we take a trip down memory lane to discover how a pool table mysteriously landed at the foot of the open staircase in the underbelly of our Cape Cod-style home.
Shortly after coming home from getting my allergy shot on the first Friday in October, my lifelong roommate and I stumbled upon a surprise that would change our weekends for the foreseeable future.
The basement — usually a quiet retreat for playing with toys, washing clothes, watching television, or weight training — now held a brand-new centerpiece, a worn but beloved billiards table, a generous gift from Lou and Peggy Sabo and family, congregants from dad’s last pastoral assignment in Bentleyville, Pennsylvania.
When the husky Hungarian contacted the blond-haired minister earlier in the week, he made arrangements — with the help of his son Gabriel “Gabe” Sabo, a California State College sophomore — to deliver the entertainment device by week’s end.
“It’s too bad we didn’t get to see Gabers!” mentioned John, snapping his fingers at the missed opportunity.
“Your surrogate brother said the same thing about you,” snickered the tall clergyman, thinking back to the information the young man asked him to relay. “Although you boys didn’t get to spend any quality time together, he hopes this pool table brings you as much joy and happiness as it brought him during his days in high school.”
There had been a lot of history made on that old worn pool table.
This mild-mannered eighth grader remembered fondly pairing up with Gabers high school buddy — William “Billy” Beckinger — for a contentious battle of smooth moves the first time he and his older sibling had a sleepover in their basement while playing doubles until late into the night.
I could still hear the clatter of the cue ball hitting against those solids and stripes with each new game and the laughter shared after the punchline at the conclusion of every anecdotal story throughout the exciting evening.
Nevertheless, now it was time to make a rack full of new memories atop that green felt surface.
Running as fast as my little feet would carry me, I bolted up those stairs to call my boon companions to share the good news and invite them to come over the next afternoon to help us christen the “new to us” billiards table.
As soon as my two closest friends rang the doorbell upon simultaneously ditching their two-wheeled transports on our front lawn the following afternoon, I admitted to playing countless games with the freckle-faced athlete well into Friday night while watching our favorite television lineup — The Incredible Hulk, The Dukes of Hazzard, and Dallas.
“I’ll bet you and our junior high school football quarterback played pool last night when we weren’t here to see it,” assessed Magsy, wagging a finger into the air.
“Guilty as charged,” I divulged, waiting for the handcuffs after inviting the gridiron ballers into the foyer as they kicked off their sneakers. “Since our Aunt Kathy has a pool table in her basement, we need to be ready to dominate the competition—our Farrell cousins — at our next Christmas gathering.”
“We both knew you wouldn’t be able to keep away from that pool table until today,” stated the invited guests in unison, sparking a real-life Abbott and Costello comedy routine with a flurry of the exact same words and phrases.
“Jinx, you owe me a Coke!”
“Double Jinx!”
“Padlock Jinx! Robert George Brough, Jr,” Magsy blurted out first.
“Dagnabbit! I got tongue tied,” replied Robbie, sporting a frown.
“Zip it, Spanky! You’re not allowed to talk,” crooned the police chief’s youngest son.
“Here’s a Coke for both of you, so now youns can freely speak,” I laughed with a snort after pulling two bottles of ice-cold soda pop from the refrigerator in the kitchen, prior to descending into the basement with my best friends.
“As a youngster,” I continued, “my friends and I used to pretend to be the members of ‘Our Gang,’ and we even had a He-Man Woman Haters Clubhouse in the top of my bedroom closet.
“I’ll bet that was off the hook!” exclaimed Robbie, clapping me on the back.
“It was outta sight!” I responded with a grin.
“While I might not be a pool shark, you can call me Jaws,” I chuckled, as the resident daredevil came downstairs to join these three musketeers. “That’s what my buddy Chris Honneffer told me to call him a year ago last summer when we sparred in a game of billiards at Pete’s General Store before he moved to Farmington, New Mexico; so, prepare to be spanked.”
And that’s exactly what happened when I sank the aforementioned eight ball into the side pocket.
Not to be outdone, the offspring of the chief of police and the school administrator challenged us to the best out of three after an embarrassing beatdown.
By house rules, the victors couldn’t stay paired. So, John teamed up with Magsy, while I joined forces with Robbie. The shake-up guaranteed that at least one of my guests would notch a win, no matter how the balls rolled.
In the end, the new pairings split the next two games — John and Magsy took one, Robbie and I took the other.
When the chalk dust settled, John and I each walked away with two wins, reminding my football buddies that even champions of the gridiron can’t always stop Jaws when he’s circling the felt.