A Foosball Memory
Posted by TRO on April 4, 2008

I used to play Foosball. Back in high school and college. And I was pretty good. In fact, I was better than pretty good. I was very good. My college and high school buddies, Eddie, Rick, and Chuck, were all pretty good, but I think I was the best. Eddie was a solid player at both front and back positions, but didn’t have any real outstanding move that set him apart (he may disagree with this assessment - but that’s the way I remember it and I’m sticking to my story). Rick was a good all-around player too, but had some front skill that made him more dangerous on offense than Eddie. Chuck was about like Eddie, a good solid player you could depend on to keep you out of trouble.
I, on the other hand, was very good on both defense and offense and had a killer pull shot. I mean it was killer. I could sit at the back spot and just make guys playing defense quake while they waited on my pull shot that would either a) pull and shoot it straight in while they sat there motionless or b) make them move too quickly and then I would just slap it straight in for a score. And I did the same thing at front - pull a shot way to fast for them to stop or watch them ease over in anticipation of my pull-shot so that they left a straight shot open and I slapped it in.
It was a thing of beauty, my pull shot.
On the other hand, my push shot sucked. Eddie’s was better, so wasn’t Rick’s. But push shots weren’t dramatic. They didn’t make a loud noise. They were boring. Pull shots though, those were loud. They sparked. People heard them from across the room.
And I had a good one. Better than good.
I first started playing foosball in a little game room in an apartment complex. There were maybe 15 people who frequented the place, mostly guys but a few cute girls too. And there was a couple of guys who came in and owned the foosball machine.
They were gods.
And we played them and lost. Rick and Eddie and Chuck and me. Over and over again, weekend after weekend listening to fricken Abba in some sort of horrible endurance course of pain, until one day we got better than them.
And then we got so good we “moved-up” to the local bowling alley where we lost a few and while losing learned a lot. We learned so much that we ended up owning the place. Placing our quarter on the table when we arrived and with a few exceptions, never paying for a game the rest of the night, defeating team after team of good players who challenged us.
It was, to be honest, very, very cool.
As cool as it got in our little Southern town anyway.
And after we got a little older we graduated to the big leagues at the local bars.
We owned there too. Our foosball scores only exceeded by the number of beers we drank while playing.
So when I was a young man I drank a lot and played a lot of foosball.
I was good at both.
But I don’t play foosball anymore. I quit after college.
I tried a few years later. When I was in the Air Force. But my pull shot was gone and any skill I had at defense had long atrophied
And drinking? I still do. But not so much. A few drinks on the weekends are about all I have the interest or the strength for these days . . . these years.
Like now.
A few drinks this evening.
Which brought back this foosball memory.

No reason to post this but the obvious one.
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