The king-of-the-hill, paragon at the watering hole, respected/admired/envied/adored by one and all was just coasting without his usual pool (billiards) partners not in attendance. His joy at a couple of tables after his high pressure job is palpable.
I did not have a misspent youth, so I acquired some pool playing very late, at 21 in the Navy, the source and period of most of my life expanding, for good or ill, experiences. I stuck with it for the next ten years, under the wrong belief that improvement would come. Oh, I was able to slam off some amazing slop shots, and could sometimes shoot from around behind my back or with the cue straight up in the air, but finally I realized that I had reached the plateau I had probably been at from near the beginning, and I dropped it right out of my life.
Once every decade or so I do it, mostly for effect. Barflies who have never seen me near a table are duly impressed with some of my flash and dash, minus the winning part, how comfortably I handle myself around the chalk.
So last night I mustered the courage to invite the king to ONE table, as a service to him. He is a true gentleman, was surprised, and portents bode ill as I dropped a ball on the floor while racking. Yes, I missed some shots nobody would, but also made at least three excellent (not slop) shots, including a combination with both balls sinking (O.K., the cue ball went, too). I sensed the King was cutting me slack, and the peanut gallery was breathing Pity. But I got the effect.
So it ended with the King scratching (Edit: wrong pocket for 8ball), which I believe was his being the gentleman letting me technically win. For the heart I displayed. We shook chalky hands and he was regally munificent in declaring what a good game it was. Later, when he left, he came over to me to shake again and repeated it was a good game and said, "We'll play another game sometime."
It was extremely stressful and pressured, which defeats the premise of the o.p.
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