Astoria

Have you ever walked by a bar and, without looking inside, thought to yourself "I bet anything there's a pool table in there." That happened to me twice one night several weeks ago when I was in Astoria for an assignment to photoraph a Moroccan restaurant. I had taken the V train to the Steinway stop. Once I got to street level I was walking along when I spotted a bar called Doyle's Corner. I made a mental note to check it out on my way back. I got to the restaurant right on time, forged my way through an awkward "no patrons present" situation and was out of there, tummy filled with couscous, in about 45 minutes. On my way back to Doyle's I approached a bar called Crehan's Pub. It looked promising. The front door was propped open and I could see a pool table (right) way in the back. So I went in and introduced myself to the bartender, who I think was happy to see me pull out a business card and not an NYPD badge (I didn't dare show her my NYPD-issued press credential). I told her I play a lot of pool and that I just wanted to check out the pool table. To my surprise she said "Sure, take a picture of it!" So I went back to take a look. Nobody was playing. It was a typical bar table, I don't remember if it was a dollar or what. But I could feel the suspicious gaze of some old men as I was looking around. I took out my camera and took a few frames, one of which was sort of directed back toward the bar and everybody in it. I overheard one of the men ask "What's he taking pictures of?" I felt self-conscious, a little goofy, so I left pretending I hadn't heard him. I was in and out easily within three minutes.

Walking back I had sort of lost my bearings. In Astoria it's a lot of high-numbered avenues intersecting with high-numbered streets, like 31st Avenue and 41st Street. Once I straightened out which way to go I was trying to remember if I'd ever played pool in Queens before. Sure, I have played lots of three-cushion, but the only time I could think of where I'd actually played pool was after one of said three-cushion sessions at Carom Cafe. I couldn't, and still can't, recall a time where I'd played pool at a bar in Queens. When Yvonne and I were first dating, she lived in Maspeth. And I quickly identified a couple places near her home that had pool tables, but I never played at any of them. I got to Doyle's and was glad to see not only a pool table, but a pool table that was in use. It was the very same situation: walk in, approach the bartender, explain who I am and what I want to do, etc. He seemed to be a tad skeptical, although I realize how it puts people on the spot when I come into a bar unannounced like that. Perhaps a little worried he wasn't automatically saying "Sure, go ahead!" I said "Actually, you know what? I'll take a pint of Miller and two dollars in quarters." That's probably what I should have done in the first place, just gone in and played the role of an unassuming customer. But it wasn't my intention to actually play, only because it was getting late and I still had to get back home. At any rate, once it was my turn I played pretty well, putting some flashy english onto the cue ball and breaking up a lot of clusters. I won the first game pretty easily. When shaking the guy's hand he said something along the lines of "If you want a really good pool player, you should play the bartender. I'll leave it at that."

So the next guy I played knew about the APA, even knew league rules, but we still called all shots. He was very talkative and friendly. By this time I could see that the table was incredibly off-kilter, in serious need of releveling. Still, I was playing convincingly and by the end of my second game I was in a no-brainer runout situation. But I neglected to take into account that the effects of the slant/tilt of a pool table are greatly increased at slower speeds. So when I went for my second-to-last shot and tried to drift the cue ball with some follow, it ended up going on a nearly 45-degree tangent as it came to a stop. The cue ball was nearly two feet from where I had planned to it to be. Still, I went for a bank shot but missed badly. I think my opponent sensed my frustration with the table. So instead of going for the simple cut shot I had left him with, he banked the 8 the full length of the table and nailed it. Which was probably a good thing because the bartender was next on the list.