Nothing Worse Than an Empty Basement

by John Fern

"We don't need a pool table!" my wife told me, after I'd mentioned that
there was a good deal on a slate-bed, eight-footer in the classified ads.

"I know! I was just making an observation while reading the newspaper. If I saw a Mercedes Benz in here for a hundred bucks, don't ya think I'd mention it? It doesn't mean I'm gonna run out and buy it!" I assured her.

The truth was, I just wanted to run it by her and see if she'd give me
any indication that maybe, just maybe, there might be a possibility to
squeak one in here.

But, alas, it wasn't going to fly today. It just seemed like such a
shame that we had that big, beautiful basement, and no pool table. How sad for me. 

I loved the game. I spent many an hour at the bar shooting stick and
had become quite the talented amateur. I didn't play the big money games, but I'd win my share from time to time. 

However, once I quit drinking and got married, hanging out in bars
didn't fit with either of those life changes. So, my best shot of 'running the table' would be to have my own. My wife's argument (and a darn good one) was that they were just too expensive. Even a good, used one would run about six-hundred bucks! But I kept my eyes open and scanned the pool-table section every chance I got.

When we're least expecting it, that's when our elusive dream can fall
right into our laps. Here I was checking out a garage sale for hunting
gear when I spotted my golden opportunity to once again 'shoot 'em up'! 

A pool table! Leaning up against the wall of the garage. It was in
pretty rough shape and had it's share of nicks and gouges. The felt was
torn in a few spots and there were some obvious beer stains, but I had a place downstairs just waiting for her! Besides; the sign said: $35.00!
As I stared at the table, I started to run down the list of people I knew with a truck. Then, I narrowed that down even more, when I considered which ones would want to take this on.

The man who lived there seemed to sense my dilemma and walked over. He was an older gentleman dressed in khaki shirt and pants, wearing an old fishing hat. "Are ya interested?" he asked, taking a drag off of one of those thin cigars. 

"Yea, I'm just trying to figure out how I'm gonna get it home." I told
him.

"Well, we figured that might be a problem for the average garage saler.
Where do ya live? He asked.

"Just over in Cedarville. I could almost tow this thing if it had wheels." I joked.

"Tell ya what." He said; like a seasoned used car salesman ready to
close the deal. "My boys got a truck! If ya throw in another twenty
bucks, they'll deliver it!" he suggested.

Fifty-five bucks was still within my price range to make this dream come true. Normally, I would have tried to knock the price down a tad but this was a divine gift from the heavens! Who was I to quibble?
"That sounds more than fair to me!" I told him, trying to contain my
enthusiasm. He yelled for the boys to come out and help load the table
onto the truck. 

Two big guys came stumbling into the garage. They weren't overly excited at the prospect of hauling a pool-table but the old man was boss, and they didn't argue.

As I watched Homer and Jethro following me in the rear-view, bumbling along in a beat up, old-Ford; I could feel the chills! I had finally found my pool-table! And at a price that I could afford! This was one of those once in a lifetime deals that many people never live to see. I couldn't wait to break that first rack of balls! Testing out my old bank-shot skills, (although the rails may have lost some of their bounce over the years), seeing if I still knew my old W.C. Fields' tricks, powdering my hands like Jackie Gleason in The Hustler before taking on any and all challengers! 

I pulled up to our house and looked back to see that Jethro and Homer were gone! Where did they go? I was driving slow enough, they shouldn't have lost me! 

I did a U-turn and went back to look for them.

When I got about a half mile back, I would discover why they never made it. There was my pool-table. Laying all over the road. In splintered pieces of wood and green-felt and the assorted screws
that had once held it together! I jumped out of my car and screamed,
"What happened!?"

"I guess we shoulda roped it in!" Jethro said, as Homer just stood
there scratching his head looking at the pile of lumber that only minutes
earlier had been my beautiful, beer-stained, thirty five dollar pool-table!
I picked up what was once part of a bumper rail and began to sob. 
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around to see the local police had arrived.

"You guys wanna get this mess picked up, and off the road, like, right
now!" said one of Cedarvilles finest.

"Yes, sir." I cried while I worked.

'The boys told me that they'd haul it off to the dump and gave me back the thirty-five bucks but kept the twenty. I was too distraught to argue.
Another half a mile and it would have been home. Life can be cruel. With tears in my eyes, I drove home muttering that it wasn't meant to be, but having a hard time swallowing my cracker-jack philosophy. It was meant to be, if only Homer and Jethro had used some rope!

When I got home, my wife was waiting for me.

"I thought you'd never get home! Where have you been?" she asked.

"Oh, just checking out some garage sales." I said, not wanting to go
through the whole story.

"Can you run down and get the laundry?" she asked as she went through the morning mail.

"Yea, sure." I said. After my horrible morning, now I had to go get the
laundry. Oh, well, back to reality.

When I got downstairs, I saw that there was no laundry in the dryer. I
checked the washer but it was empty too. That's when I saw it. A
pool-table! An eight foot, Brunswick, slate-bed!

My wife had come up behind me. "Surprise," she said, barely above a
whisper.

"Where did this come from?" I asked in stunned disbelief.

"My uncle's job relocated him to Kansas. He asked me if I knew anyone who wanted a pool-table. He had to empty his place out and didn't have a lot of time. I told him you were looking for one so he let us have it for three-hundred bucks! Him and some of his buddies hauled it over here and set it up. I couldn't wait for you to get home and surprise you!"

All I could say was, "It's beautiful!" 

I surveyed the pristine felt and rolled the cue ball against the rail
and saw it spring back with the bounce I would need for those three-rail
bank shots. 

I had a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye. There was a reason for
the old, ratty pool-table to take a header off the end of that old Ford
truck. 

I got to do my Jackie Gleason imitation after all. Except it wasn't
Minnesota Fats, it was Ralph Kramdon:

"Baby ... you're the greatest!"

Author bio:
John Fern  lives in Minnesota with his wife, Peggy. He's written articles for Grapevine and Aalst magazines and a feature column for the Sun-Post newspaper.

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