A Billiard Game with a Pro at The Majestic Hotel KL

A Billiard Game with a Pro at The Smoke House

Have you ever played a billiard game with a pro? I have, and I still remember it very clearly. We were staying at The Majestic Hotel Kuala Lumpur, where an evening at The Smoke House bar was considerably more interesting than watching TV in our room. Its vintage pool table was difficult to ignore. As for my own ability, I had played enough pool during my bar-hopping days to consider myself reasonably decent. That assessment was about to receive some professional attention.

Another player was working his way around the table, clearing balls with the efficiency of a contestant at Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest. Watching him was impressive enough that I asked him for a game. Making it a fair contest was another matter. He looked capable of clearing the table before I had much chance to contribute, so he suggested playing with one hand. I would keep the use of both of mine.

---

Could He Really Beat Me with One Hand?

The arrangement sounded generous. Playing pool with one hand looked difficult enough, and I was happy to accept the advantage. Our first game even gave me some encouragement: I had only two or three balls left when he sank the black eight. Losing by that margin seemed respectable, provided I ignored the fairly important detail that he was using half as many hands. His shots were controlled, mistakes were rare, and the restriction hardly seemed to bother him.

In the second game, a few of my more ambitious shots went in, and somehow I managed to win. By then, other guests in the bar were following our game, and Vivi was cheering me on with a cocktail in her hand. Whether her support, the drinks, or plain luck deserved the credit, I cannot say. The score was level, and I was beginning to take my own performance a little too seriously. Naturally, we needed a deciding game.

---

The Deciding Game

He started the final game and cleared almost all his balls before I had much to do. Everyone seemed to enjoy the show, and I had an excellent view of my chances disappearing into the pockets. “Can I bring you a drink?” was about the most useful contribution I could think of. Watching him work his way around the table had got into my head. When my turn finally came, I did very little to trouble him.

A few shots later, he finished the job. The final score was 2–1 to him, and we shook hands after three games I have never forgotten. I had managed one win against a professional, which was a perfectly respectable story as long as nobody asked too many questions about his one-handed technique. It became one of my favorite memories of our stay, thanks to the company and a game I had started with far too much confidence. There was also one small detail I may have neglected to mention: he was a little tipsy, too.