The Early Years—Part 10

In the last "early years" series, I wrote about the only time we dressed up for Halloween—1987. I need to go back in time a little over a year earlier—August 1986. It's my story of competing in Gay Games II, playing both eight and nine-ball.

Back in 1982, Dr. Tom Waddell formed what was originally called the Gay Olympics. That is until the United States Olympic Committee heard about it. They sued the founders of the Gay Olympics to stop them from using the word "Olympics"—as if it were their word and only their word. Of course, the U.S. Courts agreed and upheld the lawsuit. Just days before the event was to open, the sports gathering was renamed The Gay Games. Dr. Waddell had been a member of the U.S. Olympic team in 1968 that went to Mexico City; he was a decathlete and he wanted to show the world that gay people can excel at sports, too.

It was a very exciting time to be living in San Francisco because I had missed the first Gay Games. Living here made it so easy to enter; you didn't have to worry about accommodations. Dennis and I even took in an athlete to stay with us. Naturally, it turned into a "small world" story, as our "boarder" was someone I had met in Chicago during one of the gay volleyball tournaments that were always held Memorial Day Weekends back in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Chico Johnson was from Indianapolis and was a great volleyball player—she could spike with the best of them, and I don't mean spike heels! When I registered, I entered the individual 8-ball and 9-ball competition. Because of the large number of entrants from San Francisco, you weren't going to be guaranteed that you could represent San Francisco, so I chose to represent my old hometown of Traverse City. During the Opening Ceremonies (when I was sick as a dog with the flu and a summer cold), I bundled myself up and went anyhow. I found the Michigan contingent of people, and asked them if I could carry the Traverse City placard, as I was representing "good old TC." Of course, they agreed. It was a wonderful feeling marching into Kezar Stadium, with approximately 10,000 people cheering us on. I still get goose bumps remembering it. There were about 3,500 athletes entered into The Games. Gay Games III was held in Vancouver, British Columbia; there were over 7,500 athletes, yet the straight press totally ignored this fact—it was the largest gathering of athletes in the entire world in 1990, but it was never mentioned in the straight press. They are expecting even larger crowds next year.

The pool competition wasn't going to start until Wednesday, August 13, 1986, so I had a few days to continue practicing. My hopes for a medal were as high as any entrant. I felt I had a slight advantage, as the event was being held at Park Bowl—a bowling alley that also had a room for pool and sponsored pool teams in the SFPA. My team played out of Park Bowl that season, so I was familiar with the regulation 9-foot tables. Our then current league President, Tim Chitwood, was the Tournament Director. I lucked out during the draw, as my first round opponent was also a tennis player, and had to play tennis that morning, so he was a 'no show.' I received a first round bye. My second round opponent turned out to be Tim; we battled back and forth in the race to four format. Tied at 2-2, I finished off game 5 to take a 3-2 lead, then played a great game to capture the match 4-2. My next round opponent was Dee Washburn from Redwood City. He used a couple lucky 9-ball combinations to push me to the loser's bracket by a 4-1 score. Once on the loser's side, I caught fire. Dennis left work early to come and join me and provide moral support. I had to play Bart Rosenberg from New York City in my first match on the loser's side. We had practiced together earlier in the day, and I knew he was a very capable player. He jumped out to a quick 2-0 lead, before I made a comeback to tie the match. Bart then grabbed another game to lead 3-2; I managed to come back again to knot the match at 3-3. The last nail-biting game went my way, as I prevailed 4-3. I then "found the zone" and marched through my next match against Ike Keeler of Sacramento by a 4-0 whitewashing. Steve Murrell of Springfield, Illinois was my next victim, dispatched by a 4-1 score. That left Steve in 3rd Place, good for the Bronze Medal. As I crossed back over, there was Dee Washburn again. I was itching for a rematch and I was overjoyed with the fact that I was going to get a medal, no matter what happened next. Because I was coming from the loser's side, I had to beat Dee twice in order to prevail for the Gold Medal. Dee hardly had a chance to shoot in the first match, as I steamrolled 4-1, setting up the final match of the day. We had all been on our feet for over eight hours by that time, but on we went. Dee jumped out to a quick 2-0 lead, and it was looking bleak. I hung in there and knotted the match 2-2, but Dee jumped right back for a 3-2 lead. Not to be denied, I caught him again at 3-3—one more game for the Gold Medal. I had been using defensive strategy all day, something the other shooters didn't seem to appreciate. Some of them had chided me and called it "chicken-shit" pool. I tried to tell them that there's an offensive and defensive side to all games—maybe they should try it. I played a great safety, and in attempting to get a good hit, Dee fouled. This gave me ball in hand with only four balls remaining on the table. The referee wanted to spot a ball, but I told him to hold off a minute while I assessed the situation. I planned the four-ball run-out carefully, executed it to perfection and easily pocketed the 9-ball for the win. By this time, quite a crowd had gathered and the cheers went up as I completed my run-out. As I pocketed the last ball to win the Gold Medal, I could probably have won the high jump competition, because I leapt so high into the air, coming down into the arms of friends and supporters. It remains one of the highlights of my pool-playing life. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face for a week.

Friday, August 15th—it all started up again, as the 8-ball competition started. There was a larger field than for the 9-ball tournament¾a field of 32 players. I was still glowing from Wednesday's Gold Medal win, and as I started the day, my mind set was to just take whatever came my way, it didn't matter. That mind set didn't last very long. The day's format was a race to two, double elimination. I won my first game of the day against a man from Hawaii, but he then tied the match at 1-1 and went on to defeat me, 2-1. On the loser's side, I was playing a man from Houston. He won the first game, and was leading in the second game, having pocketed all his balls except the 8-ball. He had hooked himself, and fouled. Starting with ball in hand, I played my usual style of make a ball, assess the situation, then try either a good offensive shot, or play defense. I managed to tie the match at 1-1; I then beat him 2-1 in the match. My day went like this throughout the rest of the tournament, until towards the end of the day, when I was in a position to win another medal. Tim Chitwood and I would be playing¾the loser going home with nothing, the winner moving ahead with no worse than a Bronze Medal. Both Tim and I had been playing great all day, but I had made the decision that no matter how the match went, I wanted to make sure Tim won his medal. Tim "won" the match by a 3-0 score (they had changed the format for the medal rounds), and went on to lose his next match, still claiming the Bronze. I will always remember how happy Tim was in winning his medal, and I will never regret what I did. The only question that will never be answered is: would I have gone on to win another Gold Medal? We'll never know...and I certainly don't dwell on the outcome. I made the right choice.