Requiem to a Champion

After visiting my dying pal yesterday, Bank pool and One pocket champion, the once mighty, Leonard "Bugs" Rucker, and seeing him in such a fragile emaciated state, I couldn’t help but think back to more glorious times for the man. Times when he would sweep into a poolroom with an entourage rivaling Muhammed Ali, confidently looking for the big-time action. Back then, Bugs was tall, broad-shouldered, powerfully built and nattily attired. No relation whatsoever to the skinny pile of bones deteriorating in that hospital bed. I guess it’s true, life can sometimes be all too cruel.But overall his life was a glorious one. He was afforded legendary status, feared and respected by his pool peers.

We had always been friends, but we were also bitter adversaries. We played each other on sight. Because he was so great, I wanted badly to beat him. He was the supreme target and goal, and I would do anything in my power to win over him, and that shamelessly included everything in my hustler’s bag of tricks. If I could, I would cheat, shark, and steal balls. For me to invent personal justification for such larcenous chicanery is testimony to the level of competition I thought I would need to summon in order to beat him. Sharking was a waste of time, however. He was totally unflappable, and was oblivious to even the great sharkers like Ronnie Allen, Alphonse Daniels, and Preacher Red Jones. While I would commit almost any crime to win, Bugs played on the up and up. In a contradiction of terms, Bugs was a totally honest pool hustler. He never cheated, took any cheap shots or put in any false claims. I guess he didn’t need to do any of that stuff, because on the table and in the game, he was a deadly killer. If you were dumb enough to give him an honest gamble he would bury you. He doesn’t have much time left, but I just can’t bring myself to go back to the hospital anymore. Age and disease can make cowards of us all