I’m at the Hideout bar at a Studs Terkel event last week. A young bartender hands me my Wooden Leg.
“Are you a pool player?” he asks me.
“You kicked me and my friend’s ass at the J&M Tavern a couple Sundays ago, about a dozen games in a row.”
That had been a long afternoon, at the end of a long birthday weekend with my old college roommate. But yes, now I did remember. The boy was from Mississippi, right? He'd actually said he was bartending at the Hideout.
“Well, son, I was going well that afternoon.”
“Some Sunday I’d like to take you on again at the J&M."
I smiled at him like Jackie Gleason.
“Yeah, sure, kid. Sure."