Michael Peppard '98 | May 20, 2015
It’s after midnight, which means it’s my birthday. But the only sign of revelry here is that I drank all the available Guinness in my parents’ basement. I didn’t plan it that way. It’s just what happened while I was demonstrating — to no one in particular (actually to no one at all) — that I am the greatest billiard player in my family. Or, at least, the greatest billiard player who doesn’t have a brain tumor.
My dad was a bona fide pool shark. In the late 1960s, after he was “asked to leave” college, he was the best straight pool player in Joliet, Illinois. One time at the Chalk ’N Cue Billiard Parlor, he and his partner, Fast Eddie, were going to be the first victims of a slick duo from Chicago, who planned to hustle their way across all of Route 66. They didn’t get past their first stop. But when those city boys lost even their pool cues in the final game, my dad let ’em keep them because, “We couldn’t take their livelihood.” A small, traveling mercy from a man who loves rules.
Read more at Notre Dame Magazine.