POP!  The patrons of Dillon’s Pool Hall had just witnessed a pool shoot-out won by the now legendary Skinny Post. The bar erupted with a spontaneous gasp and then everyone started clapping.

           “He did it!” One man yelled out as the din of excitement rose to a clamor.

           Skinny wasn’t known for his billiard expertise but for his thin frame which stood out even more because of the way he dressed.  Skinny liked to say that he was an “eclectic dresser,” which really meant, he slapped on that rail-thin body anything that happened to be clean and nearby.  Well, it really didn’t have to be clean, it just had to be nearby. The other notable feature of Skinny’s appearance was a black cowboy hat, tilted back slightly so the brim wouldn’t obstruct his view of the pool table.

           Skinny had made it to the finals of the Sunday pool tournament and faced Buddy Barbarossa, one of the top players in the tournament, for the championship trophy. Buddy was as fat as Skinny was slim and one could tell there were very few foods that Buddy didn’t like. He had so much fat there were two stories to his stomach, one above the belt and another abundant bulge below it.  The two protrusions jiggled in unison when he made shots.  Newcomers were instructed not to stare too long at Buddy’s stomach because he was a little sensitive about it. Rumor had it that Buddy had even put some hurt on someone who was a little too fascinated with his physical profile. The experienced “Buddy watchers” would always sneak a good look at his abdomen when Buddy was bending over the pool table aiming his next shot. If you were lucky enough to be seated behind him, you also got a panoramic view of Buddy’s big butt which could have had its own zip code. His butt-crack, always showing, looked like the southern rim of the Grand Canyon.

           Buddy had a ring in one ear and the tattoo of a dragon on his left forearm. His long black hair was cut into a mullet which arched over his back. He had a mustache and goatee which were so sparse they almost didn’t qualify as facial hair. Yet he never seemed to have a clean shave. Buddy always smelled like onions. Some guys assumed that he usually ate a big sandwich prior to making his entrance to Dillon’s, because he never ate while playing pool.

           Buddy was an excellent pool player and could make most shots with the best of them. He usually played in the finals of the tournaments and drank beer throughout. His fans said that Buddy seemed to get better with each beer he downed.

           As the referee racked the balls for the championship game, Buddy eyed Skinny the way an eagle might look at a rabbit as his next prey in the open field. That look in his eye told the bystanders that Buddy didn’t just want to win; he wanted to crush the little twerp.

           Skinny tried not to look directly at Buddy or the crowd which was settling in around their tables, ordering another round so they wouldn’t miss any action. Skinny started scraping his blue block of chalk over the tip of his cue in short, rapid movements. He would need to have the game of his life because Buddy had been unstoppable all day.

           Buddy broke the colorful triangle of balls with a crashing sound and they exploded in all directions. THUNK!  The four-ball disappeared in the side pocket. Buddy then sank the two, five and six before finally missing the three.

           “Okay, Skinny, you’ve got stripes little man!” Buddy’s tone betrayed his intense emotion.

           Skinny proceeded to run the table, sinking every striped ball except the 15, which he nearly made as well.

 Everyone groaned because Buddy was known as a finisher, and if you didn’t take advantage of an early lead, Buddy would make you pay. Buddy proceeded to sink the three and seven leaving him only the one ball. There was a lot of green but he had a clear shot at the one ball in the far corner. It wobbled indecisively before hanging on the edge of the pocket. Buddy had missed! Skinny would get one more chance.

           Skinny called a double bank in the corner pocket and the 15 ball did exactly what Skinny said it would do. He made the shot look so easy in fact, that everyone exhaled at the same time. Then all went silent. You could have heard a napkin hit the floor. All that was left now was to sink the eight-ball. Skinny grabbed the chalk and stroked the tip. He might never get another chance to beat Buddy Barbarossa, so he had to make this shot count. What would make this shot so difficult was how easy it was. Pool players know that the easy shots are the hardest. He had to block everything out, including the sight of Buddy who had moved to his right side as if to put a hex on Skinny’s winning shot.

           Skinny took a deep breath then bent over the table. Pulling back the cue he gave the white ball a gentle tap. It rolled toward the eight-ball and hit it, sending the black ball slowly toward the pocket. As the eight ball neared the pocket it began to slow down and appeared to teeter on the edge, reluctant to go in.

           At that precise moment, Buddy Barbarossa farted. Everyone burst out laughing.

           It wasn’t your run-of-the-mill fart either. This was a fart that had repercussions! Buddy never did anything half-assed. The window shades behind Buddy began fluttering as the sudden gust of wind woke them from their slumber. The lights seemed to flicker on and off. An odor began to permeate the bar, blocking out the smell of beer, replacing it with the smell of onions.

           Probably because of Newton’s Third Law of Motion—there had to be an equal and opposite reaction – the eight ball dropped into the pocket. Skinny Post was declared the winner. Buddy shook his head in disgust and all the patrons grabbed their beer-filled mugs and headed outside for a much needed breath of fresh air.

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