Welcome to the inaugural edition of Truman Talks. Let’s start by establishing some parameters. The concept is simple: You suggest a topic, and I’ll talk about it, with a twist … or not.
Full disclosure: I am an absolute freak for the game of pool. I love it, mostly because it is the perfect accompaniment to a night of drinking. No, I tell a lie. I love it because I’m really good at it. Always have been. Both codes appeal. American pool has a bigger table, heavier balls, a bigger cue stick and tip, and wider pockets – the jokes write themselves here. English pool is suitably dainty and genteel by comparison. In fact, they’re a lot like the opposing stereotypes of the English and American male.
American pool is a guy named Boomer, nothing other. Not Chet or Chad, Dwayne or Donny; most definitely not Gary or Greg. He’s an uncomplicated sort to look at and listen to, at first sight and sound. Boomer by name and nature, as though his parents, Patty and Bud, had foreknowledge of their progeny’s personality. He is a big, brash, bold, heavy, and loud kinda guy. He wants might because it is right.