I have had an excruciatingly long carrom career. Around fifty times longer than it should have been. It should have been exactly one match long. After three or four turns the three other players should have all been glaring at me. Then one of them should have said-
"Man, my dog could play better than you!"
To which I would have replied-
"Dude you don't have to be so smug about your dog. If I had a dog, he could have played better than me too. So yeah, big deal!"
Then I would have walked out, stolen some money from dad's wallet and bought a carrom board. Then I would set it on fire and chant whatever mantra there is for freeing oneself of all earthly bindings to carrom.
Sadly, things never turn out the way we want them to. There were four of us. That made two teams. And we were all good friends. So they'd feel obliged to ask me to play, and I'd feel obliged to say yes, and then there'd be misery all around. No one wanted me on their team. I didn't want to be on anyone's team. I was bad at carrom, I wasn't Mogambo. I'd feel terrible for whoever was on my side. He'd turn in a heroic performance. I'd try not to get in the way much. Then we'd lose. You could say I acted as a handicap. I'd be paired with the strongest player as a feeble attempt to level the playing field. But when someone is as good at his job as me, levelling the playing field becomes akin to filing down the Himalayas to the ground level. With sand paper. If there was a Superman of the Carrom world, someone you just couldn't defeat unless you had kryptonite, I'd be the kryptonite.
So, how did I come to so master the art of sucking at carrom.
The uber secret Heisenberg technique.
Now, understand that not everyone will be able master this. This is not something that comes from practice (or lack thereof). You could say I was gifted. I was special. I would put the striker in position. Then I'd take my own sweet time (figure of speech; it wasn't actually sweet for anyone) during which, I'd stare at the carrom man (or coin or whatever those little round bastards are called) and make false promises in my head. Like for example "Oh, I'm gonna get you this time!" or "Oh, I'm so gonna go and steal money from dad and buy a carrom board and burn it and rid myself of all earthly bindings to it." Occasionally my friends would say a word or two to motivate me. Like "Oh come on! we're getting old here. Are you going to shoot today?" Then finally, taking in a long deep breath of air, I'd pause for effect, and shoot.
This is where Heisenberg's uncertainty principle came into play. No matter how much I stared, I never knew where the damn wooden coin actually was, and on the rare occasions my striker actually hit it, no one could really tell where it was going to end up. It was all rather uncertain. Sometime I'd manage to pocket one and it would somehow change colour inside the pocket and turn into the opposition's coin (or man or whatever). I was the master of uncertainty. I like to think of it that way. The other way being- I spent my childhood being regularly trolled by little inanimate wooden coins.
So, now you know. If superman challenges you to a carrom match, you say, "Sure but I pick my team mate and your's too." That guy's like Ned Stark with superpowers; he'll say yes. And then you get in touch with me, and together, we'll beat superman. Like batman once did, and will do again in Batman v. Superman. And all I want as payment is a carrom board, and some kerosine, and a pack of matches.
"Man, my dog could play better than you!"
To which I would have replied-
"Dude you don't have to be so smug about your dog. If I had a dog, he could have played better than me too. So yeah, big deal!"
Then I would have walked out, stolen some money from dad's wallet and bought a carrom board. Then I would set it on fire and chant whatever mantra there is for freeing oneself of all earthly bindings to carrom.
Sadly, things never turn out the way we want them to. There were four of us. That made two teams. And we were all good friends. So they'd feel obliged to ask me to play, and I'd feel obliged to say yes, and then there'd be misery all around. No one wanted me on their team. I didn't want to be on anyone's team. I was bad at carrom, I wasn't Mogambo. I'd feel terrible for whoever was on my side. He'd turn in a heroic performance. I'd try not to get in the way much. Then we'd lose. You could say I acted as a handicap. I'd be paired with the strongest player as a feeble attempt to level the playing field. But when someone is as good at his job as me, levelling the playing field becomes akin to filing down the Himalayas to the ground level. With sand paper. If there was a Superman of the Carrom world, someone you just couldn't defeat unless you had kryptonite, I'd be the kryptonite.
So, how did I come to so master the art of sucking at carrom.
The uber secret Heisenberg technique.
Now, understand that not everyone will be able master this. This is not something that comes from practice (or lack thereof). You could say I was gifted. I was special. I would put the striker in position. Then I'd take my own sweet time (figure of speech; it wasn't actually sweet for anyone) during which, I'd stare at the carrom man (or coin or whatever those little round bastards are called) and make false promises in my head. Like for example "Oh, I'm gonna get you this time!" or "Oh, I'm so gonna go and steal money from dad and buy a carrom board and burn it and rid myself of all earthly bindings to it." Occasionally my friends would say a word or two to motivate me. Like "Oh come on! we're getting old here. Are you going to shoot today?" Then finally, taking in a long deep breath of air, I'd pause for effect, and shoot.
This is where Heisenberg's uncertainty principle came into play. No matter how much I stared, I never knew where the damn wooden coin actually was, and on the rare occasions my striker actually hit it, no one could really tell where it was going to end up. It was all rather uncertain. Sometime I'd manage to pocket one and it would somehow change colour inside the pocket and turn into the opposition's coin (or man or whatever). I was the master of uncertainty. I like to think of it that way. The other way being- I spent my childhood being regularly trolled by little inanimate wooden coins.
So, now you know. If superman challenges you to a carrom match, you say, "Sure but I pick my team mate and your's too." That guy's like Ned Stark with superpowers; he'll say yes. And then you get in touch with me, and together, we'll beat superman. Like batman once did, and will do again in Batman v. Superman. And all I want as payment is a carrom board, and some kerosine, and a pack of matches.
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