The History of Pool & Billiards

The 5% Difference: What I Learned Watching the Gods of Pool in My Backyard

Everyone always imagines that Bali is the place you come to unwind or is that place to abandon the troubles of the real world. But for one week this year, it was charged with something else: the electric tension of a World 8-Ball Championship. For fifteen years, this island has been my home. For one week, it was the centre of the professional pool universe, and I had a ringside seat. Off I toddled, eager to witness the spectacle. Pool is my first love. I was a champion in my hometown of London at the tender age of 16, a cue seemingly a permanent extension of my arm. But life has a way of calling its own shots. I put down the cue for a different stage, heading off to acting school and eventually a new life in Los Angeles. The game faded into the background, a treasured memory of a past life. Years later, at 49, the game found me again. A persistent back injury meant my golf swing, once a source of pride, was now a source of frustration. My golf coach, Darren, perhaps sensing my need for a new competitive outlet, challenged me to a match on the felt. The moment I held the cue, the familiar weight in my hand, the satisfying thud of a solid pot, it all came rushing back. I was in love all over again. This journey back to the baize has been one of rediscovery, culminating in the creation of Bali Pool Coach. So, when the world’s best descended upon my island home, it felt like a pilgrimage coming to my doorstep. I have my favourites, titans of the game whose matches I’ve streamed for years. Players like the German prodigy Joshua Filler, the American machine Shane Van Boening (SVB), and the ever-entertaining Alex “The Lion” Pagulayan. But one player had recently captivated my attention: Alex Kazakis of Greece. His performance this year in a nail-biting shootout against SVB, where they traded an unbelievable 12 consecutive pots each without a miss, was a masterclass in grace under pressure. Kazakis eventually won that exchange, only to fall just short in the final. I felt he had a score to settle. I missed the first day, a casualty of poor communication that left many of us locals unsure if the event was open to the public. Thankfully, it was free to enter, and visitors were more than welcome. The week had already started on a high note for me personally. I’d had the surreal opportunity to play SVB in an exhibition match at Super Power Arena here in Denpasar. To my absolute delight, I even managed to win a frame against the great man. Happy days, indeed. Stepping into the tournament hall for the first time, however, was, to be perfectly honest, a little underwhelming. Stripped of the dramatic lighting and tight camera angles of television, it was essentially a large room full of men in polo shirts, quietly knocking balls around tables. The pace was deliberate, with players studying and often overstudying each shot. It lacked the immediate drama I had anticipated. But that initial impression was superficial. The closer you get, the more you watch, the deeper your understanding becomes. You begin to see the invisible battle being waged. In terms of pure technical skill the ability to pot a ball, apply spin, or play a safe there probably wasn’t a 5% difference between the best player in the room and the one who would finish last. They are all masters of the craft. You have to be exceptional just to qualify for a tournament of this calibre. The real differentiator, the arena where these matches were truly won and lost, was the six inches between their ears. Composure under immense pressure. The ability to visualize not just the next shot, but the entire sequence three or four shots ahead. Complex strategical decision making, calculated in seconds, that would determine the entire outcome of a frame. This mental fortitude was the separating factor. Five long days of competition is a war of attrition. The tournament structure is a double edged sword. Lose in your initial group stages, and you get a second bite of the apple in the loser's qualification bracket. Through a series of computations that would challenge a mathematician, you could still claw your way into the final 32 knockout stage. It’s a lifeline, but it means more matches, more pressure, and more fatigue. My pre-tournament encounter with Shane Van Boening had shown him to be a genuinely nice guy. So, when he walked past me after one of his early matches, I offered a friendly "Hi." He breezed past with a curt nod, his eyes fixed on some distant point. It would have been easy to take it personally, but I understood. He was in UBER match mode. He was in the zone. This hall was his office, his place of work, and he was all business. It wasn't personal; it was professional. As the tournament ground on, giants began to fall. Joshua “The Killer” Filler, the explosive German talent known for his fearless style and rapid pace, was an early casualty. Then, in the last 16, SVB met his match. It turned out Shane had come down with that nasty virus that has been making the rounds in Bali. In this arena, being even 1 or 2% below your optimal physical and mental capabilities is a death sentence. Your focus wavers for a split second, you miscalculate a single angle, and your opponent will ruthlessly clear the table. True to his character, Shane was incredibly approachable in the hotel lobby afterward, chatting with fans. I, like everyone else, wish him a speedy recovery. Amidst the carnage, my sneaky underdog for the title, Alex Kazakis, just kept marching on. I was fascinated by his process. Before every single shot, he would stand upright, eyes tracing the path of the cue ball, seeing the shot in his mind's eye. His visualization process was so manifest, so outwardly projected, that I could literally see the shot he was going to play before he even bent down to address the ball. He was that clear, that committed in his intention, that we in the audience could see it too. But as the tournament progresses, so does the quality of the opposition. I made a point of watching Albania’s Eklent Kaçi, a formidable player with a beautifully smooth stroke. I’m glad I did. I picked up a fantastic tip for my jump shots just by observing his technique a subtle lifting of the back foot onto the tip-toe to get a better angle and pivot. I went straight to Next Shot Billiards the next day and immediately started jumping balls better than I have in years. Thank you, Eklent! The semi-finals delivered the drama we’d all been waiting for. Alex Kazakis found himself on the brink of elimination but clawed his way back from the jaws of defeat with a display of pure grit. Watching him, I was sure this was it. This was going to be his year. But Albin Ouschan of Austria had other ideas. Albin, a two-time World 9-Ball Champion, had been battling a dip in form over the past few months. You wouldn't have known it. In the final, he came out of the blocks like a freight train, racing to an astonishing 6-0 lead. At this level of play, that kind of deficit is a mountain too high to climb. Unless your name is Rocky Balboa and he’d never be able to hold a cue straight with those boxing gloves on, it’s an almost impossible task. Alex, to his credit, made a real fight of it. He dug in, won a few frames, and showed the heart of a champion. But the early damage was done. The lead was insurmountable. Albin Ouschan closed out the match, claiming the world title and leaving Alex as the runner-up once again, just as he had been a few weeks earlier at the World 10-Ball Championship. Despite the heartbreak for my chosen player, the week was profoundly inspiring. To see these athletes up close, to witness the fusion of physical skill and mental resilience, was a privilege. They were, to a man, approachable and gracious, happy to chat with fans and share their love for the game. You can see the countless hours of solitary practice etched into their every movement, the dedication that has polished their talent into world-class skill. Watching them reaffirmed what I teach every day: talent will only get you so far. The hard work is what gets you to the tournament. But it's the work you do between your ears that allows you to win it. If you can learn to love your practice, to embrace the grind, and dedicate yourself completely to the beautiful, maddening, and wonderful game of pool, then maybe one day, it could be you under those bright lights.

• Martin Bali Pool Coach