What do you get when you combine 8-ball with a blue collar bar full of inebriated construction workers, sexy mini-skirted bartenders, some Johnny Cash blaring from the jukebox, and a girlfriend who possesses a competitive streak that makes Lance Armstrong look like your average couch-potato?

Very often you end up with a reason for not having ventured out in the first place, leaving the pool table to those big-boned, beer gutted musclemen who prefer to pocket-slam each and every shot in order to further prove their virility. Listen dear reader, maintaining a rail-smooth relationship with any woman minus the sharp banks can be difficult enough without having to add bar pool to the already bumpy love equation.

There’s dangerous….and then there’s bar pool. But then there’s challenging your girlfriend to a game of bar pool and you increase the level of danger to something resembling DefCon 4.

Truth is, while I’m definitely a fool for love, I was never much of a pool player. As often as I frequent the local bars and gin mills in my New York hometown, I’ve relegated the pool table to something only those with skills attempt. By skills, I mean those men and women who grew up with a pool table in their basement or in their recreation room and who therefore know what their doing.

The statements, views and opinions expressed in this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of RT.