Triple 20

Over the past few weeks, a few of the guys from work have ventured out on a Friday evening for some golf, pool, and darts. The excursions have been a lot of fun. This past Friday was no exception.

Marbert, Mark, and myself started off at the driving range. Due to extreme heat, we only hit one Pro size bucket of balls (around 50 each).

Marbert had his 'bat club' with him and he did pretty good (especially, near the end of his ball supply).

Mark, on the other hand struggled. He blamed it on his recent cruise where he was not able to find time to practice his swing. He got so desparate that he made a point of saying that he would call my ex-golf-coach, Javier, to make an appointment. I will write a future blog about Javier, but to give you an idea on how bad he is. If Tiger Woods took lessons from him, he would have to give up golf and get a job at Busch Gardens, working with real tigers.

After golf, we went to Peabody's where they have pool tables and dart boards.

Mark and I arrived and had time to play a game while we waited for Marbert. We thought maybe he was intimitated since I had beaten him the last time we played. But, he eventually showed up.

We played some games and I admit Marbert did pretty good. He did lose to Mark during one exciting game. Mark's strategy was to let Marbert make every ball and then scratch on the 8-ball.

After pool (and some wings and fries), we decided to finish the evening with a game of darts.

Due to a mixup with the game instructions, only two players could play (Mark sat out). He may have been trying to call Javier (I'm not sure).

Anyway, Marbert and his 'pitching-arm' dart throw jumped out to a huge lead. He was bragging pretty good. I cut into the lead and was down by 80 when I stepped up to throw my last 3 darts. After the first dart, I was down by 61 and know that I needed the hardest score to get (a TRIPLE-TWENTY). I aimed and somehow scored 60 points. For my last dart, I closed my eyes and let it fly (knowing that only a score of 1 would prevent me from winning).

After the winning toss, I turned around to see Marbert's expression. He was gone. I asked Mark where he went. He said, he ran out just as I was starting my turn. It turns out, he had to make an emergency trip to the bathroom. Something, about a bad omelet he had across the street that morning.

Mark and I waited about 10 minutes before Marbert emerged. It took some convincing from Mark, but Marbert finally accepted his defeat.

I still think he knew he would lose and was in hiding.