Steiner and the Hypnotic Cue

Chapter 3 Dazed and Confused

What was going on?

I was really annoyed. As the old saying says:

“If you make people think they’re thinking,

they’ll love you;

But if you really make them think,

they’ll hate you.”

I was making myself really think and hating it. In fact, I hated that saying, and hated it when our RMPE teacher made us copy it.  He was always trying to get us to think. Why couldn’t he be just like everyone else?

But I had an answer for the RMPE teacher. I had heard this:

“To avoid thinking for yourself, 

get someone else to think for you.”

I decided I would talk to my staff. They could sort it all out. But at the last minute, sense kicked in. Magic, Spells, Vanishing Books, Bits of Chalk who in their right mind talks about these? Exactly—I would have been straight back to the hospital for some padded-cell therapy. If I was lucky, I might have gotten off light with some sessions with the school’s psychologist, but I couldn’t count on it.

I wasn’t finished yet, as I had also been told:

“To be free from the burden of thought,

consult an expert.”

Who was a better expert on magic than the village witch? But another hitch. How many of us can just approach a stranger and casually chat away about magic and snooker cues? Talk about awkward.  Likely as not, the school staff, who were keeping a close eye on me at the moment, would have invented a reason to come with me. It would end it tears—my tears in a padded cell.

Another dead end.

But I had a more pressing problem; one which was ‘growing arms and legs’ to quote the very popular cliché. Word travels fast and the chattering classes were beginning to chatter about my little stay in the hospital. 

People love nothing more than a good scandal. I was fast becoming this month’s hot gossip.

How could I stop them? Well, I couldn’t.

But then I had a flash of genius!

I would organise a competition. It was brilliant; absolutely brilliant, I decided.

I couldn’t stop them talking, but I could change it—get them to praise me for my  cleverness.  The RMPE teacher told us his old friend Andy Kovacs lived by this motto:

Razzle dazzle ‘em And they;ll never catch wise!

Look the part; smile; show an interest; say what they want to hear; put on a show; pretend you like them—they’ll forgive your faults a thousand times and trip over themselves to please you, Andy supposedly said. 

This would also keep me so busy and focused I wouldn’t have time to think. After all, staff and teachers kept telling me:

“I’m far too busy to think about that just now, son.”

If it worked for them, then it would work for me. A pool competition was just the ticket.  

Soon, it was done. We would play at 5:45pm on Wednesday the 13th of June in the School Games Room.

The early games in the competition played out pretty much as always.   The bragging, boasting  and gloating  was just as expected. The usual suspects won and lost.

Then it was my turn.

I took the cue out of its case where it had lain silently for since that fateful night, and screwed it together.

All eyes looked my way. Why were they staring at me? Had the gossip become so bad?

My fears eased somewhat as I traced their line of sight. It wasn’t fixed on me at all. They were all staring at my cue. Then the unease returned—did they know what I had done? I waited for the sniggers and cheap comments. They never came. They all seemed hushed, as in a bit of a daze and just looked.

I was pitched against  the best boy in the school. I expected to get thrashed, as I had many times before.

One day, I would tell myself, one day.

As it turned out, that day would be today. He messed up shot after shot, He just could not concentrate on his game, but kept looking at my cue. “Here take it if you want!” I almost said to him, almost, but I was too busy potting balls, before sending the black into the bottom right corner pocket.

I should have played one more game,  but the phones started ringing. Excuses were made, and a number of the assembled group headed home. (This always happened.) 

By default, then,  I found myself in the final against a member of staff.

Now I don’t like to name names; nor to gossip (well not when it’s about me, other people are Ok), but this member of staff is, how shall I put it, a tad competitive. At table tennis, he’s got to win; at golf, when he loses he sulks for a week; on any computer game we play, he will practice and practice until he beats us. No one at school has ever beaten him at pool, and it was over two years before he lost his last game of snooker at his local club in Kirkcaldy. And  that’s just for starters!

We squared up to the table and he gave a little chuckle as he pulled out his phone and casually said to his wife, “Get my supper ready! I will be leaving school in about three minutes.”

He won the toss and got ready to break. I took my cue in hand where it had lain against the wall since my victory.

“Break!” I was told as he moved back from the table with his eyes on the cue.

It was a bit unusual to not take the break, having lost the toss; I was obliged to break; so, I did.

Then the miracle happened.

Not only did I break; I potted all the balls in just under two minutes.

The room fell silent, but none were more quiet than my opponent. I unscrewed the cue, and placed it back in its case.

“Rematch!” he ordered. The blank stare transforming into a  look of horror.

“Don’t you need to be home?” one of the many also-rans chipped in—a gentleman just as competitive, not quite as talented, but oh-so-very happy to witness his downfall.

“Rematch!” he repeated.

“No,” replied almost the whole assembled crowd in unison.

Then, for the first time in my life I was genuinely applauded and cheered.

Normally, I end up handing over the kitty money, but tonight it was all mine. I was handed my first ever winnings: £15.