麻豆传媒AV

In the opening of the musical The Music Man, huckster and con man 鈥淧rofessor鈥� Harold Hill convinces the town鈥檚 people of River City that the vice of a newly-arrived billiard table in their community meant trouble. (If you haven鈥檛 seen The Music Man, The Simpsons鈥� Marge vs. the Monorail episode was based on it.) 听

Harold Hill, the Music Man, sang,
鈥淥h, ya got lots and lots o鈥� trouble
鈥淚鈥檓 thinkin鈥� of the kids in the knickerbockers shirttails,
鈥淵oung ones peekin鈥� in the pool hall window after school
鈥淵a got trouble, folks, right here in River City
鈥淲ith a capital 鈥楾鈥� and that rhymes with 鈥楶鈥� and that
鈥淪tands for 鈥榩ool鈥欌��
My, have things changed.

I was in Saskatoon recently, and having a free evening to spare, I went and shot some pool at my favourite billiard hall from my university days, 20 years ago. Precious little had changed. They even had an old CRT style TV in one corner. There, I and my opposition, with our fat waists and double chins, looked like escapees from the old folks鈥� home, compared to the 16-to-22 year-olds that populated much of the premises. That didn鈥檛 bother us too much as we racked the balls and then proved we鈥檙e both really out of practice.

About two games in I looked up and glanced around. I realized that, unlike in 1995, I could see across the room, since no one smokes in pool halls anymore. I could breathe clearly, which was a nice change. I didn鈥檛 have to throw my clothes immediately in the wash upon getting home. But then I noticed something that took my breath away in another manner.

Of the 40-odd young people I saw in my line of sight, only one at any given time was hunched over, looking at his smartphone, presumably communicating with someone not present. Everywhere else this odd thing occurred 鈥� people talked to each other, spoke eye-to-eye; smiled even. The girls were flirting with the boys. The boys were strutting their stuff, trying to impress those same girls. They were living in the moment, in the present, with the people around them.

That almost never, ever happens any more.

This was something that used to really bug my sister Melanie. She would say that no one talks anymore. They鈥檇 rather play on their phones or text other people not there than interact with those around them. It really upset her, be-cause she was not like that. She had missed the social media boat and preferred to be personable.

My grandfather at one point ran a pool hall, or so I am told. Once, while visiting me in Saskatoon, I challenged him to a game. He wiped the floor with me. I had never been so whipped in a game so quickly in my life. It was one of my favourite memories of him, because we were doing some-thing together.

I don鈥檛 know if pool halls these days are considered dens if inequity. They鈥檙e not as common anymore. Other than a small handful in a few of the bars in Estevan, there is no pool hall that I鈥檝e found.

Harold Hill sang,
鈥淥h, think, my friends, how can any pool table
鈥淓ver hope to compete with a gold trombone?鈥�

Well, I don鈥檛 know how many people carry gold trombones in their pockets, but it seems a pool table can stand up to texting, WhatsApp, Instagram, Twitter and Facebook quite nicely.
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