There was a period of my life between 1977 and 1989 that I played a lot of Foos-Ball. A LOT! I was never great but I played doubles (always front man) and my usual partners, Lyle or Henry, could more than hold their own. In fact, Lyle had one of the fastest and best shots from the forwards (the two men) around. Henry was pretty fast, but also a tricky bastard! Friday and Saturday nights were all about putting down a couple quarters and holding the table as long as we could at Tuxedo Junction or Pirate’s Cove in Appleton (or, ever earlier than that at Mr. Robert’s or the Nighthawk). I would find myself frequently going home at bar time, going to sleep and I would be taking shots in my dreams.
As time passed, it became a little harder to find tables in bars as the games popularity began to wane. Even worse, I developed a ganglion cyst on my left wrist almost the size of a marble shooter. An older nurse noticed mine one day and told me that they used to call ganglion cysts “Bible whackers” because they would treat them by making you hold your wrist out and look away while they hit the cyst with a large, heavy book like a Bible. Apparently, the force of heavy book on the cyst could cause the fluid inside, that I called Foos-Juice, to dissipate. Being the pussy I am, I chose to go the route of quitting the game and hoping it went away on it own, which it did in about six months.
I bring this up not just because Foos-Ball is making a big come-back (which it is) but because there is a new documentary called Foosballers and you can buy or rent on iTunes or Vimeo. Len and I will chat with the writer, director, producer Joe Heslinga Wednesday morning at 9.
