I need the eggs

It's the "morning after"
and I feel used, and abused,
and have lost my self respect.

I'll get over it, I guess.
Life goes on.
(what little there is left of it)

But seriously,
what sort of life is it
to go around poking a ball with a stick?

Is this what a grown man should be doing?
Is this a suitable raison d'etre?

Moments of doubt like this
are part of the human experience, right?
Even Mother Teresa had her crises of faith
so an average geezer like me is entitled, right?

And, speaking of geezers,
maybe I should just admit it,
once and for all,
let it all hang out:
I have realized lately
that I am almost always the oldest person
in the tournament (any tournament).

What does that tell me?
Am I (choke) too old?
Who am I trying to kid?
Am I, like Don Quixote, tilting at windmills?

Even Mosconi, the Great One,
had no particular love for the game
and only did it for the money.
So, if I don't need the money,
(good thing, 'cuz I ain't making any!)
why do I test myself at this?

I hate to lose.
So why put myself in tournaments
where losing is mandatory for all but one?
Who am I to think I can win
against all odds?
Why do I do this?

The only answer I can come up with is because
"I need the eggs" *

---

*That's a line from the Woody Allen movie Annie Hall
in which he tells the story:

I thought of that old joke, ... this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy; he thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" The guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much now how I feel about relationships; y'know, they're totally irrational, and crazy, and absurd, and... but, uh, I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us... need the eggs.

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