Snookers to Oz

Mother, October 19, 1972

Once upon a September there were four little snookers from the vast kingdom of Bostonarea, who traveled from their respective provinces to Oz (which is now listed in the GUIDEBOOK TO FAIRYLANDS as Cape Cod Community College).

The first snooker was tall and thin as a reefer like most snookers from Longhair Province. This fair Longhair snooker proudly bore the characteristics indigineous to his people. He had eyes like marines dipped in oil and he held them in place with thick lids fluttering at half-mast. Of his facial features little could be said, for like all the males of his region he had been mustachioed and bearded from the age of puberty. We shall leave our first snooker in an unassuming stance of nonchalance on the road side to Oz, dressed in his native ensemble of timeworn jeans, colored T-shirt, work shirt and denim jacket. It would be of interest to note that of a stoic nature, this little snooker did not move a muscle in his slumped position and as the cars whizzed by not even his projected thumb swayed, for like the whole it was too tightly jointed.

Our second little snooker was from the pretty province of Prepy. Unlike our first snooker he did not leave home on foot but made his way to Oz in the crowded backseat of Daddy snooker’s Mercedes. He was as pretty and perfect as his province with eyes as blue as the sky but unfortunately reflecting that same nothingness. The Prepy snooker had nice yellow hair worn in the fashion of his fellow snookers — perfect. Mommy snooker had dutifully packed his hot comb and a complied list of stylists in Oz, who would do justice to this wonderful representative of Prepy.

For now let us leave our second snooker pushing up the sleeves of his lovely heather cable-knit sweater, smoothing the nap of his wonderful wide-wales while practicing his grip on the tennis racket, which Mommy snooker holds lovingly in her lap. Let us also hope that our Prepy snooker makes it to Oz safely because Daddy snooker is having a hard time with the rear view mirror-it seems our Prepy snooker is all that It reflects.

We’ll find that our third little snooker was setting off from the province of Pseudo – Intelligencia. He sat behind the wheel of a carelessly packed bomb, which clunked along resounding praise for one who is above such things as mechanics or order. He was dressed slovenly in the Ill-flitting garb of his countrymen — dark turtleneck, baggy corduroys and old sport jacket. As did most of his people, he wore wire-rimmed glasses. Bad eyesight being a common imperfection among Psuedo – Intelligencia snookers, who were known to be heavy readers. Distinguished as a P-I snooker also by the shock of unruly hair that fell in his eyes whenever he was engaged in rhetoric or contemplating it. It was quite a sight to see a real P-I snooker deeply Involved in his own words thrust aside those bangs as if they were as inconsequential as his listener.

We can leave our third snooker on the road to Oz, rehashing and distorting all that he had read during the summer and preparing himself to expound on any suggested subject at any given time. With fond thoughts of his homeland he recites Its motto aloud, “ALL SUBJECTSARE DEBATABLE”.

Our fourth snooker was from the largest province of Bostonarea. Ages ago someone had most aptly named this area the Misfit Province, it was the melting pot region of the kingdom and Its citizens were not so easily described. They were crossbreeds of Longhairs, Prepys, Pseudo-Intelligenciae and other snookers not mentioned. So alas, our last little snooker had an identity problem. He was a shapeless vessel containing the best of all and the worst, bonded with other Misfit snookers only by their dissimiliarity. Our particular snooker had dominant characteristics of Pseudo-Intelligencia snookers, while others were more Prepy-like and with many it was Impossible to discern in what direction they leaned. This Misfit snooker was on his way to Oz with no province to back him and understandably every and no aim towards excellence. Poor, poor snooker!

Well, let us leave him on his road, or on somebody else’s road. As long as he gets to Oz we can leave him on anybody’s road or everybody’s. Wherever he prefers.

Time, passes and now within an October we find our four little snookers are not where we have left them but have reached Oz. Our Longhair snooker is seen lounging on the quickly browning emerald green grass, glazing his eyes and allowing a young female Longhair snooker to feel for face. Our Prepy snooker Is busy striking noble poses against door Jams, while all female snookers take Inventory. Our Pseudo-Intelligencia snooker is spending fortunes on coffee in the cafeteria, pushing hair out of his eyes while those around stick fingers into ears. Our Misfit snooker is not found he is still lost but can be spotted almost anywhere looking for himself and mumbling something about a horse of a different color.

That is the tale of four little snookers who make it to Oz. For those who have been there you know there is no place like home. With this in their hearts (for they have no minds) our four little snookers should live happily ever after.

The End.

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