Joining a pool team when you're already anxious

When I first joined a team, the pool itself wasn't really the difficult bit.

It was walking into the venue, meeting people I didn't know and immediately feeling like I needed to justify why I was there.

Then you've got the strange thing about pool where you're part of a team, but when your name gets called it's suddenly just you at the table. Everyone else is watching and there's nowhere to disappear to.

I used to put loads of unnecessary pressure on myself. If I missed something I'd think people would wonder why I'd been picked. If someone was clearly a better player than me, I'd almost convince myself I'd lost before we'd even started.

I still get nervous now. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing either. Most of the time I'm nervous because I actually care about the result and don't want to let the team down. I've just got a bit better at recognising what's happening rather than letting it completely take over.

Sometimes it isn't actually about pool

This has probably been one of the biggest things for me to recognise.

You can turn up for league night after a crap day at work, with something going on at home, an awkward conversation playing on your mind or just one of those days where your head won't switch off.

Then you expect yourself to walk over to a pool table and suddenly be completely focused.

It doesn't always work like that.

I've found it much more useful to acknowledge that something is bothering me rather than trying desperately not to think about it. If I'm due to play, I'll basically tell myself that whatever else is happening can wait for the next 20 minutes. I'm not solving a work problem while somebody is breaking against me, so there's not much point trying.

It doesn't mean the thoughts magically disappear. They don't. But if my mind wanders, I try to notice it and bring myself back to what's actually in front of me.

On those nights I also try not to expect perfection from myself. Sometimes having a good night isn't playing brilliantly. It's getting through your frames, staying relatively composed and not letting everything else that's going on completely ruin your pool as well.

Putting pressure on yourself to win

This is probably the easiest trap for me to fall into.

I care about winning. I care about how the team does. And because of that, "I'd like to win this" can very quickly become "I have to win this."

That's normally when everything starts getting quicker.

I rush decisions, grip the cue a bit tighter and start thinking about the result rather than the shot that's actually in front of me.

I've tried to get much better at catching myself doing it.

I can't completely control whether I win a frame. I can play well and lose. I can play terribly and somehow win. What I can control is whether I take my time, go through my normal routine and properly commit to the shot I've chosen.

It sounds obvious written down, but it's surprisingly difficult when you're actually in the moment.

Playing someone who's better than you

We've probably all done this one.

You see who you're playing, know their reputation or have a look at the averages and immediately start giving them even more of an advantage.

I've definitely been guilty of it.

The thing I'm trying to remind myself now is that none of that changes the frame in front of me. They're still capable of breaking dry. They can still choose the wrong shot. They can still miss. And I can still play well.

That doesn't mean pretending every match is 50/50 when it clearly isn't. Some people are simply better pool players than me. That's fine.

But I don't need to beat their reputation. I just need to play the frame that's actually happening.

Thinking about it that way makes things feel a lot less daunting.

Coming back after some time away

Coming back to pool after a break can mess with your head as well.

You remember how you used to play, so naturally you expect to immediately play like that again. Then you miss something you'd normally expect to pot and start wondering what's happened.

I've found I need to give myself a bit of time.

Rather than chasing results straight away, I try to concentrate on getting the basic things feeling normal again. Taking my time. Going through my routine. Staying down on shots. Not trying to force everything.

The more frames you play, the more normal it starts to feel again.

What I do before I'm due to play

This is probably the thing that's made the biggest practical difference for me.

If I know I'm due on soon, sitting around thinking about it isn't particularly helpful. I can quite easily spend ten minutes getting progressively more nervous while absolutely nothing is happening.

So sometimes I'll step away for a couple of minutes.

I'm not hiding from anyone. I just find somewhere a little quieter, slow my breathing down and get myself ready to play. I'll think about my pre-shot routine, picture myself staying down properly and try to get my head onto the table before I actually get called.

It doesn't completely remove the nerves, but I'm normally in a much better place when I walk over to play.

A few things I actually use during a frame

There are also a handful of little things I've picked up that help when I can feel myself getting rushed or tense.

Slow the breathing down

I don't do anything particularly complicated. I just try to take a slower breath in and a longer breath out.

I'll sometimes do it before the break or after I've made a mistake. More than anything, it gives me something simple to concentrate on for a few seconds rather than immediately jumping into whatever comes next.

Stick to the pre-shot routine

When I'm nervous, my natural tendency is to speed everything up. That's exactly when I need to do the opposite.

I try to make sure I'm properly looking at the shot, doing my normal feathers and staying down after I've delivered the cue. If I start cutting bits out of the routine, it's normally a pretty good sign that I'm rushing.

Use the chalk

Chalking has actually become a useful little reset for me.

If I notice I'm rushing around the table, I'll step back and chalk properly. It gives me a few seconds to look at what's happening, breathe and slow myself down.

Nobody is going to question you taking a few seconds to chalk your cue, and sometimes those few seconds are exactly what I need.

Stand back up

This sounds ridiculously simple, but I've had to teach myself to actually do it.

If I'm down on a shot and it doesn't feel right, I stand back up.

Maybe I've rushed getting down. Maybe I'm suddenly not convinced by the shot I've chosen. Maybe something just feels slightly off.

I used to think I'd committed once I was down on the cue and then try to force the shot anyway. Unsurprisingly, quite a few of those didn't end well.

There's nothing wrong with standing up, having another look and starting again.

Give yourself something simple to think about

I've sometimes used a word like "smooth" or "trust" when I can feel too much going on in my head.

There's nothing magical about the word. It just gives me one simple thing to focus on rather than thinking about the score, who's watching, what happens if I miss and everything else my brain has decided would be useful at that exact moment.

Learning to live with the nerves

I used to think the aim was to stop getting nervous.

I'm not sure that's realistic, and I'm not even sure I'd want that now.

If I'm nervous before an important frame, it's normally because I care. The challenge for me has been learning how to play while feeling like that rather than waiting for the day when the feeling disappears completely.

The more I've put myself in those situations, the easier that's become.

Away matches used to feel more intimidating. Playing someone with a big reputation felt more intimidating. Being involved in a close match felt more intimidating.

None of those things have suddenly become easy, but they're more familiar than they used to be.

A loss is still just a loss

This is something I've had to work on as well.

When you care about improving, it's very easy to attach far too much meaning to a bad frame or a bad night.

I've done it plenty of times. You lose and suddenly you're questioning whether you're actually any good, whether you're getting worse or whether everyone else thinks you're useless.

Most of the time, you've just lost a frame of pool.

That's it.

I still want to understand why I've lost. If I've made a poor decision or there's something technical I need to work on, I want to learn from it. But I'm trying to get much better at leaving it there rather than turning one result into a judgement on myself as a player.

Final thoughts

I don't think there's a point where you suddenly "solve" the mental side of pool.

I certainly haven't.

I still get nervous. I still rush sometimes. I still put too much pressure on myself and occasionally have to remind myself to stand up from a shot because I've gone down far too quickly.

But I'm much more aware of those things than I used to be, and that alone has helped.

For me, it's been about finding small things that make playing under pressure a little easier. Taking a couple of minutes before I'm due on. Slowing my breathing. Chalking when I need a reset. Trusting my routine. Standing up when something doesn't feel right. And reminding myself that one frame of pool doesn't define how good I am.

If you're someone who gets nervous before playing, worries about letting your team down, struggles when you're playing someone better or sometimes brings the rest of life to the table with you, you're definitely not the only one.

I'm still figuring it out as well.

You can find more from Chalky Trousers, along with products, guides and everything else I'm building around the cue sports community, at the Chalky Trousers homepage.