DP 23 — Final Match Disruption
Sunday, October 19, 2025 – Local Bar Tournament, Final Match
Author: Kirk Thee Truth Monjarez, JD (Dr Biz)
Sequence Protocol: Tavi Activated
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I came into the final match clear, composed, and override-ready. I’d been laughing with the guys, finally broke through the terrain, and was locked in. Then she walked in—late, disruptive, and already off. She took forever to get the table, then said she had to go to the bathroom. She disappeared for over ten minutes. Her girlfriends vanished too. They weren’t just taking a leak—they were off doing something else. I waited. I stayed composed. But my patience was wearing thin.
When she came back, her eyes were glazed over. She couldn’t talk straight. She was trying to talk her ass off, but it was incoherent. She was annoying—standing in the way, not calling her pocket, breaking cadence, breaking context. But she kept winning. She was making shots, getting easier leaves, and pulling it together just enough to stay ahead.
I wasn’t going to take it easy on her. I came to play. If I get beat, I want it to be because my opponent out-shot me—not because my rhythm was broken by someone impaired and disruptive.
Then came the boundary breach. She leaned into me, tried to hug me. I said, “I don’t want a hug.” She said, “Oh, I forgot, you’re not a hugger. I’m just a hugger.” I corrected her: “Don’t make this about me being ‘not a hugger.’” This wasn’t about personality—it was about context. I was in competition mode. She was trying to hug on me mid-match. I didn’t want that.
She reached in again. I had to lift my arms and move her off me. Again, I said, “I don’t want a hug.” Again, she said, “Oh, I forgot, you’re not a hugger.” Again, I corrected her. Three times she breached. Three times I enforced. I didn’t collapse. I didn’t spiral. I stayed in the match.
Then the crowd turned. One guy said, “Give her a hug, come on, she’s a hugger.” I said, “No. She can’t even talk straight. Why would I want a hug?” I wasn’t going to be stood up like that without naming the breach. I wasn’t going to perform softness to make others comfortable. I wasn’t going to let her impairment rewrite my clarity.
The guys were whispering, giving me looks. One said, “She only comes in here once every five years.” As if that excused her behavior. As if that meant I should collapse. Another said I was clueless. They were talking about me like I was the problem. Like I was the aggressor. Like I was the one who needed to soften up.
She told me she plays on a league with mostly pool masters. That was supposed to validate her. But it didn’t change the terrain. She was impaired. She was disruptive. She was invading my space. If I were a woman and she were a man, someone would’ve stepped in. But instead, I was cast as the villain for enforcing my boundary.
I lost the match.
