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Tito Lixx, Iloilo City (2025)

25/07/2025

🎱 Just before turning 70, Efren Reyes finally said what he never needed to shout:
“I’ll be 70 next March. I never chased cameras. Never needed bodyguards. Never stopped calling it ‘just a game.’”

I was never the loud one in the room. I didn’t wear gold chains or demand an entourage.
I just let the cue speak for me. And when it did, people listened.

I grew up in Angeles, playing pool in dusty halls with cracked balls and cigarette smoke in the air. We didn’t have sponsors — we had instincts. I learned to aim not just with my eyes, but with my gut.

I remember sleeping under pool tables as a kid, dreaming not of trophies… but of meals. We hustled, because we had to. I was never promised greatness. I just kept showing up.

At 30, I became “The Magician.” They called me that because I made shots no one saw coming. But to me, they weren’t magic. They were just possibilities others hadn’t looked for yet.

At 40, I beat the best in the world. Americans, Brits, anyone with swagger. I smiled. Shook hands. Then went home to eat with my family.

At 50, I started losing more. Reflexes slowed. Eyes got tired. But the love for the game? Still sharp. I’d show up at bar tournaments where half the crowd didn’t know they were playing with a legend.

At 60, I stopped playing to win. I played to teach. I played to remind the next generation:

“You don’t need noise to prove you’re great.
Let your cue do the talking.”

Now, nearly 70, I spend my days watching the sun rise slow over rice fields. I teach kids to line up shots, and sometimes, I let them win. I tell stories — the quiet kind — over coffee and warm pan de sal.

If I could tell you one thing, it’s this:

A humble life is not a small one.
Not everyone needs to dominate. Some of us are here to outlast. To endure.
To watch. To teach. To take the shot when it feels right — and walk away smiling, win or lose.

There’s dignity in silence. There’s wisdom in restraint.
And sometimes, the strongest hand on the table… is the one that knows when to let go.

With calm and chalk-stained fingers,
— Efren “Bata” Reyes