In the world of billiards, there are moments that are forever remembered—moments when a legend like Efren “Bata” Reyes steps onto the table and turns it into a stage for a magic show with a cue stick. But that match started with a burst of arrogance from a young man, considered one of the brightest world champions in the world. He didn’t just come to compete, he came with a bold declaration: “I’m not afraid of him. I think I can beat Efren.”
The entire billiards community was in an uproar. The media couldn’t ignore the confident declaration, and social media was flooded with comments from both fans and experts. People wondered: Was this young man just showing inexperienced arrogance? Or did he really have the talent to take down a living legend?
Efren Reyes entered the frame without any haste. At nearly 70, with silver hair and a calm demeanor, he didn’t need to say much. What he showed was always in every stroke, every touch of the ball with the calculation of a master mathematician and the sense of position of a genius artist. In the bright lights of the stadium, when the cheers from the audience died down, the battle between the glorious past and the ambitious present began.
From the very first game, the young player made an impression. He started strong, hit the ball decisively, showing determination and impressive tactical understanding. Some of the audience even nodded, thinking that today would witness a historic moment: Efren Reyes would be defeated convincingly. But they forgot one thing—Reyes was no ordinary person.
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In the second game, when Reyes came to the table, everything began to change. He wasn’t just playing to score points, he was telling a story. The reverse shots, the precise touches of the ice, and especially the “kick shot” that touched the ice three times and then perfectly sent the cue ball into the target ball made the audience stand up. For a moment, the whole stadium was silent as if hypnotized by the unbelievable performance. The young man could only sit and watch, holding the cue stick tightly, his eyes gradually changing from confidence to doubt.
Efren Reyes did not need to say anything, he let the cue stick speak for him. In each subsequent game, he gradually peeled away his opponent’s strategy like peeling layers of an onion. He did not play with strength, but with grace, with calculations that transcended the times. When everyone thought a shot was impossible, Reyes made it happen. Once, he was forced into a corner of the table with the cue ball completely blocked, but with a rare brush-stroke, he made the target ball fall neatly into the pocket as if the table bowed to him.
The young man began to lose his spirit. Despite his efforts to fight back, Reyes squandered every opportunity he had. The pressure from the crowd, his own expectations, and the experienced gaze of the legend opposite him made him flustered. Small mistakes began to appear. A missed shot. A bad shot. And Reyes, like a beast that smelled blood, took advantage of each mistake with coldness and precision.
The most special thing about the match was not Reyes' victory, but the way he conveyed the spirit of the sport. Despite the age difference, he did not see his young opponent as a hateful challenger, but as a successor who needed to be taught. During breaks between games, Reyes could be seen smiling and nodding when the young man made a good shot. That was the true spirit of sportsmanship—playing hard, but not without respect.
When the match ended, with Reyes winning, the audience stood up and applauded. The young man, despite his defeat, walked up to shake the legend’s hand with respect. He was no longer the arrogance he had at first, but someone who had just realized the difference between skill and greatness. He bowed his head in thanks, and Reyes simply patted him on the shoulder, saying something in Tagalog, probably: “You will go far.”
That match became a lesson not only for the insiders, but for all who watched. It reminded us that confidence is necessary, but humility and experience are indispensable. Efren Reyes did not win by technique alone, but by the temperament of a man who lived and loved this sport as part of his soul.
Fans continued to call him “The Wizard,” “The Living Legend,” “The King of the Impossible Shots.” But for the young man that day, Reyes was a teacher, an icon, a goal that he would strive to achieve in the following years. And perhaps, one day, he will tell the next generation: “I played against Efren Reyes. And I learned more than just strokes.”
