"Pool Shark (acoustic)" by Sublime
Written by Bradley NowellProduced by Sublime
Released on Robbin' the Hood (February 8, 1994)
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Bradley Nowell, Sublime's frontman, wrote and recorded "Pool Shark (acoustic)" sometime between 1993 and 1994. On the recording, Nowell sings plaintively and metaphorically about his struggles with heroin addiction. Less than three years after writing and singing the lyrics "one day I'm gonna lose the war," he did. On May 25, 1996, two months before Sublime's third album was released and rocketed the band to stardom, Bradley Nowell died from a heroin overdose. Like so many other artists before and after him, Nowell died too young because of a battle with addiction that he ultimately could not win.
My college roommate is the one who really introduced me to Sublime around the year 2000. He was the person who first played me this song and explained to me what it was about. "Pool Shark" appears on Sublime's second album, Robbin' the Hood, which is less an album than a complete mess. It only has three complete songs on it that are surrounded by a few acoustic demos (like this one), some incomplete instrumental jams, and these weird soliloquies from a man who apparently was a diagnosed schizophrenic. It's actually amazing that their record company put up with this, and that their third album, which helped them ultimately break through to the mainstream, was even produced.
Sublime recorded two versions of this song, one a hardcore punk version with the whole band (that clocks in at less than one minute long) and the version featured here: just Bradley Nowell's voice and guitar.
Heroin used to be something I only associated with musicians and artists and junkies. No one I knew would think about messing with the stuff; it always seemed too scary, too powerful, and too dangerous. Because I associated heroin with celebrity, it almost didn't feel real to me. Famous people always seemed to live a life apart from the real world, and as a result of that image, the heroin they used was disconnected from my sense of reality.
Earlier this year however, things changed for me. I learned that opioid and opiate addiction and abuse has killed more than one person I have known. Thinking about these individuals, whose lives were cut short, brought words like epidemic and addiction into sharp focus for me. Now it wasn't just about celebrities on the other side of a camera lens or staggering numbers and statistics. It was now, as it has always been, about real people, whether I chose to see it that way or not.
A couple of weeks ago, I attended a book reading for Fentanyl, Inc.: How Rogue Chemists Are Creating the Deadliest Wave of the Opioid Epidemic by Ben Westhoff. I went because I knew Ben, and I wanted to continue supporting him and his work. When my friend and I arrived, the room was already packed. It quickly became clear that most of the people in the room were not there because of the author, but because of the book's subject matter. During the Q&A there were not really any questions asked about the book. Almost everyone who put their hand up and got a hold of the mic shared a story about a family member of theirs who had died of a drug overdose. At one point, an individual asked the audience how many people in the room had known someone who had died from opioid or opiate use; almost everyone in the room raised their hand. These were people, much like me, who had never thought that something like heroin (or drugs similar to it) would affect their lives so directly.
I cannot pretend to understand what those people who shared such personal stories that night must have gone through. My own experiences seem very tangential in comparison. As I started writing this piece, I had thought I would write about the people I have known who have died from opioid or opiate overdoses, but each time I tried to write about who they were and how I knew them and what I knew, it became increasingly clear that their stories were not mine to tell.
These were not family members or close friends of mine. These were people I knew and had fun with. They were closer with my friends than with me. We got along and enjoyed spending time together, but our paths ultimately diverged. I certainly haven't felt the kind of grief or anger or pain or blame that people who have lost those closest to them have surely felt. I have had moments of contemplation, wondering whether I should have tried to stay in better touch with them, or whether I could have become closer with them. But then I would ask myself, is that even fair? Who am I to think that I could have magically proved to be the difference between life and death for these people? I cannot possibly have that kind of power, right?
But maybe that's not fair either. Maybe I'm just making excuses for myself, trying to shirk any kind of personal responsibility for their deaths. Maybe I'm just trying to avoid feeling my fair share of blame or guilt. Certainly there has to be something more I could have done.
Unfortunately, I cannot change the past. In the end, all I really know is that it sucks that they died when they did, and it sucks that they could not find a way to effectively treat their disease.
My time reflecting on this has led me to realize that I can do more, and we can do more. My hope is that we, as a society, can work to find real solutions to this problem and somehow harness the seemingly overwhelming power of this epidemic. And I know I can't just wait around for society to take care of this. I need to be part of the solution too, not just a bystander waiting for someone else to solve these problems. I have to find a way to do my part for the world and for those closest to me. The least I can do, is find a way to put myself into a position where if one of my close friends or family members ever slides down this treacherous path, I can recognize it and find a way to help them. And I hope that you would do the same.
Like Bradley Nowell, too many people have died this way. We don't need any more people to lose the war.
Right now "Pool Shark (acoustic)" by Sublime is (probably) my 96th favorite song of all time.
