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The Philippines is home to 90 million Efren Reyes admirers, who revere the legend of the poor-kid-made-good. On his home stomping grounds, Reyes reflects on the demands of fans, his recent eye surgery, and the pressure to keep winning.

The King Oscar poolhall and bar is one of Angeles City's newer billiard venues, and on this Tuesday night in mid-October, it is just what Efren Reyes needs. This Norwegian-owned establishment in Reyes' hometown is quite comfortable, with good air conditioning and solid ventilation, and has some of the best tables in town. Most of Efren's buddies are here. And the place serves tasty local food. Just a nice, quiet place to relax with the boys.

There'll be no big action tonight for Reyes, and definitely no smoke-filled joints. Only a day before, the man whom many believe to be the greatest pool player of all time, the man who has stared down some of the heaviest pressure ever laid down upon a pool table and pulled off amazing miracles, had Lasik eye surgery 60 miles away in Manila. So tonight, Reyes has come out to test his brand new eyes.

For a man who sees things on a pool table ordinary mortals can't even dream about, one might think that eye surgery would be a traumatic experience. After his cousin administers some prescribed eye drops, the soft spoken, friendly Reyes says he's not sure of the results, only that his eyes still hurt. Before the surgery, he says, his eyes had been easily tiring and that he was sometimes having trouble seeing the balls on the table. Reyes doesn't appear to be too concerned about how his eyes will fare. And certainly when he talks about his recent and upcoming travels, it's clear he's planning on making the eye surgery but a mere bump on the road.

Catching up with Reyes' whereabouts is a breathtaking experience. Only days before the eye surgery, he had been knocked out of the Filipino Open in Manila. Before that he had been in Brunei in Southeastern Asia, then in the U.S. for six weeks, playing and traveling almost non-stop. He will only get to spend a couple of days at home in Angeles City before heading back to Manila for money matches, then down to the southern Philippine city of Dumaguete for an exhibition. Then back up to Angeles for the All Souls Day holiday. Then immediately off to Fujaira, in the United Arab Emirates, for the World 8-Ball Championship. Then back to the Philippines for a brief stop, then Taiwan, then Japan, and then back to the U.S. in early December.

In between the official tournaments come the money games, which pop up out of the blue. Often the cell phone rings, and there's an opponent and a backer to put up the money. The money is all set - maybe $5,000 for a race to 11 in rotation. Or a friend calls and wants to challenge Efren at chess. There's a big mahjong game happening in the next few days; his buddies are playing cards at his sister's canteen in Angeles; there are money matches in Manila, or an exhibition at a friend's bar. Try catching up with Efren sometime to see how fleeting he truly is.

The eye test is about to begin as Reyes gets called to the pool table for a match of rotation, two races to five against a local player for $35. Reyes, of course, has to give "weight." He wins the first set, then loses the second. No money changes hands.

"I'm not yet ready," is all he has to say, when asked about his eyes. After the match, Efren receives more eye drops then sits down to eat a meal of fried fish and rice with his buddies. The crew includes Lucky, his lifelong friend; Nestor, one of the provinces best players; there's a guy who, a bystander says, handles the gambling side of things; another friend is said to make his living as a bet taker at the cockfights; and Efren's cousin, who serves as the driver.

After the meal, somebody breaks out the chess board, and, almost instantly, Efren is engrossed inside the strategizing of the pieces. He doesn't speak, and nobody speaks to him. The world around him seems as distant as it is to a man standing on the moon.

"When Efren's playing a game, he blocks out the whole world." says longtime friend Cesar Morales, who's sitting at the bar having a drink. "He doesn't care about the world. He's not a snob. It's just him. He's intense."

Those familiar with the lore of Reyes will certainly recognize the name "Cesar Morales." That was the tag Reyes used when he played in Red's 9-Ball Open in Houston back in 1985, when the Filipinos who came with this "Morales" guy walked out with $81,000 in prize money and side bets after it was all over. The real Morales has been a lifelong friend of Reyes and was at Red's, where, because his name was being used, he went by the name of Cesar Chua.