There are two long overdue elements in this month’s BD. And, ironically, they are both in the same story!

The first is the return to these pages of Mike Geffner. The longtime New York sportswriter, who spent most of his adulthood bouncing between Major League Baseball dugouts and locker rooms, and Chelsea Billiards, was a regular contributor to BD in the early 2000s. In addition to a monthly column (in which he incited virtually every player group and industry association of the day), the award-winning writer penned some of the best player profiles the magazine has ever published.

Mike’s return to these pages actually started last year with a fascinating feature on another former BD contributor and fellow New York City pool junkie, U.S. Representative Laura Friedman. And, of course, his heart-wrenching look at the late Mika Immonen’s battle with cancer last fall was a brilliant piece that Mika, himself, loved.

Bringing this subject of “long overdue” full circle, this month Mike delves into the glorious past and present-day status of one of the game’s most colorful action figures, “Earthquake Keith” McCready. McCready’s legend began in the ’70s, mostly in and around California. He was a fearless and ferocious shooter, in action all day, every day. And there wasn’t a shot clock that would even threaten to expire before McCready fired away.

My introduction to McCready came in the early ’80s, shortly after I began my extended visit with the magazine. Admittedly, I was initially attracted more to the fluid, graceful and stylish players of the day — Mike Sigel, Jimmy Rempe, Nick Varner, Steve Mizerak and the like. But when “Keither” was around, you just couldn’t take your eyes off him. He bounded around the table like he was late for a flight, gesticulating wildly as he surveyed the layout. And never did there exist a quiet moment when McCready was in action, be it gambling or tournament play. The man made Alex Pagulayan in his heyday look like Eklent Kaci.

One memorable night in the mid-’80s, I was covering a pro tournament. It was in a big hotel ballroom and in the foyer outside the ballroom was a “practice table” for the players. Out of the tournament but always ready for action, McCready made a game with perhaps the only player who resided in the same zip code with him when it came to talent, charisma and comedic timing — the late “St. Louis Louie” Roberts. Roberts never met a match he didn’t like and was renowned for either selling his cue multiple times to get money for a match or borrowing a cue and then using the borrowed cue as collateral to drum up a stake.

If those two wanted to drum up money, they should have charged admission for the entertainment value alone. It wasn’t long before the foyer of that ballroom had three times the number of spectators as the tournament room. As Mike Geffner so accurately describes, McCready danced around the table with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a beer bottle always within arm’s length. Roberts was every bit the showman McCready was. They tossed clever one-liners across the table and in the direction of the mesmerized crowd of sweators, most of whom were doubled over from laughter.

And, of course, the talent that the two had, even in that environment, was impossible to miss.

In a 45-year career of watching the greatest players to ever wield a cue, it is a moment indelibly etched into my memory.

I’ve often thought about pool’s inability to break through as a must-see sport/game/activity. And while I love and admire today’s game and its players — the game proper and polished, the players articulate, personable and passionate — I can’t help but think back to the characters and sketch comedy I got to witness during those years and wonder if that’s the game that wouldn’t have struck gold.

Either way, it’s great to have Mike Geffner and Keith McCready back on these pages.