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Isabella Randoms
Connor Turner
Meet Connor, the life of the party and a self-proclaimed loon with a knack for making everyone laugh. With his quirky sense humor and infectious energy, he brings joy wherever he goes. Whether he's cracking jokes or sharing hilarious stories, knows how to lighten the mood and brighten your day. Get ready to enjoy some unforgettable times with this funny guy!
The Connor Chronicles
Page 1: The Club, the Team & a Bit of Mayhem
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At the back of Isabella’s Sports Club, just past the jukebox that only plays bangers and the table that’s always suspiciously sticky, lives a team of pool warriors.
Meet the Isabella Randoms.
Led by Skipper Justin—a man who takes his pool seriously and his banter even more seriously—they’re a tight unit of local legends, workday warriors, and absolute characters.
But none more so than Connor.
Page 2: Enter Connor (a.k.a. Chaos with a Cue)
Connor’s a wildcard. Some say he’s got more voices in his head than the pub’s karaoke mic on a Friday. He struggles with his mental health sometimes, but when he picks up a cue... it’s like flipping a switch.
Suddenly, he’s sharp, hilarious, and unstoppable.
One game, he chalked his cue like it owed him money and yelled, “Watch this, boys—gonna pot these balls faster than Karen left me!”
(He never dated a Karen, but that didn’t matter.)
And somehow—he did pot them. All of them.
Page 3: Justin the Captain – Part Pool Shark, Part Therapist
Captain Justin wasn’t just the team’s best shot—he was the glue holding this chaos together.
He had that no-nonsense look, the kind that said, “Don’t even think about touching my pint before a match.”
But underneath that was a heart of gold and the patience of a man who’s taught his dog to play snooker. (Okay, not true—but if anyone could, it’d be Justin.)
He had a soft spot for Connor. Maybe because he saw the spark, or maybe because Connor once shouted “I’m the pool messiah!” during a doubles match and somehow won.
Page 4: Kiren the Quiet Assassin
Then there was Kiren—quiet as a ghost, smooth as a Ratty's head.
She didn’t talk much, but when she lined up a shot, even the jukebox stopped to watch.
Connor called her “Sniper Eyes.”
(He also once called him “Yoda with glasses,” but that didn’t stick.)
Kiren had this magical way of potting five balls and sipping her vodka & coke like nothing happened.
Legend.
Page 5: Ratty – Proof That Evolution Can Still Exist
If commitment was a person, they’d look exactly like Ratty.
He’s been “just about to practice” for six years. The man turns up at the same time every week with no cue.
Rumour has it Ratty once made a shot so bad the cue ball filed a restraining order.
Justin says he’s part of the team. No one’s quite sure what part—but probably something between emotional baggage and pub furniture.
Connor loves him though.
“Ratty’s like a fart in a lift,” he once said.
“Unwanted, but somehow always there... and occasionally makes everyone laugh.”
And when Ratty finally does take a shot?
Well... it’s usually followed by silence, a slow shake of the head, and the sound of someone ordering another pint just to cope.
Page 6: The Season Kicks Off (and So Does Connor)
Week one. First match of the season. Spirits were high. Pints were flowing. Ratty was already mysteriously sticky.
The Randoms walked into the club like rockstars... if rockstars wore polyester polos and carried their own chalk.
Skipper Justin gave the usual pep talk:
“Let’s keep it tight, play smart, and for the love of all that’s holy, no trick shots tonight.”
Connor nodded solemnly... and immediately opened with a behind-the-back break that missed every ball.
Classic.
But something was different. Between the chaos and the cackles, Connor started landing shots. Big ones. Clever ones. Shots no one saw coming — including him.
Even Kiren raised an eyebrow. Which, for her, is basically a standing ovation.
Page 7: Something Clicks... or Maybe Snaps
By mid-season, Connor was... well, still a bit mad. But now he was mad and terrifyingly good.
One night he muttered, “I’ve been chosen,” and showed up wearing a towel as a cape.
When someone asked if he was drunk, he pointed at the pool table and whispered:
“The table speaks to me now.”
And then—he cleared it. Like a man possessed by the spirits of pools past.
He was still making wild one-liners like,
“I call this shot ‘The Divorce’ — it’s messy and leaves everyone emotionally damaged.”
But they were landing. Literally.
Connor was becoming something more than a wildcard. He was becoming...
A pool-playing superhero.
Page 8: Rise of the Pool Messiah
Word got around.
Other teams started whispering about him.
“That lad from Isabella’s... the one with the cape and the mad eyes? He doesn’t miss anymore.”
They called him all sorts—“The Chalk Whisperer,” “The Cue Wizard,” “That Bloke Who Won’t Stop Talking”—but to his team, he was now...
The Pool Messiah.
Connor leaned in.
“I didn’t choose this life,” he said, chalking his cue like he was about to fight a dragon,
“this life chose me.”
Kiren blinked.
Ratty burped.
Justin whispered, “Just win the bloody game, lad.”
And win he did. Again and again.
His shots defied logic. His commentary defied sanity.
One game, mid-clearance, he shouted:
“Watch this – I’m about to gentrify this table!”
No one knew what it meant, but it worked. He cleared it in five shots and bowed like he’d just won Wimbledon.
Page 9: Connor vs. The League Champs
The final match of the season.
Isabella’s vs. the reigning champions: Isabella Exiles.
Their captain, Drew, looked like someone who had both invented spreadsheets and lost a bar fight to one.
He swaggered in with chalk dust on his collar and a smug grin that said “I’ve already won.”
But then Connor walked up to the table... Crocs and sock on, hoodie half-zipped, cape flapping, wild grin glowing under the pub lights.
Mike laughed.
Connor winked.
And the showdown began.
Page 10: The Final Frame – Destiny In The VIP Room
The match was tied.
Final game. Final shot.
Connor leaned over the table like a man staring into the meaning of life... or trying to remember if he left his KFC somewhere.
The black ball sat near the pocket, a delicate angle.
Drew, arms crossed, muttered, “He’ll bottle it.”
Connor stood up, pointed his cue like a sword, and announced to the pub:
“This one’s for the misfits, the mess-heads, and anyone who’s ever played pool in a cape.”
The room went silent.
Even Ratty put down his pint.
Connor took the shot.
Click. Clack. Thud.
The black dropped in clean. No fluke. No madness. Just pure magic.
Then, without missing a beat, he spun around and shouted:
“I AM CUE-THULU, DESTROYER OF TABLES!”
The pub erupted.
Justin hugged him like a proud dad at sports day.
Kiren almost smiled.
Ratty fell off his seat.
Epilogue: The Legend of Connor Lives On
Weeks later, the story was still being told.
"Did you hear about the lad who beat the champs in a cape?"
"Did he really call himself Cue-thulu?"
"Is it true he cleared the table with a KFC in one hand?"
(No, but give it time.)
Connor was still Connor—loud, unpredictable, and full of mad one-liners.
But now? He was a champion. A hero. A pool-playing force of nature.
And most importantly?
He was one of them.
A brother. A legend.
The heart of The Isabella Randoms.