Wyatt Courtney v. Billiards of Tulsa, Inc., d/b/a Galaxy Home Recreation

Let’s cut straight to the most jaw-dropping part of this story: a man paid a company to install a swimming pool, and in return, got a foundation-leaking, retaining-wall-collapsing, concrete-color-mismatched disaster so bad that he and his wife had to take days off work just to babysit the contractors—only to end up doing half the job themselves. This isn’t a horror movie about home improvement. This is real life in Ponca City, Oklahoma, where Wyatt Courtney’s dream backyard oasis has become a $75,000 legal war zone.

Wyatt Courtney, a regular homeowner with what we can only assume was a perfectly functional porch and a strong belief in the American Dream (and maybe backyard barbecues), decided it was time to upgrade his property with a nice in-ground pool. Enter Billiards of Tulsa, Inc., doing business as Galaxy Home Recreation—a name that already sounds like a side hustle for people who specialize in pool tables, not swimming pools. But hey, maybe they diversified. Maybe they had a side gig in aquatic engineering. Or maybe, just maybe, they thought “pool” was “pool,” and that was close enough. Whatever the case, on April 19, 2024, Wyatt signed a contract with these folks to install a swimming pool at his home on North Q Street. Simple enough. What could go wrong? Oh, where do we even begin.

Almost immediately, things started going sideways. According to the lawsuit, Galaxy Home Recreation’s crew showed up so unprepared that Wyatt and his wife had to let them borrow personal equipment—because nothing says “professional contractor” like asking the client for a shovel and a wheelbarrow. But it gets worse. The Courtneys weren’t just lending tools; they were essentially forced into project management, missing work to supervise a crew that apparently couldn’t be trusted to operate without adult supervision. And for what? For a pool that, as of the filing date, still couldn’t be used. That’s right—Wyatt paid for a pool, and got a very expensive, very wet hole in the ground that’s actively causing structural damage to his house.

Let’s unpack the disaster zone: first, the French drains—those are supposed to redirect water away from your foundation, not toward it—were installed so poorly that they don’t actually drain. Instead, water is pooling under the concrete, seeping into areas it absolutely should not be, and threatening the structural integrity of Wyatt’s home. There are gaps—between a quarter and half an inch—between the drain and the concrete, which is basically an open invitation for water to sneak in like a ninja at a garden party. Then there’s the concrete pour, which had to be redone because the first one was apparently a catastrophe. But instead of matching the existing porch, the new concrete is a different shade. So now, not only is the house potentially at risk, but it also looks like a DIY patch job from a high school home economics class. Aesthetically? A nightmare. Functionally? A liability.

And then—drumroll, please—the retaining wall fell down. Not cracked. Not leaning. Fell. And why? Because of a leak in the pool lining, which, again, should not be leaking if the pool had been installed correctly. So now, not only is the pool unusable, the foundation is at risk, the drainage is broken, and the porch looks like a mismatched puzzle, but the yard’s structural support has literally collapsed. This isn’t just a bad job. This is a full-scale backyard implosion.

So why are they in court? Because Wyatt is done. He’s not asking for a refund. He’s not asking for a fix. He’s suing for breach of contract and negligence, which, in plain English, means: “You promised to build a pool. You didn’t. And you did it so badly that you damaged my house.” Breach of contract is straightforward—Galaxy Home Recreation took money to do a job, didn’t do it properly, and now Wyatt wants compensation. The negligence claim is the juicier one: it argues that the company didn’t just fail to meet the contract, they did the work with such a lack of care and skill that it caused real, measurable harm. And that harm—according to the petition—has resulted in damages exceeding $75,000. That’s not a typo. Seventy-five. Thousand. Dollars. For a pool that doesn’t work and a yard that’s falling apart.

Now, is $75,000 a lot for a pool job gone wrong? Well, let’s put it this way: a high-end in-ground pool might cost $50,000 to $100,000 depending on the bells and whistles. So $75,000 isn’t just covering the cost of a new pool—it’s covering the cost of fixing the house. Foundation repairs, retaining wall reconstruction, concrete resurfacing, drainage fixes—those aren’t cheap. And let’s not forget the emotional toll: imagine planning a summer of pool parties, only to spend it supervising a crew that treats your yard like a training ground for “How Not to Be a Contractor.” There’s also the lost wages—days off work, stress, the whole nine yards. So no, $75,000 isn’t outrageous. It’s actually kind of conservative, given the scope of the damage.

But here’s the real kicker: Wyatt says he paid in full. That’s the part that makes your blood boil. He didn’t withhold payment. He didn’t sue before the work was done. He paid up front, gave the company every chance, and what did he get? A house that’s literally sinking into a poorly drained swamp of their own making. And Galaxy Home Recreation? Radio silence in the filing—no counterclaims, no defense offered yet. Just a name on a petition, looking increasingly like the villain in a cautionary tale about hiring the wrong guy off a Facebook ad.

Our take? The most absurd part isn’t even the mismatched concrete or the collapsed wall. It’s that this company—whose name suggests they sell pool tables and arcade games—was trusted to do structural excavation and waterproofing on a residential property. Since when did “Galaxy Home Recreation” mean “licensed, insured, and competent pool installers”? It’s like hiring a guy who fixes espresso machines to perform open-heart surgery. Sure, both involve precision and pressure systems, but come on. There’s a line.

And honestly? We’re rooting for Wyatt. Not because he’s perfect—he did hire these people, after all—but because he’s the homeowner who played by the rules, paid his bills, and just wanted a pool. Instead, he got a nightmare that could’ve been ripped from an episode of This Old House: The Lawsuit Years. He’s not asking for punitive damages. He’s not demanding the CEO’s head on a platter. He just wants his house fixed, his money back, and maybe, just maybe, a functioning pool before his kids graduate high school.

This case is a reminder: when you hire someone to dig a hole in your yard, make sure they know the difference between a swimming pool and a sinkhole. And if their business name includes “billiards,” maybe—just maybe—ask to see their excavation license first.