Found it Part 2
"I had my first amphetamine when I was 22. I was playing in Georgia and missing everything in sight. So afterwards this guy came over and said, 'You want some heart, kid. Here.' And he handed me two Christmas Trees. I had them for breakfast the next day, got to the pool room and didn't miss a ball.
"Uppers steadied me, made me alert. Everything would be so crystal clear. I could even see the fibers of the cloth." The word was, if Nagy went to the bathroom, you couldn't beat him. He'd come out like a superman and wouldn't miss a ball for hours. "I popped pills like popcorn," he says. "I'd get so that I'd foam at the mouth and wouldn't know where I was." And, according to Pete Margo, "Gene wasn't shy about telling the whole world about it. He'd say, 'I'm just gonna pop these Black Beauties and run out all night.' We'd just look at each other cross-eyed in disbelief."
"On the juice," as Nagy refers to it, he became one of the most feared players in New York City. He began running a hundred balls without missing almost daily, and in 1974 recorded an astounding high run of 430, a feat equaled by only a handful of players in the history of the game.
One memorable night in 1971, at the old Golden Cue on Queens Boulevard, Nagy bet his last $ 50 on a straight pool match against Cisero Murphy, the 1965 World Champion.
Nagy broke the balls, Murphy ran 86 and scratched, and Nagy proceeded to make 150 straight to close out the game. "The thing that set Gene apart was that he controlled his cue ball like an old master at a very young age," says Margo. "Young guys usually are shotmakers. But Gene was both. He was a great shotmaker and a great position player. He could be beat anybody in the world when he was on."
Nagy took his high-speed game on the road five times, for a total of a year and half, playing the best players around the country for high stakes, at least in 1960s dollars (Nagy says the most he ever played for was $ 500 a game). "I did it to escape working," he says, "and it ended up being even harder than work."
On the road, he says, he was threatened with guns, stiffed on bets, played matches for 3 1/2 days without sleep, had sleeping pills dropped in his drinks, and was attacked by wild animals. "I was in this dingy room in Lorain, Ohio," he says. "It was August and this room had no air conditioning, just the front and back door open to let the air through. Well, I'm down on this shot and all of a sudden, there's this bat flying right at me. It goes just over my head and out the front door. I nearly fainted. I was shivering for days after that."
Nagy's first shot at the big time came in 1972, when, at 25, with no legitimate professional experience, he was invited to the World Invitational for straight pool on his rep alone. The move was unprecedented, but Nagy made a decent showing, coming in 13th out of 20. The tournament promoter, Fred Whalen, afterward likened Nagy to Ralph Greenleaf, considered by many to be the greatest straight pool player of all time. Legendary Willie Mosconi said of one of Nagy's runs, "That's the best I've ever seen the balls taken off the table."
In the same tournament in 1973, he improved to eighth and carded the only perfect score (a run of 150 straight balls from the break shot in a 150-point game) in the three-week event. But then, in 1974, playing the best pool of his life, he mysteriously walked out of the tournament and forfeited his final seven matches. "I was playing super in '74, but about two weeks before the tournament I started experimenting with a different stroke, " he says. "I decided to try it in a game against this Japanese guy I was much better than and I lost. I just couldn't make a ball with the new stroke.
"Later, I found out that this guy Jersey Red [a top player] bet a lot of money on me in that game and was tracking me down. He wanted to kill me. The whole thing made me sick. I became disgusted with whole idea of competing. So I said, 'That's it. I'm sorry I ever played this game.' And I packed my stuff, went home, and never played competively again."
After retiring, Nagy worked at four different pool halls, was a dishwasher, and a carpet-layer's assistant. But today, jobless for over a year, he has no intention of working again. "I hate work, always did. If I never had to go back to work again for the rest of my life, I'd be happy. That's why I chose pool. It was exciting. As a pool player, you'll have days that you play so bad you'll wanna hang yourself. But there are other days, when your hands'll be like magic and you'll get that rush that a working man could never get."
Supported by his parents, Nagy lives a child's life now, calling it the "perfect lifestyle." He wakes up whenever he wants, flies his stunt kites and model airplanes in the park, watches TV (his favorite programs are "Hawaii Five-O" and "Married With Children"), takes a nap in the afternoon, plays pool, and goes to sleep.
Nagy rides his bicycle (he doesn't drive a car) five minutes from his home in Elmhurst to La Cue nearly every day, arriving at 4 and leaving at 10. He plays only an hour, then spends the remaining time watching others, hanging out to talk, and occasionally coaching some aspiring players (he's become somewhat of a eccentric guru to a handful of up-and-coming local players). He plays mostly by himself, never keeping score and preferring that no one watch him. "The nerves are still there," he says. "I still can't handle the stress of having to perform. And all those drugs blew out my nerves even worse. If I get too much of a crowd around me, I [lose it]."
He still plays near-perfect pool, but there's not even a hint of his old temperament when he misses. He plays fast and with no emotion. "I went from playing like a rocket scientist, from thinking way too much, to playing like a caveman throwing rocks at rabbits," he says. "And I actually think I'm a better player now than I was as a kid."
What you notice immediately is Nagy's trademark stroke, the purity of it, the elegant smoothness. Nothing flashy. Just a simple unwavering back-to-front movement, as if his cue stick were held on a beam. But there are no practice strokes now; he just gets down and pops. "I got that from archery," he says. "In archery, you pull back and release, your first aim being your best. Pool is so mental. The longer you stroke, the more negative thoughts come into your head. I shoot too fast now to think about missing."
Whether or not he's shooting better, he's definitely healthier. He's been drug-free for the last 15 years and sober for the last year, he says. He avoids sugar, coffee, meat and eggs, becoming a vegetarian who occasionally dabbles in herbal tea. The only habit he's not able to kick is pool.
He's gone periods without playing, once for as long as eight months, and constantly threatens to hang it up for good. But he always comes back. "The bug to play will likely stay with me until the day I die," he says. "I'll always be a pool bum. I can watch two people who can't play and still enjoy myself. Just to hear the click of the balls makes me feel good."
He says, though, if he had it to do all over again, he would've loved to have been the first trumpet in the New York Philharmonic. "If I could've handled the stress," he adds. Nagy pauses, then blurts quietly, "Pool was definitely a mistake for me. I know that now. So many people tried to warn me about becoming a pool player. The great Onofrio Lauri, who always wore a suit and tie to the pool room, once pulled me over and showed me two holes in the crotch of his pants. He said, 'I've been playing forty-five years and I've got nothing. Understand what I'm saying, kid?' "Yet, with everybody telling me I was making a mistake, I still walked into the gunfire."
Cues For The U.S. Open
MARK TWAIN took up pocket billiards in his later years, playing up to 10 hours a day. The humorist once said that the most distinct sound in the world was the click of billiard balls.
Beginning today, some serious clicking will be heard in the Roosevelt Hotel Grand Ballroom at 45th and Madison, site of the U.S. Open Pocket Billiards Championship.
Wednesday through Saturday, 11 a.m. to midnight, four Brunswick Gold Crown tables will be in action at the same time. (Semifinals and finals are from 1 p.m. to 11 p.m. Sunday.) The top 48 players - 32 men and 16 women - will compete for pool's most prestigious prize: straight pool champion. The competition will be fierce because, unlike Dan and Dave, pool players must win to make money; there's roughly $ 50,000 at stake here.
Nine ball is a volatile Nintendo-generation, wind-aided sprint; straight pool, a circuitous, thinking person's marathon. It requires that players call every shot, with the first player to pocket 150 balls winning. Says Brunswick President Jim Bakula, "In straight pool, there's always the chance you'll see a perfect game - a run of 150 from the opening break."
Admission of $ 10 to $ 25 (less for mid-week games, more for weekend) buys three sets of matches, day (11 a.m. to 5 p.m.) or evening (6:30 p.m. to midnight). Spectators can move about to watch any of the four simultaneously played games. VIP seating ($ 20-$ 35 a session) affords better depth perception. (All tickets available at hotel.)
Both women's and men's semifinals will be held Sunday, at 1 p.m. and 3 p.m., respectively. The finals are scheduled for 7 and 9 p.m. Prior to the men's finals, trick shot exhibitionist Mike Massey will perform.
Defending U.S. Open women's champion is New Jersey's Loree Jon Jones, a good bet to repeat. Contender Ewa Matayais is ranked No.1 and Robin Bell, ranked second, has been international champ two years running. In the men's field, Steve Mizerak has won a combined six world championships and U.S. Opens. Three-time world champions Mike Sigel and Ray Martin are threats, as are two-time champions Nick Varner and Dallas West. Defending champion is Oliver Ortmann of West Germany.
New York stories abound. Billie Billing, ranked 11th, is from Brooklyn, as is former world champion Cisero Murphy. And there's fourth-ranked Joann Mason-Parker from Monticello, a dark horse to win the Open who recently had her high run: 77 consecutive balls.
When New Yorkers hear the words "U.S. Open" they think tennis. The etiquette in pool is identical: Audiences remain quiet while players shoot, applauding only after shots. And despite Minnesota Fats' crack that putting a tuxedo on a pool shooter is like putting ice cream on a hot dog, players will be in formal wear.