I recall writing about my visit to that event on RSB.
Here's a portion, if there's interest I can dig up the rest:
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Well, I be back from the NY and have finally caught up on my sleep time, so
I thought I'd share some random thoughts about the Open. Since others,
notably Gideon, have done an excellent job recapping the games, I'll just
give you the Andy Rooney coverage.
I flew into NY courtesy of a wonderful TWA counter agent named Bonnie
Gillham. When I arrived at Lambert International I found my 11 am flight
had been cancelled. All other TWA flights were full, so she -- quite
literally -- ran over to the Delta counter and got me a seat via Cincinnati
that arrived early enough that I didn't have to eat my $70 Friday evening
ticket.
For those of you that have never flown into JFK, it might be akin to
touching down somewhere during the Fall of Saigon. Total madness. I called
a Super Shuttle, Fodor's recommendation, and was told it'd be a 30 minute
wait. So I went outside to the cab line. 30 people in line, and no cabs.
Then I saw a bus that claimed "All NY Hotels $13." I climbed aboard. And,
we zoomed into rush hour traffic. The fifteen-mile ride took an hour.
Probably the most interesting sight on the way in are the cemeteries. Huge,
really big cemeteries, that seem to stretch way into the distance. (It
really kind puts the start of your trip into perspective.) After
transferring to another shuttle, I found my hotel, two blocks from the
tournament. A king-size bed, but the space between it and the walls would
have required the shorty cue.
The Roseland Ballroom is tucked away on 52nd West just off Broadway, a few
blocks from Times Square. It's a room that obviously has seen better days,
but the tournament promoters created a small island of pool perfection on a
thick bright red carpet on which they set six gold crowns covered in Simonis
860. Highly polished Centennials floated on the tables. Special bleachers,
reputedly flown in from England, courtesy of Barry Hearns, fenced in three
sides of the arena, while the fourth side was a tall riser hidden by black
curtains atop which were the Accu-Stats cameras, booth, and assorted
officials and players.
I watched Dallas West play Ginky. Ginky looks like he's put on some weight.
In any case he played poorly, and Dallas wins one for the old timers
150-101. I also watch Rempe smoothly take out Engert 150-103. Bob Jewett
walks by but doesn't recognize me. But in his defense, the last time we saw
each other was at an ACUI tournament more than 25 years ago. He looks much
older now
He's walking with this mad scientist look on his face and a
thin Samsonite brief case that appears welded to his right hand. (What kind
of a guy brings a briefcase to a pool tournament?!?) No other RSBers in
sight. By the time I get out of the tournament it's 1am.
Even in the "city that doesn't sleep" finding substanance at that hour is
tough. I figure Times Square is my best bet so I walk the few blocks there
and find out that besides the giant billboards, lights, and jumbotrons,
Times Square is mainly populated at that hour by guys who have parked their
cars, vans, or other preferred mode of private transportation curbside. All
of these vehicles have had "substantial" modifications made to their sound
systems and the doors are all wide open and the volume is cranked up to 11.
I wasn't quite sure whether the idea was music appreciation, music sampling
with and eye towards selling CDs, or attracting females. Maybe all of the
above. So it was McDonalds and off to beddybye.
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Lou Figueroa
www.poolroom.com
