He’s wearing a gray hoodie under an oversized black leather jacket, the kind you might open to flash somebody. His gray jeans are stained. He does not look well.
He’s talking to himself, but before I tell you what he’s saying, let me tell you where he is. He’s standing inside the Horseshoe Casino, on the Indiana side of the Ohio River. It’s near Louisville. That’s generally where he is. Specifically? He’s outside the door to the Tournament Room. Inside the door is the 18th annual Derby City Classic, one of the biggest events in professional billiards, conducted in late January on 30 tables at the casino.
The man I’m watching, he’s been talking to himself for a while now. The Derby City Classic attracts a kaleidoscope of spectators and vendors and winners and losers, and somehow it attracted this man. I walk near him, pretend to browse the rack of shirts being sold by Hustlin USA Clothing Company, and listen.
“Why’d he bank that?” the man says to nobody. “Go straight to the rail and triple it back.”
What does it mean? No idea. It’s billiards talk, is my guess, and I’m not fluent. A few minutes later I see him again near the pool cues for sale, lined up just out of reach, the cues hanging vertically like so many shotguns. The man has his own cue, the kind that unscrews into two pieces. He’s holding one piece. No telling where the other piece is — inside his jacket? — but this is what he says as I walk past:
“Why’d he bank that? Go straight to the rail and triple it back.”
I spend the next few hours inside the Tournament Room, then in what they call the Green Room, where the real action is. Here, one floor above the Derby City Classic, hustlers circle 7-foot tables in a dimly lit room, seeking easy marks. One of them thinks he’s found a pigeon. Me. That’s a story I’ll tell you in a minute.
Read more here --> http://www.indystar.com/story/sport...9/doyel-scenes-billiards-tournament/81080178/
Thanks to Dana Bufalo for sharing this article with me.
He’s talking to himself, but before I tell you what he’s saying, let me tell you where he is. He’s standing inside the Horseshoe Casino, on the Indiana side of the Ohio River. It’s near Louisville. That’s generally where he is. Specifically? He’s outside the door to the Tournament Room. Inside the door is the 18th annual Derby City Classic, one of the biggest events in professional billiards, conducted in late January on 30 tables at the casino.
The man I’m watching, he’s been talking to himself for a while now. The Derby City Classic attracts a kaleidoscope of spectators and vendors and winners and losers, and somehow it attracted this man. I walk near him, pretend to browse the rack of shirts being sold by Hustlin USA Clothing Company, and listen.
“Why’d he bank that?” the man says to nobody. “Go straight to the rail and triple it back.”
What does it mean? No idea. It’s billiards talk, is my guess, and I’m not fluent. A few minutes later I see him again near the pool cues for sale, lined up just out of reach, the cues hanging vertically like so many shotguns. The man has his own cue, the kind that unscrews into two pieces. He’s holding one piece. No telling where the other piece is — inside his jacket? — but this is what he says as I walk past:
“Why’d he bank that? Go straight to the rail and triple it back.”
I spend the next few hours inside the Tournament Room, then in what they call the Green Room, where the real action is. Here, one floor above the Derby City Classic, hustlers circle 7-foot tables in a dimly lit room, seeking easy marks. One of them thinks he’s found a pigeon. Me. That’s a story I’ll tell you in a minute.
Read more here --> http://www.indystar.com/story/sport...9/doyel-scenes-billiards-tournament/81080178/
Thanks to Dana Bufalo for sharing this article with me.