highrun55 said:
Whats the record for most 9 balls on the break in a row ?
A customer just made 3.
highrun55
Myron Zownir claims 6. He probably was telling the truth. On the other hand, both your customer and Myron were breaking trick, loose racks. With a tight rack, the nine does not move. This has been well documented and was certainly true at the just-finished Mosconi Cup. The nine was nearly always in it's original spot at the end of each rack.
Here's a story about gaff racks:
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House Rules
The front table at Kip's Pool Hall (a block from the UC Berkeley campus,
mentioned in John Grissim's "Billiards", and now, sadly, closed) was a
little strange. Not as difficult to play on as the table next to it,
which would reject any ball run at high speed down the rail, due to
deformed pocket facings, causing road players to cry out in agony
and frustration, nor as untrue as most of the rest of the tables in
Kip's, which hadn't been leveled since the quake of '57, the front
table, right by the door and desk, had two jewels of peculiarity.
The first was the post which held up the second floor and all of the
pizza-gobbling, beer-swilling college students, and which was
strategically located 55 inches from one of the two corner pockets that
one might use for one pocket. A lot of one pocket was played on that
table, and the dreaded "post hook" was a standard tactic.
A lot of ring nineball also was played on that table, usually when there
wasn't some visiting player in a big match and the regulars had gotten
tired of one pocket and there were four or five people with a little
extra money and a lot of extra time. Since the guy running the desk
would usually join the game, the table rental rate was very attractive.
It was during one of these ring nineball games that Tim stumbled over
the second peculiar jewel.
Tim didn't really belong in the game. He usually just watched the
better players on the front table, and occasionally would match up with
someone closer to his own speed -- of course they would play on one of
the back tables. Overcome that night by ennui, and noting that any
idiot in a ring game could slop in a nineball now and again, Tim decided
to join the fun. He didn't have much fun. He didn't sink a nine ball
in the first ten games. In the eleventh he scored and collected from
the four other players. Six games stuck. His glum look improved a little.
He broke well. The nine headed straight for the corner pocket, the one
by the post. The nine wobbled in the pocket. It fell! Tim was
beaming, no longer stooped and sullen. He had a chance to get ahead of
the big boys after being stuck like a pig. Ring games were wonderful.
"It doesn't count," said one of the players.
Tim had already collected the cue ball for his next break. "Hunh?" he
asked, his face contorted.
"The nine doesn't count on the break in that pocket." All the other
players and onlookers nodded agreement. "That pocket's no good for the
nine on the break. It spots and you go on shooting."
Tim was eventually convinced of the rule. It really was the rule on that
table, and not made up specially for him. The nine went into that
particular pocket one out of four breaks on a good day, so the regulars
had long before declared the pocket ineligible for the nine. The
strange attraction persisted across changes of felt, and the prevailing
theory was that permanent small craters in the slate would position
the balls just right to make the nine dead. The unwritten rule was so
familiar that no one had thought to make sure that Tim knew it.