9BallPaul
Banned
(I've been planning this trip for months, with the intention of writing my experience for the AZ board. I'm writing it in the style of Playing Off the Rail by David McCumber).
It's my story, not a report on the action itself. Plenty of others are covering that stuff, at least I hope so. I'm much more interested in the social aspect, the woofing and the scene itself. And I just have an itch to write a story. You're invited to tag along if you wish, and thanks to those of you who do. There will be some emotional ups and downs -- know that from experience. Here we go.)
The Derby Trip, 2009
Sunday night, Jan 25
WAUKEEGEN, Kan. -- Holed up tonight in a Best Western, and planning to hit the bar tables at a joint up the street.
Got things rolling last night with a friendly game of 9-ball with a guy in a local bar in Golden, Colo., where I live. Ran the table twice from the break and he quit me after a $20 score. So that paid for our drinks and dinner, which was all I was looking for. Thank God I don't have to rely on pool to feed myself anymore.
I'm no road player, but I liked to play the part. Did it the first time at 19 years old. I thumbed my way to Salt Lake City, Boise and Portland, winning at each place and winding up in San Francisco, where I intended to spend time in Haight Ashbury, but the scene there bored me. I was much more at home in the seedy Tenderloin where a a couple geat pool halls operated across Market Street from one another. Cochran's and The Palace, for those of you who know and appreciate Great American Poolhalls..
My whole bankroll disappeared one afternoon when I got robbed by a guy named Paul Silva. His nickname was Nine Ball Paul, and it's true that I appropriated his name for this forum. Hell, he's likely dead now and I figure he owes me something. The guy played one ball ahead of me the whole match. If I ran out from the four, he'd run out the next couple games from the three. And when I'd break and run a rack, he'd respons with a small package of his own. I was too dumb to figure out what was happening and soon enough, his wizardly game relieved me of my whole thick wad of cash, the most I'd ever carried.
Don't remember now, but I think I bedded down outside that night in Union Square and sobbed myself to sleep. Turns out August is freezing in San Fran and I had only a light jacket to stay warm. After that, I was sleeping during the day at Union Square and spending all night in Cochran's or The Palace, desperate for cash and food. Soon enough I was stealing candy bars from the big Woolworth's on Market Street where the street car turned around. I was streetwise and crafty, so luckily I never got caught. When I'd panhandle, I'd do it with a pronounced limp. Seemed to improve my meager income.
The San Francisco players looked awesome to my teenaged eyes. Denny Searcy, I remember well, and many others whose names I never knew. Even then I heard rumors about a kid coming up down the coast in L.A., an Irish punk name of McCready. I really wanted to get down the coast and take a shot at this kid, and thank god I never did. In Denver, I'd been among a handful of youngsters who stood out among the players. The three of us -- Rodney Robitz, Steve Roundsville and me -- were considered the best young guys coming up. I was the least among them. The three of us conspired to help one another by steering, conspiring, hustling, playing dumb and whatever other nefarious scheme we could concoct to relieve a stranger of his cash. Sometimes we'd win and sometimes not. Mostly we won.
Some of today's pool youngsters believe that hustling is poor form. Why, I'll never understand. Poker has done much to drive pool off of TV in into obscurity. Yet poker stars are celebrated for their guile and willingness to present fraud, and when they do they're rewarded with great rich and plenty of fame. Meantime, pool pros schlep around the country chasing $300 payouts at local pool halls. The skill demanded of pool is second to none in all the sports I've attempted, and at one time in my life I was among the best skiers on Aspen Mountain. Who did I look up to? The top pool players, of course.
Because I was broke and alone in San Francisco, I kept getting hit on by queers and that pissed me off. Especially those who picked me up hitchhiing and figured I owed them something. But that's what you get when you're busted in that town. I'm no homophobe, but I don't like getting propositioned.
Anyways, I ran into Bill Stroud, who was locked in a 9-ball match with some player I didn't know. I'd known Bill from Aspen in 1966 when I moved there to ski, and he was living in town. Later we'd see each other at the Family Fun Center in Denver, where I watched him lose a wad to the "Knoxville Bear" Eddie Taylor on the old billiards table that is now long gone.
It was obvious to Billy that I was busted, so he gave me an excellent steer on a player itching for action, and I scored enough to get out of town and back to Denver.
Not to make this my damn life story, but I pretty much quit pool after that and only played in bars after selling my soul to a corporation, where I became a monster. Enough said on that. And I dropped out entirely from pool's invisible underground, a network in every city that's obsessed with pool. For me, the obsession ended when that damn Paul Silve beat my ass into the ground and made me feel stupid.
In retirement, I've regained my sanity, if not my health. Skiing is in my past, I hit the big 6-oh last year, and pool is one sport that I figure I can play until I croak, which could be any day, or maybe not. I've installed a table in my basment and have been practicing hard. But learning physical skills at 60 years old ain't easy. Add to that the fact that I was hospitalized nine weeks for a stroke -- three weeks in intensive care -- and this and the resulting brain damage destroyed my stroke, whatever was left of it. Now maybe you understand why I work so hard to play so poorly.
I'll arrive at the casino Monday afternoon and will be spending four nights there while Becky and the mutts visit her family in upstate Indiana. Good god, five days in a casino with a wad of cash in my pocket, and licking my chops to hit the action room. I can hear the divorce lawyers sharpening their swords. Thirty-four years of marital bliss down the drain.
__________________
Monday night, in western Kansas: Hit a honky tonk tonight a couple blocks from here, and lo and behold, it was a players' bar. Lots of nice sticks came out of their cases and the old rumors about Kansas proved true -- these guys got not much else to do, so they shoot lights out.
Held the table for about six games, playing only for beers, which was fine by me. This is not a money-making adventure. Tomorrow's itinerary should put me somewhere east of St. Louis, and if I run into action, I'll post.
So far, so good.
--------------------------
Tuesday morning:
Well, I can see I did some bragging last night, but that's OK. The Kansas boys were the best players I've faced in a good long time, and good competition always raises my game a notch. So I'm pleased with my play, even though I had some trouble getting down the table speed and suffered some embarrassing scratches -- this 7-footer played faster than hell.
My home table is an 8-footer and the bar box (Valley) took some time to figure out. Besides the half-dozen beers I won last night I downed another six or so, so I definitely got overserved. Plus, you can still smoke in Kansas bars so I did that. I'm paying dearly for it this morning. You'd think a guy my age would wise up by now, but naw.
I don't want to leave the impression that I think I'm some hot player. Quite the contrary. As a kid, I could string a few racks of 9-ball or 8-ball, but I was nowhere near being a top player. But I did have a talent for matching up and making the right game, so I was considred a winner.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday morning:
FORESTELL, Mo. -- No more pool Sunday night. Took a day of rest and hope to arrive at the Derby later today, renewed and refreshed. We drove hard on Sunday and covered most of Kansas and nearly all of Missouri, spent last night at a Best Western just west of St. Louis and had a terrific dinner of red beans and rice at a little local joint called Culpepper's. Fabulous.
Am excited as hell about arriving at the Derby this afternoon.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
ELIZABETH, Ind. -- Monday evening: Good grief, this is just too much fun. Much as I loved the Executive West, this venue beats it hands down, in my estimation. The Exec West was a stately old hotel that seemed ideally suited to pool -- something elegant about the old place. But the food was inferior and Greg ran out of room, so he was forced to move.
But the added attraction of a casino really appeals to me. I've been doing lots of walking, but that keeps me sober inasmuch as I seem always to have a bottle of Heineken attached to my hand. Seems like there are plenty of tables for private action, but I haven't yet unzipped my case. I'm no tourney player, just an enthusiast, so the tournament action is happening out of my sight. I'm here to gamble and make games.
I can't find this kind of action in my hometown anymore, which saddens me. When I was a teenager, Denver had a terrific pool scene, and the old Family Fun Center attracted road players from both coasts.
Sat tonight just three feet away from the King himself as he clowned around with countryman Francisco Bustamonte. Efren was carrying a turquoise cue case and wore a matching turquoise polo shirt, with blue jeans and black training shoes. I've had a few conversations with Efren at previous Derbies, and he gave me a nod of recognition, which sort of thrilled me. Also shook hands with Dan Louie, and we had a nice conversation about the old 211 Club in Seattle.
Didn't get to see Efren play, but rumor has it that he dropped a bundle to Shane. Is this verified? Doesn't really matter to me, his place is secure in pool history. Also saw Truman Hogue, Corey Dueul (looked like a street urchin), Shannon Daulton, and several others. Johnny Archer, walking alone down the hallway, looked as though he just stepped out of the Sopranos.
One thing that really impresses me about a pool crowd is the diversity. Kids, geezers (that would be me), lots of blacks, a few Asians, weirdos (Charlie Chaplain, as usual), fat guys, skinny guys, a couple guys buzzing around in wheelchairs, and a few of what looks suspiciously like hookers. Yes, it's a very macho scene, but there are some hotties here, too. Watched two ladies playing 10-ball this afternoon and either one could have been centerfold material. And damn, they played fine pool. Don't know their names, but I'm guessing I'd recognize them.
Gambling is happening in full view. Apparenly Indiana law considers pool a game of skill, not luck, and so gambling on it is allowed. And you can gamble in the casino, which is luck, of course, but gambling anywhere else is illegal. What silly laws we have in this country. Saw a guy today who was carrying his cash in a damn bank bag, and this was in the restaurant. Now that's a first. OK, time to get back to the action.
----------------------
Later:
Ran into Williebetmore in the AZ room. Nice guy.
----------------------------------------
Later still: One thing that disappoints me this year is the paucity of vendors. Very few compared to previous years. And tonight a very strange thing happened to me: At a booth where a guy was selling high-end cues, he was talking on his cell phone the whole time, even as I wanted to question him about a couple cues. He appeared to be drunk, slurring his words, and utterly unaware of me. I had an overwhelming urge to slide a cue butt outside the booth, pick it up and install it immediatly in the case slung over my shoulder. As a younger butthead, I would have done that. I did a lot of shoplifting as a kid, just for the thrills. But I believe in karma, so I clenched my teeth and walked away. Could have paid for my whole trip with that Zambotti. Oh well.
------------------------------------------------
And later still: Watched Jeanette Lee sashay around in the lobby wearing a sexy black outfit. Yes, she's a fox, but for my money, none of the gals holds a candle to Ewa Mataya. Would love to see her and chat her up.
It's my story, not a report on the action itself. Plenty of others are covering that stuff, at least I hope so. I'm much more interested in the social aspect, the woofing and the scene itself. And I just have an itch to write a story. You're invited to tag along if you wish, and thanks to those of you who do. There will be some emotional ups and downs -- know that from experience. Here we go.)
The Derby Trip, 2009
Sunday night, Jan 25
WAUKEEGEN, Kan. -- Holed up tonight in a Best Western, and planning to hit the bar tables at a joint up the street.
Got things rolling last night with a friendly game of 9-ball with a guy in a local bar in Golden, Colo., where I live. Ran the table twice from the break and he quit me after a $20 score. So that paid for our drinks and dinner, which was all I was looking for. Thank God I don't have to rely on pool to feed myself anymore.
I'm no road player, but I liked to play the part. Did it the first time at 19 years old. I thumbed my way to Salt Lake City, Boise and Portland, winning at each place and winding up in San Francisco, where I intended to spend time in Haight Ashbury, but the scene there bored me. I was much more at home in the seedy Tenderloin where a a couple geat pool halls operated across Market Street from one another. Cochran's and The Palace, for those of you who know and appreciate Great American Poolhalls..
My whole bankroll disappeared one afternoon when I got robbed by a guy named Paul Silva. His nickname was Nine Ball Paul, and it's true that I appropriated his name for this forum. Hell, he's likely dead now and I figure he owes me something. The guy played one ball ahead of me the whole match. If I ran out from the four, he'd run out the next couple games from the three. And when I'd break and run a rack, he'd respons with a small package of his own. I was too dumb to figure out what was happening and soon enough, his wizardly game relieved me of my whole thick wad of cash, the most I'd ever carried.
Don't remember now, but I think I bedded down outside that night in Union Square and sobbed myself to sleep. Turns out August is freezing in San Fran and I had only a light jacket to stay warm. After that, I was sleeping during the day at Union Square and spending all night in Cochran's or The Palace, desperate for cash and food. Soon enough I was stealing candy bars from the big Woolworth's on Market Street where the street car turned around. I was streetwise and crafty, so luckily I never got caught. When I'd panhandle, I'd do it with a pronounced limp. Seemed to improve my meager income.
The San Francisco players looked awesome to my teenaged eyes. Denny Searcy, I remember well, and many others whose names I never knew. Even then I heard rumors about a kid coming up down the coast in L.A., an Irish punk name of McCready. I really wanted to get down the coast and take a shot at this kid, and thank god I never did. In Denver, I'd been among a handful of youngsters who stood out among the players. The three of us -- Rodney Robitz, Steve Roundsville and me -- were considered the best young guys coming up. I was the least among them. The three of us conspired to help one another by steering, conspiring, hustling, playing dumb and whatever other nefarious scheme we could concoct to relieve a stranger of his cash. Sometimes we'd win and sometimes not. Mostly we won.
Some of today's pool youngsters believe that hustling is poor form. Why, I'll never understand. Poker has done much to drive pool off of TV in into obscurity. Yet poker stars are celebrated for their guile and willingness to present fraud, and when they do they're rewarded with great rich and plenty of fame. Meantime, pool pros schlep around the country chasing $300 payouts at local pool halls. The skill demanded of pool is second to none in all the sports I've attempted, and at one time in my life I was among the best skiers on Aspen Mountain. Who did I look up to? The top pool players, of course.
Because I was broke and alone in San Francisco, I kept getting hit on by queers and that pissed me off. Especially those who picked me up hitchhiing and figured I owed them something. But that's what you get when you're busted in that town. I'm no homophobe, but I don't like getting propositioned.
Anyways, I ran into Bill Stroud, who was locked in a 9-ball match with some player I didn't know. I'd known Bill from Aspen in 1966 when I moved there to ski, and he was living in town. Later we'd see each other at the Family Fun Center in Denver, where I watched him lose a wad to the "Knoxville Bear" Eddie Taylor on the old billiards table that is now long gone.
It was obvious to Billy that I was busted, so he gave me an excellent steer on a player itching for action, and I scored enough to get out of town and back to Denver.
Not to make this my damn life story, but I pretty much quit pool after that and only played in bars after selling my soul to a corporation, where I became a monster. Enough said on that. And I dropped out entirely from pool's invisible underground, a network in every city that's obsessed with pool. For me, the obsession ended when that damn Paul Silve beat my ass into the ground and made me feel stupid.
In retirement, I've regained my sanity, if not my health. Skiing is in my past, I hit the big 6-oh last year, and pool is one sport that I figure I can play until I croak, which could be any day, or maybe not. I've installed a table in my basment and have been practicing hard. But learning physical skills at 60 years old ain't easy. Add to that the fact that I was hospitalized nine weeks for a stroke -- three weeks in intensive care -- and this and the resulting brain damage destroyed my stroke, whatever was left of it. Now maybe you understand why I work so hard to play so poorly.
I'll arrive at the casino Monday afternoon and will be spending four nights there while Becky and the mutts visit her family in upstate Indiana. Good god, five days in a casino with a wad of cash in my pocket, and licking my chops to hit the action room. I can hear the divorce lawyers sharpening their swords. Thirty-four years of marital bliss down the drain.
__________________
Monday night, in western Kansas: Hit a honky tonk tonight a couple blocks from here, and lo and behold, it was a players' bar. Lots of nice sticks came out of their cases and the old rumors about Kansas proved true -- these guys got not much else to do, so they shoot lights out.
Held the table for about six games, playing only for beers, which was fine by me. This is not a money-making adventure. Tomorrow's itinerary should put me somewhere east of St. Louis, and if I run into action, I'll post.
So far, so good.
--------------------------
Tuesday morning:
Well, I can see I did some bragging last night, but that's OK. The Kansas boys were the best players I've faced in a good long time, and good competition always raises my game a notch. So I'm pleased with my play, even though I had some trouble getting down the table speed and suffered some embarrassing scratches -- this 7-footer played faster than hell.
My home table is an 8-footer and the bar box (Valley) took some time to figure out. Besides the half-dozen beers I won last night I downed another six or so, so I definitely got overserved. Plus, you can still smoke in Kansas bars so I did that. I'm paying dearly for it this morning. You'd think a guy my age would wise up by now, but naw.
I don't want to leave the impression that I think I'm some hot player. Quite the contrary. As a kid, I could string a few racks of 9-ball or 8-ball, but I was nowhere near being a top player. But I did have a talent for matching up and making the right game, so I was considred a winner.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday morning:
FORESTELL, Mo. -- No more pool Sunday night. Took a day of rest and hope to arrive at the Derby later today, renewed and refreshed. We drove hard on Sunday and covered most of Kansas and nearly all of Missouri, spent last night at a Best Western just west of St. Louis and had a terrific dinner of red beans and rice at a little local joint called Culpepper's. Fabulous.
Am excited as hell about arriving at the Derby this afternoon.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
ELIZABETH, Ind. -- Monday evening: Good grief, this is just too much fun. Much as I loved the Executive West, this venue beats it hands down, in my estimation. The Exec West was a stately old hotel that seemed ideally suited to pool -- something elegant about the old place. But the food was inferior and Greg ran out of room, so he was forced to move.
But the added attraction of a casino really appeals to me. I've been doing lots of walking, but that keeps me sober inasmuch as I seem always to have a bottle of Heineken attached to my hand. Seems like there are plenty of tables for private action, but I haven't yet unzipped my case. I'm no tourney player, just an enthusiast, so the tournament action is happening out of my sight. I'm here to gamble and make games.
I can't find this kind of action in my hometown anymore, which saddens me. When I was a teenager, Denver had a terrific pool scene, and the old Family Fun Center attracted road players from both coasts.
Sat tonight just three feet away from the King himself as he clowned around with countryman Francisco Bustamonte. Efren was carrying a turquoise cue case and wore a matching turquoise polo shirt, with blue jeans and black training shoes. I've had a few conversations with Efren at previous Derbies, and he gave me a nod of recognition, which sort of thrilled me. Also shook hands with Dan Louie, and we had a nice conversation about the old 211 Club in Seattle.
Didn't get to see Efren play, but rumor has it that he dropped a bundle to Shane. Is this verified? Doesn't really matter to me, his place is secure in pool history. Also saw Truman Hogue, Corey Dueul (looked like a street urchin), Shannon Daulton, and several others. Johnny Archer, walking alone down the hallway, looked as though he just stepped out of the Sopranos.
One thing that really impresses me about a pool crowd is the diversity. Kids, geezers (that would be me), lots of blacks, a few Asians, weirdos (Charlie Chaplain, as usual), fat guys, skinny guys, a couple guys buzzing around in wheelchairs, and a few of what looks suspiciously like hookers. Yes, it's a very macho scene, but there are some hotties here, too. Watched two ladies playing 10-ball this afternoon and either one could have been centerfold material. And damn, they played fine pool. Don't know their names, but I'm guessing I'd recognize them.
Gambling is happening in full view. Apparenly Indiana law considers pool a game of skill, not luck, and so gambling on it is allowed. And you can gamble in the casino, which is luck, of course, but gambling anywhere else is illegal. What silly laws we have in this country. Saw a guy today who was carrying his cash in a damn bank bag, and this was in the restaurant. Now that's a first. OK, time to get back to the action.
----------------------
Later:
Ran into Williebetmore in the AZ room. Nice guy.
----------------------------------------
Later still: One thing that disappoints me this year is the paucity of vendors. Very few compared to previous years. And tonight a very strange thing happened to me: At a booth where a guy was selling high-end cues, he was talking on his cell phone the whole time, even as I wanted to question him about a couple cues. He appeared to be drunk, slurring his words, and utterly unaware of me. I had an overwhelming urge to slide a cue butt outside the booth, pick it up and install it immediatly in the case slung over my shoulder. As a younger butthead, I would have done that. I did a lot of shoplifting as a kid, just for the thrills. But I believe in karma, so I clenched my teeth and walked away. Could have paid for my whole trip with that Zambotti. Oh well.
------------------------------------------------
And later still: Watched Jeanette Lee sashay around in the lobby wearing a sexy black outfit. Yes, she's a fox, but for my money, none of the gals holds a candle to Ewa Mataya. Would love to see her and chat her up.
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