Islandeddie
Registered
This was first published in the AMERICAN CUEIST years ago, and semi yearly on RSB around Christmas. Parts
of this fable have come true . . . so help me!
Brad
A Christmas Story
Did you ever wonder where Santa Claus spends his off-season? If you were to guess some place warm, I think it would be a safe bet. That is why I wasn't too surprised to meet a guy in New Orleans one spring that may well have been that "jolly old elf".
It's no secret that New Orleans is a hot bed for high stakes billiards. I am
not a great player, but I like the atmosphere that follows high stakes
action. The action brings out other guys like me; guys of similar speed
that I can test my skills against.
Monday afternoon is a slow time at pool halls. Because there was no suitable competition, I set up some practice drills to sharpen my position deftness. I had just shot the last ball of a draw/position drill, and looked up, when the front door of the pool hall opened, letting in a flood of Cajun
sunshine. A man ambled, in casting a large shadow across the tables. I
guess because I was the only table in action, he approached my table and
slid into a high wooden spectator chair. He only nodded when I stared at
him.
My next drill was to line up all the balls across the table on the third
diamond, and then proceeded to shoot straight in stop shoots from behind the head spot. I made twelve of fifteen. The big guy raised his hand, and
softly rubbed the side his nose. "You like to play some straights?" he
said. Well, that dated him. Straight pool, or more formally fourteen -
one continuous billiards, hasn't been popular for thirty years.
"Sure," I said, "first to a hundred for fifty bucks?"
"Sounds good."
And then there was his accent, in a word, "N'awlins".
"You from around here?" I asked, almost in jest.
"Just in my slow season."
I won the lag, and racked the balls for him to break. The perfect break is
a safety. It sends two balls to a rail and they return to the pack. It's
as beautiful a pool shot as you can see. The big guy grabbed a cue off the wall-rack, set the cue ball about a foot off the side rail and behind the
head string. He made a few quick practice strokes, and settled over the
table. Then, slowing his stroke, he concentrated on the far right hand ball
at the back of the pack. With a smooth motion, and a little high right hand english, he stroked through the cue ball, clipping less than a quarter of the object ball. The struck ball rolled to the back rail, and the ball on
the opposite side of the pack went to the side rail. Then both balls
returned to almost their starting points. Meanwhile the cue ball has gone
two rails, and settled in the jaws of the left rear corner pocket! This guy
shoots pretty good.
"Nice shot," I say in understatement.
"Well, you shot as much pool as I have you're bound to have a little luck,"
he said dryly.
We traded safeties and then he got loose for a nineteen-ball run, and
missed. He left me with a tough cut in the side pocket. I made it, and
continued to make another dozen balls before I had to play a safety. We had a stretch of shorter runs and safeties. Then the big guy broke out for
another couple of racks that put me in the "electric chair." As I sat
slouched, I tried to study his game, but I couldn't get over the fact that
this guy looked familiar. He finally got out of position, and missed a
short bank shot. I got out of the chair, grabbed the chalk, and said,
"Don't I know you from some place?"
"Well, you should," he said with a straight face, " I'm Santa Claus."
"If your Santa where's your beard?" I scoffed.
"Too damn hot in this climate. Besides it's a pain to comb," he countered.
A guy runs into all kinds of characters, cons, and hustles in a poolroom and
I'd hooked up with one of the above. Well whatever this guy's scam, I was going to play my game. I settled down over the table, and with complete concentration, proceeded to run twenty-seven, and out. I straightened up, feeling proud of myself. I looked around in time to see the big guy walking toward the men's room. He had his hand in his pants pocket, rhythmically jingling his change. He must have felt me staring at his back, because he glanced back at me and said, "I'll be right back."
Five minutes later he had not returned so I checked the men's room. No big guy! My blood pressure rose, as I grabbed my cue, and stomped up to the front counter to pay for the time.
"What's the matter Ed," asked Harry, the counterman.
"I think I just got stiffed by Santa Claus!" Harry turned to one of the
regulars, who had just walked in, and made the "you're nuts" sign by
pointing his finger to his head, and rotating it in a circle.
***
It's Christmas morning. My wife and I awoke to our young daughter's excited chatter. "Mommy, Daddy, Santa's been here!" She had seen all the presents under the tree, and the stuffed stockings hung on the mantle.
How prophetic were her words. The last thing in my stocking, in the very
toe, was a rolled up paper tied with a red ribbon. I untied the ribbon, and
a crisp fifty-dollar bill dropped out. I un-scrolled the paper, and read,
"Dear Ed, sorry I didn't have time to explain, but my beeper went off, and
it was an emergency. Bob Meucci called He was worried about his delivery of next Christmas's red dot pool cues. See you next spring."
(Signed) 'Santa'
of this fable have come true . . . so help me!
Brad
A Christmas Story
Did you ever wonder where Santa Claus spends his off-season? If you were to guess some place warm, I think it would be a safe bet. That is why I wasn't too surprised to meet a guy in New Orleans one spring that may well have been that "jolly old elf".
It's no secret that New Orleans is a hot bed for high stakes billiards. I am
not a great player, but I like the atmosphere that follows high stakes
action. The action brings out other guys like me; guys of similar speed
that I can test my skills against.
Monday afternoon is a slow time at pool halls. Because there was no suitable competition, I set up some practice drills to sharpen my position deftness. I had just shot the last ball of a draw/position drill, and looked up, when the front door of the pool hall opened, letting in a flood of Cajun
sunshine. A man ambled, in casting a large shadow across the tables. I
guess because I was the only table in action, he approached my table and
slid into a high wooden spectator chair. He only nodded when I stared at
him.
My next drill was to line up all the balls across the table on the third
diamond, and then proceeded to shoot straight in stop shoots from behind the head spot. I made twelve of fifteen. The big guy raised his hand, and
softly rubbed the side his nose. "You like to play some straights?" he
said. Well, that dated him. Straight pool, or more formally fourteen -
one continuous billiards, hasn't been popular for thirty years.
"Sure," I said, "first to a hundred for fifty bucks?"
"Sounds good."
And then there was his accent, in a word, "N'awlins".
"You from around here?" I asked, almost in jest.
"Just in my slow season."
I won the lag, and racked the balls for him to break. The perfect break is
a safety. It sends two balls to a rail and they return to the pack. It's
as beautiful a pool shot as you can see. The big guy grabbed a cue off the wall-rack, set the cue ball about a foot off the side rail and behind the
head string. He made a few quick practice strokes, and settled over the
table. Then, slowing his stroke, he concentrated on the far right hand ball
at the back of the pack. With a smooth motion, and a little high right hand english, he stroked through the cue ball, clipping less than a quarter of the object ball. The struck ball rolled to the back rail, and the ball on
the opposite side of the pack went to the side rail. Then both balls
returned to almost their starting points. Meanwhile the cue ball has gone
two rails, and settled in the jaws of the left rear corner pocket! This guy
shoots pretty good.
"Nice shot," I say in understatement.
"Well, you shot as much pool as I have you're bound to have a little luck,"
he said dryly.
We traded safeties and then he got loose for a nineteen-ball run, and
missed. He left me with a tough cut in the side pocket. I made it, and
continued to make another dozen balls before I had to play a safety. We had a stretch of shorter runs and safeties. Then the big guy broke out for
another couple of racks that put me in the "electric chair." As I sat
slouched, I tried to study his game, but I couldn't get over the fact that
this guy looked familiar. He finally got out of position, and missed a
short bank shot. I got out of the chair, grabbed the chalk, and said,
"Don't I know you from some place?"
"Well, you should," he said with a straight face, " I'm Santa Claus."
"If your Santa where's your beard?" I scoffed.
"Too damn hot in this climate. Besides it's a pain to comb," he countered.
A guy runs into all kinds of characters, cons, and hustles in a poolroom and
I'd hooked up with one of the above. Well whatever this guy's scam, I was going to play my game. I settled down over the table, and with complete concentration, proceeded to run twenty-seven, and out. I straightened up, feeling proud of myself. I looked around in time to see the big guy walking toward the men's room. He had his hand in his pants pocket, rhythmically jingling his change. He must have felt me staring at his back, because he glanced back at me and said, "I'll be right back."
Five minutes later he had not returned so I checked the men's room. No big guy! My blood pressure rose, as I grabbed my cue, and stomped up to the front counter to pay for the time.
"What's the matter Ed," asked Harry, the counterman.
"I think I just got stiffed by Santa Claus!" Harry turned to one of the
regulars, who had just walked in, and made the "you're nuts" sign by
pointing his finger to his head, and rotating it in a circle.
***
It's Christmas morning. My wife and I awoke to our young daughter's excited chatter. "Mommy, Daddy, Santa's been here!" She had seen all the presents under the tree, and the stuffed stockings hung on the mantle.
How prophetic were her words. The last thing in my stocking, in the very
toe, was a rolled up paper tied with a red ribbon. I untied the ribbon, and
a crisp fifty-dollar bill dropped out. I un-scrolled the paper, and read,
"Dear Ed, sorry I didn't have time to explain, but my beeper went off, and
it was an emergency. Bob Meucci called He was worried about his delivery of next Christmas's red dot pool cues. See you next spring."
(Signed) 'Santa'
