I found this today while searching the net. It has some interesting pool gambling / hustling tales.
It's from: http://www.montereyherald.com/mld/mcherald/2006/11/09/sports/15983463.htm
Behind the 9-Ball
Salinas man has many a wild tale to tell from a lifetime of playing pool
By DENNIS TAYLOR
Herald Staff Writer
Bobby Burnett says he was 12 years old when he walked into Macy's, found the display typewriters, and used one to forge a phony baptismal certificate and falsify his age as 18.
Comically, that was good enough in those days to gain entry into a local pool hall, where he hung out almost daily, often skipping school, and became spellbound by the game and its odd lifestyle.
At 15, he ran away from his Southern Illinois home and headed for Los Angeles, where he played pool to survive. His parents found him, hauled him home, but before long, he bolted again. And again. The allure was too great.
He remembers sitting in a Southern California pool room one day when a well-known player named Vern Peterson walked in, looked at Burnett and other youngsters, and said, "Sit down, kids, and I'll run a hundred for you." Peterson then pocketed 100 balls in a row.
When a player like Peterson strolled into a room -- or, almost better, an unknown, who was on the road -- the excitement level became tantalizing. It was the equivalent, he says, of a modern-day gunfighter riding into town.
"I was using my older brother's ID to get into bars, and there were a lot of times when I was playing guys with absolutely no money in my pocket. So I had to win," he says. "And I didn't always win, but, luckily, I never got myself caught in a situation where I couldn't pay off. I always worked out some kind of a deal, even if it meant leaving my cue behind."
Burnett is 58 now, restoring pool tables and living a mostly quiet life in Salinas, with his docile dog, Barney, a 10-year-old lasoapso he rescued as a puppy from the pound, and his 20-year-old son and business partner, Chris, who splits time between Salinas and Orange County, where Chris' mom (Burnett's ex-wife) resides.
Burnett readily admits that pool cost him his marriage. "I think she really didn't understand my love for the game," he says. "I was allowed to go play pool, but I'd stay until five in the morning. She thought there was another woman. I mean, who'd want to hang out at a pool room until 5 a.m.? But there was all kinds of action all the time."
No regrets|
He doesn't regret the endless hours he has spent in smoky pool halls, and he says the life of a "professional" pool player wasn't too far removed from Hollywood's depiction in the classic Paul Newman movies, "The Hustler" and "The Color of Money." The danger, corruption, sleaze, excitement and relentless parade of oddball characters -- guys called Rat, Weasel, Weanie Beanie, 9-Ball Billy, Spanish Mike, Squirrel, Popeye and Shaky Red... they were all very real.
"I never had my thumbs broken (the fate of Newman's character in 'The Hustler'), but I've had to get out of pool rooms by the skin of my teeth because I thought I was going to get beat up or robbed," Burnett says. "The last time was here in Salinas, when I beat some guy out of $50. I thought his friends were going to kill me."
He insists he was "never a great player," but by the time he was a teenager, Burnett was holding his own in the hardcore rooms.
It was often a difficult life. "There are a lot of guys who actually live on a day-to-day basis, depending on how their game is going, and most of them are broke," he says. "When you're broke, you've got to get somebody to back you -- a stakehorse -- so you're risking somebody else's money. If you win, you eat tonight. If you lose, you're sleeping on a park bench."
Burnett has lived in his car. He's shacked up with friends. Mostly, though, he got by, not only as a pool player, but also as a Hollywood set builder for Warner Bros., Universal and Lorimar Telepictures, working on shows like "Dallas," "Knott's Landing," "Falcon Crest," "Eight Is Enough," "Flamingo Road," "Valerie Harper," "Perfect Strangers," "Max Headroom," and others.
Once a pool room owner|
He also owned a three-table pool room in Hollywood in the '60s -- private, at first; members paid a monthly fee and had their own key.
"We opened up to the public after three-and-a-half years. People could pay $5 and play as long as they wanted," he says. "They'd drink beer, smoke pot, do almost anything they wanted there except have sex on the tables."
But the loose atmosphere took its toll he said. Exotic dancers began to wander in at 2:30 a.m., when the strip joints closed, accompanied by whatever beau they'd picked up for the night.
"They'd pay their $5 and want to stay till noon. They'd be snorting speed off the tables," he says. "I decided that wasn't exactly what I'd signed on for, so I went back to working on sets."
But he didn't leave the pool halls. It was very much part of who he had become. Sometimes, he says, he'd just show up, park himself in a chair, and read the racing form until something happened. Rarely did he have to wait very long.
"One morning, you might walk in there and see a guy sitting there who's a pro player on the road. And maybe he'll match up with your local best player. And then the gambling starts among the people who are watching," Burnett says. "The game, itself, might be an all-day, all-night thing. Or even three or four days."
Some betting on the side|
Near his childhood home, in Johnson City, Ill., there was a pool room called Jansco's Show Bar. The World Billiards Tournament was held there in the 1960s, televised by ABC's Wide World of Sports. The feds closed it down, though, when they discovered that about $1.5 million was changing hands in the audience via illegal gambling.
Burnett recalls a night at "Hard Times," a legendary pool hall in Bellflower, when an elite player named Ernesto Dominguez had matched up against another well-known sharpshooter, Bobby Hunter.
"The bet was $20,000, and they had the money stacked on the light over the pool table," Burnett says. "Two armed thieves broke in and stole all the money."
Dominguez and Hunter reposted the cash -- another $10,000 each -- and finished the game.
A common scam, in the old days and now, is called "chopping the stakehorse," he says. A money man, the stakehorse, backs one of the players, who secretly conspires with his opponent to split as much cash as they can squeeze out of their mark.
Burnett says he met Kiefer Sutherland, a pool lover and occasional stakehorse, at a Hollywood pool hall when he suspected the famous actor was about to get taken.
"I watched Kiefer and his friend, Jude Cole, stake $5,000 on a player one day," he says. "Afterward, I pulled them aside and said, 'Don't do that again. They're going to chop you. That's what pool's all about -- somebody's going to figure out a way to get your money.'"
Sutherland and Burnett became close friends, and occasional pool partners, after that. In fact, he says the actor provided him with a car to drive and a place to live during a period when Burnett was down on his luck.
Risks of the game|
Burnett recalls watching another high-stakes game in Los Angeles that attracted a lot of side betting. Afterward, both players were found in a restaurant, splitting their money. "Both guys got beat up," he says. "That happens a lot in pool."
He's friendly with a player named Cecil Tugwell, who built his legend as a right-handed player, but now plays left-handed. "The story is that he got beat up, and both of his arms were broken," he says. "I don't know how much truth there is to that -- Cecil doesn't talk about it."
Big-time pool rooms are harder to find now -- the closest, he says, are up in San Francisco. And he says he no longer has the endurance necessary to compete the way he once did.
But the game remains a passion. In 1997, Burnett recorded an instructional video, "Winning 9-Ball," which was named "Best Billiards Tape of the Year" by both "Pool & Billiards Magazine" and "Billiards Digest." (Footnote: The producer of the tape, Jason Williams, was the star of a porn film called "Flesh Gordon.")
And Burnett says his table restoration business is doing well and he expects to start manufacturing tables eventually. He's also written a movie treatment and novel -- both with pool-hall settings -- that he'd like to market.
Wild days in the past|
Meanwhile, his wilder days are mostly over, and his greatest satisfaction nowadays comes from introducing and teaching the game to others. Learning to make precision shots is the easy part, he says. The complexities of the game are the next level.
"The image of the game has to change," he says. "Pool is a great game -- a great game for kids, especially -- and I really enjoy showing people the moves and techniques."
He says he stopped at a pro tournament in Sacramento recently and was approached by a wheelchair-bound boy who recognized Burnett from his instructional tape.
"He took me over to his brother, who was 12, pointed at me and said, 'OK, who is this guy?'" Burnett says. "And the kid says, 'Winning 9-Ball! I have your tape!'
"A while later, I realize that this 12-year-old kid is playing in the tournament, against pros," he says. "That made me feel pretty good. I've been patting myself on the back a little bit ever since."
It's from: http://www.montereyherald.com/mld/mcherald/2006/11/09/sports/15983463.htm
Behind the 9-Ball
Salinas man has many a wild tale to tell from a lifetime of playing pool
By DENNIS TAYLOR
Herald Staff Writer
Bobby Burnett says he was 12 years old when he walked into Macy's, found the display typewriters, and used one to forge a phony baptismal certificate and falsify his age as 18.
Comically, that was good enough in those days to gain entry into a local pool hall, where he hung out almost daily, often skipping school, and became spellbound by the game and its odd lifestyle.
At 15, he ran away from his Southern Illinois home and headed for Los Angeles, where he played pool to survive. His parents found him, hauled him home, but before long, he bolted again. And again. The allure was too great.
He remembers sitting in a Southern California pool room one day when a well-known player named Vern Peterson walked in, looked at Burnett and other youngsters, and said, "Sit down, kids, and I'll run a hundred for you." Peterson then pocketed 100 balls in a row.
When a player like Peterson strolled into a room -- or, almost better, an unknown, who was on the road -- the excitement level became tantalizing. It was the equivalent, he says, of a modern-day gunfighter riding into town.
"I was using my older brother's ID to get into bars, and there were a lot of times when I was playing guys with absolutely no money in my pocket. So I had to win," he says. "And I didn't always win, but, luckily, I never got myself caught in a situation where I couldn't pay off. I always worked out some kind of a deal, even if it meant leaving my cue behind."
Burnett is 58 now, restoring pool tables and living a mostly quiet life in Salinas, with his docile dog, Barney, a 10-year-old lasoapso he rescued as a puppy from the pound, and his 20-year-old son and business partner, Chris, who splits time between Salinas and Orange County, where Chris' mom (Burnett's ex-wife) resides.
Burnett readily admits that pool cost him his marriage. "I think she really didn't understand my love for the game," he says. "I was allowed to go play pool, but I'd stay until five in the morning. She thought there was another woman. I mean, who'd want to hang out at a pool room until 5 a.m.? But there was all kinds of action all the time."
No regrets|
He doesn't regret the endless hours he has spent in smoky pool halls, and he says the life of a "professional" pool player wasn't too far removed from Hollywood's depiction in the classic Paul Newman movies, "The Hustler" and "The Color of Money." The danger, corruption, sleaze, excitement and relentless parade of oddball characters -- guys called Rat, Weasel, Weanie Beanie, 9-Ball Billy, Spanish Mike, Squirrel, Popeye and Shaky Red... they were all very real.
"I never had my thumbs broken (the fate of Newman's character in 'The Hustler'), but I've had to get out of pool rooms by the skin of my teeth because I thought I was going to get beat up or robbed," Burnett says. "The last time was here in Salinas, when I beat some guy out of $50. I thought his friends were going to kill me."
He insists he was "never a great player," but by the time he was a teenager, Burnett was holding his own in the hardcore rooms.
It was often a difficult life. "There are a lot of guys who actually live on a day-to-day basis, depending on how their game is going, and most of them are broke," he says. "When you're broke, you've got to get somebody to back you -- a stakehorse -- so you're risking somebody else's money. If you win, you eat tonight. If you lose, you're sleeping on a park bench."
Burnett has lived in his car. He's shacked up with friends. Mostly, though, he got by, not only as a pool player, but also as a Hollywood set builder for Warner Bros., Universal and Lorimar Telepictures, working on shows like "Dallas," "Knott's Landing," "Falcon Crest," "Eight Is Enough," "Flamingo Road," "Valerie Harper," "Perfect Strangers," "Max Headroom," and others.
Once a pool room owner|
He also owned a three-table pool room in Hollywood in the '60s -- private, at first; members paid a monthly fee and had their own key.
"We opened up to the public after three-and-a-half years. People could pay $5 and play as long as they wanted," he says. "They'd drink beer, smoke pot, do almost anything they wanted there except have sex on the tables."
But the loose atmosphere took its toll he said. Exotic dancers began to wander in at 2:30 a.m., when the strip joints closed, accompanied by whatever beau they'd picked up for the night.
"They'd pay their $5 and want to stay till noon. They'd be snorting speed off the tables," he says. "I decided that wasn't exactly what I'd signed on for, so I went back to working on sets."
But he didn't leave the pool halls. It was very much part of who he had become. Sometimes, he says, he'd just show up, park himself in a chair, and read the racing form until something happened. Rarely did he have to wait very long.
"One morning, you might walk in there and see a guy sitting there who's a pro player on the road. And maybe he'll match up with your local best player. And then the gambling starts among the people who are watching," Burnett says. "The game, itself, might be an all-day, all-night thing. Or even three or four days."
Some betting on the side|
Near his childhood home, in Johnson City, Ill., there was a pool room called Jansco's Show Bar. The World Billiards Tournament was held there in the 1960s, televised by ABC's Wide World of Sports. The feds closed it down, though, when they discovered that about $1.5 million was changing hands in the audience via illegal gambling.
Burnett recalls a night at "Hard Times," a legendary pool hall in Bellflower, when an elite player named Ernesto Dominguez had matched up against another well-known sharpshooter, Bobby Hunter.
"The bet was $20,000, and they had the money stacked on the light over the pool table," Burnett says. "Two armed thieves broke in and stole all the money."
Dominguez and Hunter reposted the cash -- another $10,000 each -- and finished the game.
A common scam, in the old days and now, is called "chopping the stakehorse," he says. A money man, the stakehorse, backs one of the players, who secretly conspires with his opponent to split as much cash as they can squeeze out of their mark.
Burnett says he met Kiefer Sutherland, a pool lover and occasional stakehorse, at a Hollywood pool hall when he suspected the famous actor was about to get taken.
"I watched Kiefer and his friend, Jude Cole, stake $5,000 on a player one day," he says. "Afterward, I pulled them aside and said, 'Don't do that again. They're going to chop you. That's what pool's all about -- somebody's going to figure out a way to get your money.'"
Sutherland and Burnett became close friends, and occasional pool partners, after that. In fact, he says the actor provided him with a car to drive and a place to live during a period when Burnett was down on his luck.
Risks of the game|
Burnett recalls watching another high-stakes game in Los Angeles that attracted a lot of side betting. Afterward, both players were found in a restaurant, splitting their money. "Both guys got beat up," he says. "That happens a lot in pool."
He's friendly with a player named Cecil Tugwell, who built his legend as a right-handed player, but now plays left-handed. "The story is that he got beat up, and both of his arms were broken," he says. "I don't know how much truth there is to that -- Cecil doesn't talk about it."
Big-time pool rooms are harder to find now -- the closest, he says, are up in San Francisco. And he says he no longer has the endurance necessary to compete the way he once did.
But the game remains a passion. In 1997, Burnett recorded an instructional video, "Winning 9-Ball," which was named "Best Billiards Tape of the Year" by both "Pool & Billiards Magazine" and "Billiards Digest." (Footnote: The producer of the tape, Jason Williams, was the star of a porn film called "Flesh Gordon.")
And Burnett says his table restoration business is doing well and he expects to start manufacturing tables eventually. He's also written a movie treatment and novel -- both with pool-hall settings -- that he'd like to market.
Wild days in the past|
Meanwhile, his wilder days are mostly over, and his greatest satisfaction nowadays comes from introducing and teaching the game to others. Learning to make precision shots is the easy part, he says. The complexities of the game are the next level.
"The image of the game has to change," he says. "Pool is a great game -- a great game for kids, especially -- and I really enjoy showing people the moves and techniques."
He says he stopped at a pro tournament in Sacramento recently and was approached by a wheelchair-bound boy who recognized Burnett from his instructional tape.
"He took me over to his brother, who was 12, pointed at me and said, 'OK, who is this guy?'" Burnett says. "And the kid says, 'Winning 9-Ball! I have your tape!'
"A while later, I realize that this 12-year-old kid is playing in the tournament, against pros," he says. "That made me feel pretty good. I've been patting myself on the back a little bit ever since."
