Article from the SunTimes.com dated October 7, 2007.
http://www.suntimes.com/sports/sundaydrive/591807,CST-SPT-drive07a.article
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Confessions of a pool-hall junkie
For those with the stroke, it's a snap to separate the 'eggs' from the 'sharks'
BY ESTHER J. CEPEDA, Sun-Times Columnist, October 7, 2007
If you're anything like me, the sunshine-filled days of your elementary school years were misspent in smoky dens of sin watching old men drink whiskey from jelly jars while sinking nine multicolored balls in a row for wads of crumpled fives.
High school was spent trying not to get kicked out of pool halls at curfew. And college was financed, in part, by your ability to hold back your break and throw your stroke long enough for some sucker to blow his paycheck on a best-of-five run he was ill-equipped for.
What, you're nothing like me? When you're out with your buddies on a Friday night looking for some friendly action that won't leave your wallet empty and your dignity on the felt, you specifically want to stay away from types like me?
Well, come along, boys and girls, as I take you inside the life of a pool-hall junkie.
I stopped by my old stomping grounds, Chris's Billiards on the North Side, on Tuesday. If you've seen the movie ''The Color of Money,'' you've seen the inside of Chris's Billiards -- it's quiet and dark. It's an old-school, no-nonsense room -- no fancy steaks or busty girls at a bar, though you can get a bag of Cheetos, a pop or an ice-cream sandwich if you need one.
I left my custom-made McDermotts at home but lucked into a chance meeting that ended with me stroking the ivory-ferruled shaft of a hand-made $3,500 cue under the tutelage of the guy who'd made it -- Ed Young -- who was there chillin' with another Chris's regular named Leo Campos.
''Yeah, guys come in here with their fancy cues and fancy cases. Sometimes they're good, sometimes they're 'eggs,''' said Campos, a 37-year-old pool-table repairman who plays five or six hours a day, minimum. ''Those kinda guys play a lotta [handicapped] house tournaments, but outside of tournaments they're eggs -- they get beaten, they crack under pressure.''
Heck, anyone who's followed the sport knows that a hot stick means nothing -- for years, legendary 9-ball champ Efren ''The Magician" Reyes Jr. played on the warped, two-piece hunk of lumber he started on as a kid in the Philippines.
But the promise of a quiet -- and possibly profitable -- couple of racks isn't cuttin' it these days. Chris's was a little too quiet, even for a weekday afternoon.
''There's no other place like this in the state. It's genuine pool,'' said Eric Rosen, one of Chris's four owners. ''People come here to get down to business.''
"From all over the country; heck, we've had all the top guys the whole world,'' he said, adding that on any given day the joint is a mini-UN with Koreans playing billiards (no pockets), the Polish, English and Germans playing snooker (tight pockets), and the Mexicans, Filipinos and Americans shooting pool.
So what's the problem?
''Online poker,'' Leo said. ''Let's put it this way: People need a vice. People used to come here to play $200, $300, maybe $400 a week. Now they sit on the computer.
"There are still plenty of people coming out. And not every one with a black glove or a fancy cue is an egg, or even a shark. (Hint: Dude sportin' a two-piece Budweiser cue-in-a-box probably isn't going to take your money and run.) There are also ''locksmiths.'' These are cautious players who'll size you up and refuse to play anyone they don't think they can beat.
And then there are kids who look too young to have been around much but have grown up on a steady stream of how-to videos, books and magazines that weren't available years ago.
How can you tell who's who?
''You can't tell,'' Leo said. ''That's the biggest change I've seen in all this: cell phones.
''Some guy's playin' me for 20 bucks, then all of a sudden he's uppin' it to $500, I'm on my cell phone askin' around if my friends have seen him. Eh, it doesn't matter. I play 'cause I love it.''
Yeah, we love it because pool rocks even without the friendly wagers. So get yourself to a table, keep your eyes open, and don't forget to pack your rack tight.
http://www.suntimes.com/sports/sundaydrive/591807,CST-SPT-drive07a.article
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Confessions of a pool-hall junkie
For those with the stroke, it's a snap to separate the 'eggs' from the 'sharks'
BY ESTHER J. CEPEDA, Sun-Times Columnist, October 7, 2007
If you're anything like me, the sunshine-filled days of your elementary school years were misspent in smoky dens of sin watching old men drink whiskey from jelly jars while sinking nine multicolored balls in a row for wads of crumpled fives.
High school was spent trying not to get kicked out of pool halls at curfew. And college was financed, in part, by your ability to hold back your break and throw your stroke long enough for some sucker to blow his paycheck on a best-of-five run he was ill-equipped for.
What, you're nothing like me? When you're out with your buddies on a Friday night looking for some friendly action that won't leave your wallet empty and your dignity on the felt, you specifically want to stay away from types like me?
Well, come along, boys and girls, as I take you inside the life of a pool-hall junkie.
I stopped by my old stomping grounds, Chris's Billiards on the North Side, on Tuesday. If you've seen the movie ''The Color of Money,'' you've seen the inside of Chris's Billiards -- it's quiet and dark. It's an old-school, no-nonsense room -- no fancy steaks or busty girls at a bar, though you can get a bag of Cheetos, a pop or an ice-cream sandwich if you need one.
I left my custom-made McDermotts at home but lucked into a chance meeting that ended with me stroking the ivory-ferruled shaft of a hand-made $3,500 cue under the tutelage of the guy who'd made it -- Ed Young -- who was there chillin' with another Chris's regular named Leo Campos.
''Yeah, guys come in here with their fancy cues and fancy cases. Sometimes they're good, sometimes they're 'eggs,''' said Campos, a 37-year-old pool-table repairman who plays five or six hours a day, minimum. ''Those kinda guys play a lotta [handicapped] house tournaments, but outside of tournaments they're eggs -- they get beaten, they crack under pressure.''
Heck, anyone who's followed the sport knows that a hot stick means nothing -- for years, legendary 9-ball champ Efren ''The Magician" Reyes Jr. played on the warped, two-piece hunk of lumber he started on as a kid in the Philippines.
But the promise of a quiet -- and possibly profitable -- couple of racks isn't cuttin' it these days. Chris's was a little too quiet, even for a weekday afternoon.
''There's no other place like this in the state. It's genuine pool,'' said Eric Rosen, one of Chris's four owners. ''People come here to get down to business.''
"From all over the country; heck, we've had all the top guys the whole world,'' he said, adding that on any given day the joint is a mini-UN with Koreans playing billiards (no pockets), the Polish, English and Germans playing snooker (tight pockets), and the Mexicans, Filipinos and Americans shooting pool.
So what's the problem?
''Online poker,'' Leo said. ''Let's put it this way: People need a vice. People used to come here to play $200, $300, maybe $400 a week. Now they sit on the computer.
"There are still plenty of people coming out. And not every one with a black glove or a fancy cue is an egg, or even a shark. (Hint: Dude sportin' a two-piece Budweiser cue-in-a-box probably isn't going to take your money and run.) There are also ''locksmiths.'' These are cautious players who'll size you up and refuse to play anyone they don't think they can beat.
And then there are kids who look too young to have been around much but have grown up on a steady stream of how-to videos, books and magazines that weren't available years ago.
How can you tell who's who?
''You can't tell,'' Leo said. ''That's the biggest change I've seen in all this: cell phones.
''Some guy's playin' me for 20 bucks, then all of a sudden he's uppin' it to $500, I'm on my cell phone askin' around if my friends have seen him. Eh, it doesn't matter. I play 'cause I love it.''
Yeah, we love it because pool rocks even without the friendly wagers. So get yourself to a table, keep your eyes open, and don't forget to pack your rack tight.
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