The dawn arrives and I decide that another practice session on a Diamond table at Best Billiards is not the worst idea I've ever had. After a couple of hours of hitting them around I head to the tournament room for my 1pm match against Carl Wilson, Jr. of Reno. Carl is a straight shooter and gets off to a 3-1 lead. But, a few capricious rolls of the balls and I worm my way back into the match and eventually prevail.
Almost immediately I must play former U.S. One Pocket champ, Larry Nevel. Right before match time, I had been watching the Bernie Pettipiece v Earl Strickland match being played on my assigned 4pm table. A sizable crowd had formed and it was a tense, back-and-forth match and the situation was taking its toll on Earl. It began with stares and perhaps a few mutter comments to some gentlemen sitting in the seats near the head of the table. Bernie was putting a lot of heat on Earl and I should pause to mention at this point that Bernie, who hails from the Phoenix area, is a quiet, soft spoken, tenacious competitor. The match is going long and midway through the case game, my match is called to another table. So at this point, what exactly transpired I did not personally see. However, I have it from a friend whom I would consider an unimpeachable source that, as the match drew to its conclusion, Earl was clearly "stressed" and when Bernie dropped the match ball and went up to shake Earl's hand, Earl refused and reportedly said, "**** you." And Bernie, being the classy guy he is just quietly responded, "Better be careful, Earl. You'll get yourself disqualified."
Boom.
My match with Larry goes predictably, but here is the funny thing: I am playing one of the guys with the biggest strokes in pool and our match, just as about everyone else's, becomes a battle over whom can hit the balls more softly. A slight tap and an object ball easily goes two table lengths. Power one pocket? Fergetaboutit -- you'd send the balls flying back and forth across the table and get five rails. The cloth, rails, and balls at this event only need the merest tap of the CB for any given shot. I was thinking at one point that a straight rail or balk line player like Frederic Caudron could probably win the event. Lou loses 1-4.
Checking the tournament board I determine I am to play again, at 10 pm. It is while I and perhaps a half dozen other players are checking the board that Charlie Williams shows us all why he is the beloved player he is: we're all crowded around the board trying to give each room so others can see the brackets, when Charlie comes flying in between everyone, steps right in front of the board, runs his finger down it, finds his match, and leaves, leaving the rest of us looking at each other with one guy muttering, "What a dick."
I return to Buzios for another good meal and Steve, the chef behind the bar, and I talk about Candlestick Park and Willie Mays. The food is still great. Eventually I re-enter the tournament room to find I am to play Jeremy Jones. Playing on the next table is Mr. 400, John Schmidt. Our eyes meet and I greet him by saying, "Mr. Schmidt." And he responds by saying, "Mr. Laptop."
?
I pause a moment and figure this is some kind of slight but just say, "I don't own a laptop, John. Your need to step into the next century. It's all iPads now." Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Schmidt was not done with me for the night.
Jeremy and I begin our match and I win the first game and get off to a 6-2 lead in the next. But, truth be told, he out moves me, taking several intentionals. At one point he calls a referee over to monitor a jacked up shot I must shoot with the balls separated by perhaps a half inch. I jack up and shoot away from the ball, the ref says, "No foul," and Jeremy does not like the call. I only mention this because of the TAR match incident, draw your own conclusions. Regardless, eventually, almost inevitably, I lose 1-3. Tournament over for Lou.
So I'm walking away from the "pro" arena and up comes Mr. Schmidt. I can tell he's "agitated" because his cheeks are flushed and then he gets surprisingly close to my face and says, "I know that after a match you've lost is not the best time to talk, but if you ever have something you want to say to me, you can say it to my face."
A little background: not too long ago there was a thread on 14.1 runs and I had opined that, IMO, a player should not pick up the CB to clean it mid-run, but that if the CB required cleaning, it should be done by anyone else but the player. I had also said that IMO, the balls should not be repeatedly run through a ball polisher during a run because it caused the balls to open up like "a bag of spilt popcorn." It was my opinion that a run should get tougher the longer it becomes and I alluded to polishing the balls repeatedly during a run being akin to putting in an escalator near the summit of Mt. Everest. At the time, Mr. Schmidt took great personal umbrage at my comments, and months later, they appeared to still be on his mind.
So now we're at the U.S. Open and he is in my face holding his motorcycle helmet and I say, "John I feel the same way." And he responds, "OK, I think you're a dick. You're a no talent, wannabe pool player. You're a fat Mexican who couldn't get laid in prison. I bet $2,000 we can go outside and I'll whip your ass. We can go now. In fact I bet I could ***** slap you right here and you wouldn't do a thing about it."
Somewhere in all that I believe I responded, "I'm not Mexican, John. And if you were to hit me, you're right, I wouldn't do anything but I have a good attorney that would make your life a living hell. I am a wannabe pool player, but could buy you several times over, and I feel sorry for you if pool is the best thing you've got going for you. You're a class act, John. A class act all the way."
Straight pool players are a high strung lot.
Eventually we finished exchanging pleasantries and John strides off into the night, motorcycle helmet in hand. Wandering the tournament room I come upon Mark Griffin, Joe Tucker, and CSI's Caleb, and Mark offers to buy us drinks. We retreat to the Rio's main casino bar and sit and talk about Joe's Texas Bumps tournament and the American Rotation league he's forming; Aramith and the story behind Cyclop balls; BB and how the worst thing about it is how it has fractured so many relationships in the small community that is pool; JA's recent texts to Mark (unbelievable does not start to cover it); BB and the U.S. 9ball Open; and CSI's plans for the future. It was a great time with great company.
As always, I come away from an event like this having learned much about the game. One thing that I saw was that you can win a lot of games of 1pocket with simple shots that are not normally shots you'd think to practice, and so when I practice in the future I know a few new shots to work on.
Lastly, for the record: I'm coming up on 60 and my best "lets go outside" days are behind me; I am fat (and have white hair); I admire what the pros do but do not want to be one of them; I am not Mexican -- my Mom and Dad immigrated from El Salvador; and, oh yes, you should not pick up the CB when you're on a run
Lou Figueroa
Almost immediately I must play former U.S. One Pocket champ, Larry Nevel. Right before match time, I had been watching the Bernie Pettipiece v Earl Strickland match being played on my assigned 4pm table. A sizable crowd had formed and it was a tense, back-and-forth match and the situation was taking its toll on Earl. It began with stares and perhaps a few mutter comments to some gentlemen sitting in the seats near the head of the table. Bernie was putting a lot of heat on Earl and I should pause to mention at this point that Bernie, who hails from the Phoenix area, is a quiet, soft spoken, tenacious competitor. The match is going long and midway through the case game, my match is called to another table. So at this point, what exactly transpired I did not personally see. However, I have it from a friend whom I would consider an unimpeachable source that, as the match drew to its conclusion, Earl was clearly "stressed" and when Bernie dropped the match ball and went up to shake Earl's hand, Earl refused and reportedly said, "**** you." And Bernie, being the classy guy he is just quietly responded, "Better be careful, Earl. You'll get yourself disqualified."
Boom.
My match with Larry goes predictably, but here is the funny thing: I am playing one of the guys with the biggest strokes in pool and our match, just as about everyone else's, becomes a battle over whom can hit the balls more softly. A slight tap and an object ball easily goes two table lengths. Power one pocket? Fergetaboutit -- you'd send the balls flying back and forth across the table and get five rails. The cloth, rails, and balls at this event only need the merest tap of the CB for any given shot. I was thinking at one point that a straight rail or balk line player like Frederic Caudron could probably win the event. Lou loses 1-4.
Checking the tournament board I determine I am to play again, at 10 pm. It is while I and perhaps a half dozen other players are checking the board that Charlie Williams shows us all why he is the beloved player he is: we're all crowded around the board trying to give each room so others can see the brackets, when Charlie comes flying in between everyone, steps right in front of the board, runs his finger down it, finds his match, and leaves, leaving the rest of us looking at each other with one guy muttering, "What a dick."
I return to Buzios for another good meal and Steve, the chef behind the bar, and I talk about Candlestick Park and Willie Mays. The food is still great. Eventually I re-enter the tournament room to find I am to play Jeremy Jones. Playing on the next table is Mr. 400, John Schmidt. Our eyes meet and I greet him by saying, "Mr. Schmidt." And he responds by saying, "Mr. Laptop."
?
I pause a moment and figure this is some kind of slight but just say, "I don't own a laptop, John. Your need to step into the next century. It's all iPads now." Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Schmidt was not done with me for the night.
Jeremy and I begin our match and I win the first game and get off to a 6-2 lead in the next. But, truth be told, he out moves me, taking several intentionals. At one point he calls a referee over to monitor a jacked up shot I must shoot with the balls separated by perhaps a half inch. I jack up and shoot away from the ball, the ref says, "No foul," and Jeremy does not like the call. I only mention this because of the TAR match incident, draw your own conclusions. Regardless, eventually, almost inevitably, I lose 1-3. Tournament over for Lou.
So I'm walking away from the "pro" arena and up comes Mr. Schmidt. I can tell he's "agitated" because his cheeks are flushed and then he gets surprisingly close to my face and says, "I know that after a match you've lost is not the best time to talk, but if you ever have something you want to say to me, you can say it to my face."
A little background: not too long ago there was a thread on 14.1 runs and I had opined that, IMO, a player should not pick up the CB to clean it mid-run, but that if the CB required cleaning, it should be done by anyone else but the player. I had also said that IMO, the balls should not be repeatedly run through a ball polisher during a run because it caused the balls to open up like "a bag of spilt popcorn." It was my opinion that a run should get tougher the longer it becomes and I alluded to polishing the balls repeatedly during a run being akin to putting in an escalator near the summit of Mt. Everest. At the time, Mr. Schmidt took great personal umbrage at my comments, and months later, they appeared to still be on his mind.
So now we're at the U.S. Open and he is in my face holding his motorcycle helmet and I say, "John I feel the same way." And he responds, "OK, I think you're a dick. You're a no talent, wannabe pool player. You're a fat Mexican who couldn't get laid in prison. I bet $2,000 we can go outside and I'll whip your ass. We can go now. In fact I bet I could ***** slap you right here and you wouldn't do a thing about it."
Somewhere in all that I believe I responded, "I'm not Mexican, John. And if you were to hit me, you're right, I wouldn't do anything but I have a good attorney that would make your life a living hell. I am a wannabe pool player, but could buy you several times over, and I feel sorry for you if pool is the best thing you've got going for you. You're a class act, John. A class act all the way."
Straight pool players are a high strung lot.
Eventually we finished exchanging pleasantries and John strides off into the night, motorcycle helmet in hand. Wandering the tournament room I come upon Mark Griffin, Joe Tucker, and CSI's Caleb, and Mark offers to buy us drinks. We retreat to the Rio's main casino bar and sit and talk about Joe's Texas Bumps tournament and the American Rotation league he's forming; Aramith and the story behind Cyclop balls; BB and how the worst thing about it is how it has fractured so many relationships in the small community that is pool; JA's recent texts to Mark (unbelievable does not start to cover it); BB and the U.S. 9ball Open; and CSI's plans for the future. It was a great time with great company.
As always, I come away from an event like this having learned much about the game. One thing that I saw was that you can win a lot of games of 1pocket with simple shots that are not normally shots you'd think to practice, and so when I practice in the future I know a few new shots to work on.
Lastly, for the record: I'm coming up on 60 and my best "lets go outside" days are behind me; I am fat (and have white hair); I admire what the pros do but do not want to be one of them; I am not Mexican -- my Mom and Dad immigrated from El Salvador; and, oh yes, you should not pick up the CB when you're on a run
Lou Figueroa
