This didn't happen to me but I laugh when I think about this. A buddy of mine was playing some $200 sets on the best table in the room, most of the time we would be playing for 5 or 10 a game with 5 or 6 different guys. This dude walks in and puts his quarters up and starts hitting on the waitress, another buddy of mine walks over to tell the guy they are playing a set and the "hustler" says do you want to play some. Of course my buddy says sure after he walks over to get his cues the guys tells the waitress I think I found me a sucker. They started playing 8 ball race to 5 for 50 and my buddy is up 2 sets and the guy ask to play 9 ball for a hundo a set. They start playing my buddy never laid down the entire time they played and just slaughtered the guy 4 more sets in maybe a hour and a half. Meanwhile my other buddy grinds out 200 after playing for 6 hours. I told my buddy the guy found a sucker to suck the cash out of his pocket.
I liked playing those challenge tables. Five or six guys in and nobody seemed to realize you were taking most of the money. There was a ratty old place in Satsuma LA that we just called Satsuma, it didn't even have a name! I think it had one of the small neon beer signs in the window. Come to think of it, that was where I got hustled for nickel and dime change. In three months I was about three hundred down to Old Joe. They only sold beer in there but Joe had an old sport coat he wore that was also a distillery. He always had a pint bottle he was sipping on and never ran out no matter how long he played. It was many years later that I recalled that Joe never seemed to get drunk. Whiskey or tea? One bottle was whiskey but he had multiple bottles in that coat.
I never gave it much thought, kinda the theme for me in those days, but if Joe wasn't there when I showed up he was right behind. Somebody diming me? Did Joe own the place? There were always a few cowboys and farm boys playing on the nastiest rattiest old nine footer in the world almost, and Joe. One young man or another tended the bar. I don't think women were banned but I never saw one in there.
Old Joe was in his seventies or eighties and he could have been called Slow Joe too. He didn't deliberately move slowly but he walked at a crawl and shot so slowly that a ball never left the bevel of the pocket when he made a ball. Joe could run out on you without stalling and take fifteen minutes, one or two eternities, to do it. I was under twenty and full of fire. This old place had no ceiling, no AC, not much in the way of screens on the windows, the cloth on the table was ripped and torn, stained with mostly beer but best not to know what all. The wood plank floor had gaps between the boards wide enough cigarette butts could be swept through on the rare occasions the floor got swept.
As a general thing I could beat anyone in the place, except Joe. I played better than Joe when I played other people but I couldn't deal with his slow play. I would give him the table and sit on the edge of my chair as he shot and moved around the table. When he missed I would jump up like my butt was spring loaded. Too eager, I would miss a ball or blow shape and the torture began again. Being more than a little stubborn I kept battling Joe for months and he kept taking my money and that of most other players, three dollars at a time mostly. Minimum wage was a buck and a quarter an hour and few of the other players in the room were making more, some less. Some of these guys made twenty a week and found. They would walk or hitchhike to Joe's when they got paid and generally go bust there and go back to work the next day content. They had enjoyed their night on the town!
Joe plucked me like a chicken for months. When I think about it Joe was doubling or tripling his pension every month right there in that old bar. I gave it some thought, just wasn't acceptable that Joe could keep on beating me. I finally figured out to relax in the chair, slump back, act half asleep. When I wasn't shooting just be a mildly interested observer. First trip I tried this I finally beat Joe! Took him for fifteen or twenty at three a game. Next time in and from then on, Joe never played me more than one or two games if he played at all when I was in the room. I wasn't his sucker anymore but he wasn't giving back the money he had won either!
While he wouldn't have said so I always considered Joe one of my pool mentors. From then on when somebody slow played me, intentional or not, I would kick back in my chair, maybe fake a yawn or two, and relax. I genuinely rested in the chair instead of running wide open even when I was seated. I went from being able to play three or four hours to being able to play twelve or more, sometimes twenty-four and a rare match longer than that, thirty-six hours or more.
Joe, I really think unintentionally as far as the slow play, hustled me for low hundreds. Looking back, I am pretty sure he was sipping tea much of the time making it an out an out hustle. However, him inadvertently teaching me to relax in the chair won me thousands in total over the next ten years or so.
That old bar was about twenty miles east of me and I used it for a pump up spot when I was headed east for about ten years. One day I passed by and it was closed, never to reopen to my knowledge. I missed it, hundreds of bugs on the table, Old Joe, and all! Somebody must have been a hell of a salesman that came through around WWII or a bit later. Every country store and bar seemed to have one of those old nine footers that hadn't been recovered since about that time. Price to play when I first started was usually a dime, sometimes just a nickel. By 1970 they were up to a quarter, mostly.
Joe could run out on that old table, eight or nine ball, when he was ancient. Only when it was too late to ask did I wonder how he played as a younger man. Was Joe once a feared player? I am unlikely to ever know! We were never what could be called friends but like many another pool room character or denizen of the night as I called the gamblers, scammers, and small time hustlers I met along my way, I miss him sometimes.
RIP Joe.
Hu