Funny Pool Stories

Michael Andros

Michael Andros

tiny balls, GIANT pockets
Silver Member
I'm pretty sure there's some version of this already posted somewhere, but I'm not aware of it if so.

Here's one:

Sam Blumenthal, a **GREAT** player from Jacksonville was known to toss down a few beers in his day. Another good player from Jacksonville, Johnny Ross was playing Sam snooker for whatever-they-were-betting. Johnny was up at the counter, talking to Harley and they notice Sam is standing but bent over, with his face cradled in his arms which are on the table. He's passed out cold. Johnny says to Harley, "What should I do?" Harley says "Go wake him up!" So, Johnny goes and shakes Sam by the shoulder.

Sam wakes up. And runs out.


Sometimes it's just best to leave a sleeping dog lie...
 
Here's another Sam Blumenthal story. Sam was running the counter one day, wearing his apron, bored, room was pretty deserted. In walks a road player and his horse and asks if there's any action. Sam says, "Well, there'll be some play after a while. If you want, I'll play a little until someone comes in." So they make a game and Sam ends up winning a bunch. You can just imagine out in the car the horse telling his player they were going home and the player goes, "Why???" And the horse saying, "Are you kidding? You can't even beat the house man!"
 
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
If that was the room on the main floor, I was in it.
Horace the bookie was the big attraction...it was full of action when I was there.
I remember a poster-size cartoon on the wall....picture of a vulture sitting on a cactus..
...it said "Patience hell, I'm gonna go out and KILL something!"
 
pt109 said:
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
If that was the room on the main floor, I was in it.
Horace the bookie was the big attraction...it was full of action when I was there.
I remember a poster-size cartoon on the wall....picture of a vulture sitting on a cactus..
...it said "Patience hell, I'm gonna go out and KILL something!"
Click to expand...

Niiiccceeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
 
Here's a story Stan ( Goose ) McDowell told me many years ago. For those of you who don't know who Stan is, he was Mizerak Sr's partner in the pool room Steve M. Jr grew up in.

Time is late 70s. Sigel, Hopkins and Mizerak ( arguably 3 of the best, if not THE best players in the world at the time ) are sitting around Mizerak's pool room, wasting time til they head to airport to catch a flight out to L.A. They're going to tape one of the network's "Pool Challenge" shows from that era. A Canadian snooker/pool champion walks in, has no idea who the three are and is looking for some 9 ball action. Sigel says "I'll try you some." Of course, the Canadian has ZERO out and pulls up after a few thousand. He looks at Miz and says, "You want some?" Miz says sure. So the guy pulls up stakes after losing another few Gs. So then, yeah, you guessed it, Hopkins is next. Another few grand and the guy's out the door, presumably back to Canada where he solemnly warned his buddies "Man... don't EVER go down to Jersey. Every one of them f**kers is a stone cold world champion!"

:grin: :grin: :grin:
 
Michael Andros said:
Here's a story Stan ( Goose ) McDowell told me many years ago. For those of you who don't know who Stan is, he was Mizerak Sr's partner in the pool room Steve M. Jr grew up in.

Time is late 70s. Sigel, Hopkins and Mizerak ( arguably 3 of the best, if not THE best players in the world at the time ) are sitting around Mizerak's pool room, wasting time til they head to airport to catch a flight out to L.A. They're going to tape one of the network's "Pool Challenge" shows from that era. A Canadian snooker/pool champion walks in, has no idea who the three are and is looking for some 9 ball action. Sigel says "I'll try you some." Of course, the Canadian has ZERO out and pulls up after a few thousand. He looks at Miz and says, "You want some?" Miz says sure. So the guy pulls up stakes after losing another few Gs. So then, yeah, you guessed it, Hopkins is next. Another few grand and the guy's out the door, presumably back to Canada where he solemnly warned his buddies "Man... don't EVER go down to Jersey. Every one of them f**kers is a stone cold world champion!"

:grin: :grin: :grin:
Click to expand...

That was Gerry Watson, an excellent player.
...but you had to be more than excellent to get the cash in that room.
 
pt109 said:
That was Gerry Watson, an excellent player.
...but you had to be more than excellent to get the cash in that room.
Click to expand...

Check...

Our room owner spent years up there and told me if you can't run 200 balls, they don't think you can even play. He said there were multiple guys who would run 400 balls and just quit. "I gotta class to get to." Or whatever...

Yikes.
 
I've posted this one a few times before, but it's one of my favorites.

A man's wife requested that he run out for a carton of cigarettes. He said, "OK, honey, I'll be right back." The wife was pleased to see her man go downstairs toward the garage, but rather than going out, he racked the balls on the pool table in the basement, and started playing pool.

A while later, he reappeared at the top of the stairs but his hands were empty. His wife asked "What about the carton of cigarettes?" He said, "You can keep them, honey, I couldn't run out."
 
sjm said:
I've posted this one a few times before, but it's one of my favorites.

A man's wife requested that he run out for a carton of cigarettes. He said, "OK, honey, I'll be right back." The wife was pleased to see her man go downstairs toward the garage, but rather than going out, he racked the balls on the pool table in the basement, and started playing pool.

A while later, he reappeared at the top of the stairs but his hands were empty. His wife asked "What about the carton of cigarettes?" He said, "You can keep them, honey, I couldn't run out."
Click to expand...

Classic...
 
Jay Swanson ( we called him Captain Kangaroo for obvious reasons ) came in the pool room some 20 years ago or so, with his wife or girl friend. We had no idea who he was 'til later. The room owner, ( who plays VERY sporty one hole ) hooked up with him for 100 per. After not too terribly long, Swanson makes a ball on the break and runs out. His wife/g-f says "That's the first time I've ever seen him do that." A while later, he does it again. 'That's only the second time I've ever seen him do that, honest." A bit later, ditto. Later, ditto, ditto. At this point, the room owner ( we'll call him "Eric" ) says something to Swanson along the lines of "Think maybe you can get her to lay off the "That's the first time..." thing? I strongly suspect, knowing Eric as I do, that he had something a bit more strongly worded clanging around inside his brain, but he's too classy to have actually said it. At any rate, it worked. She never said it again.

They played for 2 days ( not straight, but consecutive ). At which point Eric quits one game winner. Swanson says "Why you off?" Eric says "In two days, I've never run so many 8 and outs in my entire life and we're even. I'm spinning my wheels."

Swanson was one HELL of a player. Glad I got to see him play the times I did.
 
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Surfer Rod came to town back @ the mid 70s and showed up at a local hole in the wall called the Horseshoe Lounge. The spot was good for action most every night and that particular night, there was a local kid there who played pretty f'ing strong, all games, capable of stringing racks in 9 ball, 8 ball, over 100 balls in 14.1. So Rod and this kid make a game ( 8 ball ) for whatever ( probably 20 a pop ) and the kid puts 4 on Rod from the first snap. Rod says "I need weight..." ( though I'm pretty sure he didn't really *think* he needed weight, it was just part of the hustle ). The kid says "Nah, I can't do that." Rod says "Why not? You're up here running racks!" The kid says, " Cause I've never seen you play..."

:yeah: :rotflmao1: :yeah:
 
Steve Carter and Bob Ogburn are down in Jacksonville. Ogburn has Sam Bluminthal giving up the 7 . Bob is betting high and is laying down, or so he said. Carter told him to start stretching out. At the end of it all, Carter told Bob that he'd never seen some one lay down till they was broke. Sam just kept running out and stringing racks together,,
 
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So, I was curious as to how long ago I posted the story of the Canadian champ who went down to Jersey so I found the thread. And it has a few other pretty good stories so I thought, what the hell, I'll bump it. So here we go...
 
The greatest story ever told

Well perhaps the second greatest but certainly one of the best pool stories. Those that are looking for short tales probably should pass on though, this one is a bit long.

Here is a, probably the classic story from Smorg. He was the kind of person that funny things happened to and around. I have known a few like that, my old partner Bobby was the same. The smallest thing I did with Bobby often turned into an epic, even life threatening, adventure. Anyway, here is the story from Smorg. Because of who Smorg was every word may be gospel, every word a myth, or somewhere in between. That was part of Smorg's mystique, we never really knew who he was or which of his many persona was really him if any was. Maybe they all were?

An Update: A good friend of Smorg’s confirmed this was a true story.

(Tampa Tubby Bob)
(*<~ It was on my way home from New Orleans two weeks ago ...... <insert flashback music here> I stopped at my brother's workplace and was talked into spending two days at Spring Break assisting the young girls in their wet T-shirt competitions and bikini contests. Man, I've still got it and so do they.
Anyway, that brother lives ON THE BEACH (about 100' to the surf) of the Gulf of Mexico in a beautiful 3 bedroom home with ALL the amenities (I'd like to swap places with him- including significant other).

He lives just east of Panama City in a little beach community called St. Joe Beach. There is a place there (within crawling distance of the house) called "Regan's Pub & Oyster Bar" Est. Nov.14th 2000 157,920 Oyster's Shucked (when the t-shirt was printed).

After a hard day of rubbing up against nubile young things in Panama City we ended up at Regan's depleting their oyster stock and keeping the 'shucker' employed. The bar area had a 4x8 pooltable and the proximity to the beach and the breeze had it in the lower 50’s. I had on my Planet 9-Ball jacket with the BIG logo of a planet that looks like a 9-ball (duh).

All the locals wanted to challenge my brother and I to some partners 8-ball and we obliged. We won every game for hours, no matter what rules they made up along the way. We stopped to take a break and eat MORE oysters and one of the players asked me what I 'did' in Tampa. I told him that I was a professional pool player (my brother almost blew an oyster out of his nose).

This fellow named Jim-Bob wanted to play me heads up. I told him that I'd play, but I wouldn't play cheap. He told me that he didn't care WHAT we played for as he racked the balls and I prepared to break. I'd told him that I was called Tampa Tubby and as I smashed the balls I exclaimed that I was playing him for his 'Bob'. At first, he thought that I was kidding, but as it dawned on him that I was serious he became VERY nervous. All activity stopped in the building as EVERYONE came to sweat this game. The most serious game to ever take place in St. Joe Beach, Fl.

I got down to the eightball and Jim-Bob said that I had to 'bank it' AND we were also playing last pocket 8-ball. I'd made my last ball in the side pocket and was in trouble with the way his balls were laying on the table. When I asked if I could play the eight off of one of his balls and he said yes, I kicked the eight from near the end rail and off his ball into 'my' side pocket. GAME OVER. I'd won 'the Bob'. Everyone laughed and cheered while now calling me "Tampa Tubby-Bob".

At the same time,everyone now called Jim-Bob simply JIM. Jim was divastated. It was sinking in that he had lost his 'Bob' and he didn't like it one little bit. People were now calling him 'Bobless' and his boss (who was present) threatened to fire him and make him 'Jobless Bobless'. He's been 'Bobbited'. He wanted a re-match. I said NO. I told him that I would return in exactly one year and play him ONE GAME and give him an opportunity to win his 'Bob' back.

I've spoken to my brother a few times since I've left St. Joe Beach and he assures me NO ONE has called him Jim-Bob since he lost and that the word has spread up & down the beach. They're planning a big 'special day' for next year and my return. I'm thinking about breaking out my sling, walker, eye-patch, etc. to make it REALLY exciting. I know that I dance to beat of a different drum (at least I didn't insist that he throw in a moon pie), but everyone seems to like it (so far). I didn't get a BOP on the nose. Life is good.

Does it get any better than this?
(end of Smorg's tale)
 
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Not sure that this qualifies as a pool story, but it always struck me as amusing.

A fellow I met in 1995 in a NYC poolroom introduced himself as "Jerry." He and I became good friends. A few years later, when I said "Hi Jerry" as he walked into the poolroom, he said "It's not Jerry, it's Joel." Why, I had to ask, did he have me and everyone else, staff included, at the poolroom believe his name to be Jerry.

The answer was pretty shocking. It seems that he was going through some very tough times with his wife and she seemed to be able to track him down almost anywhere. He didn't want anyone calling the poolroom (where he spent a lot of time) and asking for Joel to get hold of him, and he didn't want anyone in the room to be able to identify him as Joel. He only spilled the beans after things had cooled down.

Hence the misdirection. Seems weird, though, that I called a pool friend of mine by the wrong name for the first few years of our friendship.
 
A bit of self-deprecation here.

A top player in NYC once talked to me about pool nicknames, and how it was very prestigious to have a nickname that included a state, like Vivian "The Texas Tornado" Villareal, Jack "Jersey Red" Breit, or Shane "The South Dakota Kid" Van Boening. A bit less prestigious, he explained, was to have a nickname that included the name of a major city, like Larry "Boston Shorty" Johnson. Slightly less prestigious than that, he went on to note, was to have a nickname that included a section of a city like Johnny "Brooklyn Johnny" Ervolino.

I asked him, quite matter of factly, what nickname I'd merit. He said, the best I can do for you is "54th Street Stu". Yes, at the time I lived on 54th Street in Manhattan, NY. He was willing to concede that I was likely the best pool player on 54th Street, but not much more. I laughed and laughed.
 
Julien St Denis was a grea player out of Hull, Quebec.....50s to 70s
...world class, but there was no money in pro snooker in his time....
...he worked on the railroad.

Andre Goyette....also a great player....just under Julien.

So they go to the action room in Montreal one weekend....Club Billiards

They got sick and tired of Julien’s action real quick...so they tried Andre.
...they eventually quit Andre also.

So Julien offered a different game....they could play Andre and he would cover one eye...
...but they had to raise the bet......Andre won all the cash....after all...
...he only had one eye he could actually see out of.
 
sjm said:
Not sure that this qualifies as a pool story, but it always struck me as amusing.

A fellow I met in 1995 in a NYC poolroom introduced himself as "Jerry." He and I became good friends. A few years later, when I said "Hi Jerry" as he walked into the poolroom, he said "It's not Jerry, it's Joel." Why, I had to ask, did he have me and everyone else, staff included, at the poolroom believe his name to be Jerry.

The answer was pretty shocking. It seems that he was going through some very tough times with his wife and she seemed to be able to track him down almost anywhere. He didn't want anyone calling the poolroom (where he spent a lot of time) and asking for Joel to get hold of him, and he didn't want anyone in the room to be able to identify him as Joel. He only spilled the beans after things had cooled down.

Hence the misdirection. Seems weird, though, that I called a pool friend of mine by the wrong name for the first few years of our friendship.
Click to expand...

Sounds like Joel Marx. He was a classic con man (deceased now). Be careful who you befriend. :cool:
 
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