High-stakes pool hustling is a dangerous game. Hustlers get hurt

[CJ Wiley]

"Hustling" can be a seriously dangerous occupation, and I would never advise anyone this life style. Has anyone ever been in any dangerous situations as a result of gambling at pool? If so, please share it and for the time being leave all the "pool hustling" to the reality shows.

I have believed that a pool reality show would draw a spotlight to the game and open up other avenues of showcasing the game. The show I was selected for was influenced by this article that appeared in

'Texas Monthly' - written by Michael Geffner from NY City.


Wiley remembers how easily the action flowed right after the release of 1986’s The Color of Money. Thanks to that film, Wiley clipped off an entire bar in Pittsburgh over the course of an evening. He began with the owner, a pigeon who knew the flick by heart. He led Wiley up to hid private pool table on the second floor, saying, “It’s just like the movie. You saw the movie, right?” The Owner couldn't hit the floor with his hat.

“After I beat him out of a few hundred, stalling to keep the games close, he quits and has me play everybody else in the building: the bartender, the cook, the dishwasher, five locals and finally the best player in town. By night’s end, I had the owner stuck around 65 hundred. ‘You know kid, you played a lot better at the end than you did at the beginning.’ He says to me. I looked him square in the eyes and said, ‘Well, you saw the movie right?’”

Wiley was part of an elite underground group called “road players,” traveling pool assassins hiding below the radar, never showing their faces in tournaments. “There were only around 30 of us,” says Wiley, who’s run a dozen racks without missing and won as much as $20,000 in a single night. “I’m talking about the solid ones, the guys who consistently got the cash.” These players were known through the grapevine simply by their nicknames: Frisco Jack and One-Eyed Rd, Water-dog and Shaft Man, Big John and The Faceless Man. “We knew each other, and there was a camaraderie. We even worked together taking off scores, calling each other with steers into good games.

“In the pool world, the road player is the most respected, way more than the tournament winners. We’re not just great players. We’re a special bread. We have nerves strong enough to hold up for the big money. We have something extra—a killer instinct, an ice-cold hearts.” He pauses, then, unflinchingly, adds: “I had both in abundance.”

Wake-up Call

High-stakes pool hustling is a dangerous game. Hustlers get hurt. Wiley has been .........to be continued later today

 

[CJ Wiley]

The first time Wiley stared down the barrel of a gun while hustling, he was 18.

Here is the rest of the article for anyone that likes the "action side of pool".



Wiley has been clocked with a pair of roundhouses, been slipped a Mickey at least three times and was robbed at gunpoint twice. “Both times was after I won a lot of money,” he says. “Both, I’m convinced, were setups.” It didn't stop him, though. Wiley accepted those things as occupational hazards. “I was on an adventure, and I never saw a great adventure movie without the star being chased, shot at and running for his life.”

The first time Wiley stared down the barrel of a gun while hustling, he was 18. It was 3 a.m. in a seedy section of Minneapolis, near Gentleman Jim’s, a 24-hour poolroom well-known for its big money action. Wiley had scored around seven grand and was riding a rush of adrenaline. The gunman stuck his .45 so hard underneath Wiley’s chin it rose the Texan onto his toes. The mugger made off with only $400, speeding off in a car. “luckily,” Wiley says, “my partner was always the one who carried most of the money.”

Wiley was shaken but not stirred. “It had no lasting effect,” he says. “it was just a wake-up call.” In fact, he was robber again a year later, in Albemarle, North Carolina, at some bootleg liquor joint with a backroom pool table by a guy with a shotgun who wore a nylon stocking over his head. He still felt bulletproof, though he finally learned to leave town in a hurry after big wins.

Rack ‘em

Born and raised in Green City, Missouri, a desperately small, poor cattle town 136 miles from Kansas City, Wiley started shooting stick at seven, standing on a wooden soda case to reach the table. Four years later he was the best player in town; by 15 he was outgunning guys twice his age for $20 a game. He found his nirvana in his senior year in high school. During Christmas break, he and two experienced partners embarked on a road trip, working spots all over Oklahoma and Kansas. The trio took in $16,000 in just 40 days. Wiley never sat though another class again.

From ages 18 to 26 Wiley lived constantly on the move. His Sky-Pager would go off in the middle of the night, alerting him to action. In 1987, Wiley relocated to Dallas to be centrally located between both coasts. He’d plan trips on his motor home based on trips from an underground network of informants. “I would take a map, circle spots I wanted to hit and connect them as strategically as I would if I were running a rack of balls,” he says. All the inside info was compiled in a “spot book,” a hustler’s little black book containing addresses of action joints, names of gambling players, how well they played, what games they liked and how much they liked to bet.

He assumed aliases: Mike from Indiana, Chris from Missouri or Butch from Tennessee. “I once went to a spot where the locals were talking about all three of my aliases and arguing which one was the best player.” He posed as a college student, a computer salesman, even a drug dealer. He used fake IDs and phony glasses. (“a guy with glasses can always get played.”) He blended with locals by mimicking their behavior, dress and accents, even occasionally stealing license plates. He did whatever it took to get the game. “There were only three guys in the country I wouldn't play,” he says, “and I knew who those guys were.”

He also had a favorite line that never failed to lure ‘em in. Wiley would simply smile and say, “I’m very good at pool—is anyone here as good as me?” He found it was better to be cocky than pretend to be a bad player and what could guys say when he beat them? He’d warned them he was good.

Like most hustlers, Wiley traveled with a partner. This guy held most if the cash, watched his back and helped the scam. “Sometimes, I’d act like the stake-horse and my partner would be the player,” he says. “My partners could play, though not as well as I could. He’d beat a guy until he quit, then the guy would say to me, ‘I can’t beat him, but I’ll play you.’ They assumed that I couldn't play since I was staking the money. They didn't realize they’d stepped into a bigger trap.”

Eight ball in the corner pocket

Wiley didn't just roll chumps. “My forte was beating players who were supposedly unbeatable on their home tables. Even if they played as well as I did, I’d simply outlast them.” He built a rep for intimidating opponents, slamming balls into pockets with a popping stroke, making long-range shots as if they were mere tap-ins and shooting so fast he ran racks in minutes. He accompanied this with a mean game face derived from biting the inside of his mouth until he bled. “With good players, I didn't just want to beat them, I wanted to crush them,” he says. “I got off on seeing their knees buckle, seeing fear in their eyes.”

Wiley’s reputation began to precede him, and the money dried up. He retired from hustling for good and went legit, joining the pros in 1991. Four years later, frustrated with the piddling prize money, he quit that, too, but not before being ranked as high as fourth in the world. “What I made in a year on the pro tour, I used to make in one night hustling.” - And such is the reality of pool, the master game. 'The Game is the Teacher

 

[Atlatlien]

http://forums.azbilliards.com/showpost.php?p=4689317&postcount=188

...Now more than a decade removed from his poolroom cons, Wiley is still hustling—but in the business world. Today, he owns a 24-hour poolroom and a $3.5 million sports bar. He lives in a three-bedroom home in the swanky suburb of Lake Highlands, outside Dallas.

Does he ever miss the pool-hustling life? “At the time, I loved everything about the life, especially the freedom and being able to travel around the country,” Wiley says. “When I look back on it now, it sickens me. I was a pure predator. I’d hate to ever go back to that, even though I was a winner.”

 

[HawaiianEye]

I never pretended to be anybody or ever tried to "hustle" anyone, but I made plenty of cash just by walking in a joint, sizing it up, and then playing to figure out who made the best of the deal.

I did it by one of two ways:

1) I just made an "announcement" that I had some cash and would play "anybody" in the joint for whatever cash I had. In MOST of those instances, I won the cash on hand and left or either they called in their "ringer" and I played him. In MOST cases, I left with his cash as well. The opponent's cash was usually miniscule to what you could make on the side bets.

2) I went in a place and found a ring game going and asked could I play. In MOST cases, I was the LAST man standing with the cash and then I left or played somebody head-up who maybe survived with some cash.

I am not saying I could beat EVERYBODY, I'm just saying that I beat over 90% of the people I played.

I started as a young kid and the owner of the pool hall would use that to our "advantage". He would take me to bars and pool halls in other parts of the state or even a different state and then say, "my boy here can beat anybody in the house"...and we went from there.

I could play within a ball of St. Louis Louie in the late 60s/early 70s and I was just a teen. I remember when he first got out of the Air Force and was just beginning his "pro" pool shooting days.

I played $100 one-pocket with the OLD guys who were supposedly the one-pocket players. I could play even with them in one pocket, but NONE of them would play me even 9-ball.

My BIGGEST mistake was NEVER "hiding my speed". I didn't care if I was playing a girl 8-ball for NOTHING or a player for the cash...I NEVER laid down to LET people win. I went for the jugular. If I had tried to "hide something", I probably could have made even more cash, but cash WASN'T my only motive...I liked the "thrill of victory"...the HIGH...the money was secondary to ME.

 

[CJ Wiley]

the suckers will knock each other over to try to beat me

I bet Louie was fun to play in the late 70s, he was quite a character. I played him the first time when I was 16 years old and beat him, however, there's more to that story.

You're right for announcing you'll "play anyone", I learned a long time ago that "suckers" won't believe the truth....so that's what you tell them and they will do what you want them to do....it's really about ego.

If I go into a place and say "I haven't been playing"...."my eyes are no good anymore"....my nerves aren't what they used to be......etc. - the pool players will not play, or even talk about matching up a serious gambling game.

However....when I go in and tell everyone "I'm the best, no one is as good as me!" - the suckers will knock each other over to try to beat me.......it's human nature at it's finest. 'The Game is the Teacher'

I never pretended to be anybody or ever tried to "hustle" anyone, but I made plenty of cash just by walking in a joint, sizing it up, and then playing to figure out who made the best of the deal.

I did it by one of two ways:

1) I just made an "announcement" that I had some cash and would play "anybody" in the joint for whatever cash I had. In MOST of those instances, I won the cash on hand and left or either they called in their "ringer" and I played him. In MOST cases, I left with his cash as well. The opponent's cash was usually miniscule to what you could make on the side bets.

2) I went in a place and found a ring game going and asked could I play. In MOST cases, I was the LAST man standing with the cash and then I left or played somebody head-up who maybe survived with some cash.

I am not saying I could beat EVERYBODY, I'm just saying that I beat over 90% of the people I played.

I started as a young kid and the owner of the pool hall would use that to our "advantage". He would take me to bars and pool halls in other parts of the state or even a different state and then say, "my boy here can beat anybody in the house"...and we went from there.

I could play within a ball of St. Louis Louie in the late 60s/early 70s and I was just a teen. I remember when he first got out of the Air Force and was just beginning his "pro" pool shooting days.

I played $100 one-pocket with the OLD guys who were supposedly the one-pocket players. I could play even with them in one pocket, but NONE of them would play me even 9-ball.

My BIGGEST mistake was NEVER "hiding my speed". I didn't care if I was playing a girl 8-ball for NOTHING or a player for the cash...I NEVER laid down to LET people win. I went for the jugular. If I had tried to "hide something", I probably could have made even more cash, but cash WASN'T my only motive...I liked the "thrill of victory"...the HIGH...the money was secondary to ME.

 

[StraightPoolIU]

Sure it's dangerous just ask New York and Arizona. #rip

 

[Atlatlien]

Sure it's dangerous just ask New York and Arizona. #rip

RIP In Peace

 

[CJ Wiley]

The owner looked at me, sized me up from head to tow, pausing to chuckle to himself

It was dangerous, luckily many of the most influential gangsters hung out and gambled. Detroit was where the biggest action games were at one time, here's a story of when I was there years ago as a naive' teenager.

The road landed me in Detroit and struggling to survive,

My entire bankroll was only $500 so it was important to get "pumped up" as quickly as possible. I was steered to a small bar that the owner played at and was also told he would lose a lot if someone would play with "The Stick".

I walked into the dimly lit bar, taking in the smell of cigarettes, and stale beer as I quickly cased the joint. The bar was on the left side, just past the one bar table, the bar was small with four men sitting around it drinking their favorite "poison". I was dressed to fit in with a camouflage vest, Wolverine boots, a Skoal can visible in my back pocket and a hat that had two pigs "gettin it on" labelled "Makin Bacon".

Wondering up to the bar I ordered a Bud and made some small talk with one of the regulars. He was dressed much like I was, and after they heard me talk they relaxed knowing I was nothin but a country bumkin kid.

Looking at the pool table I said "I'm a really good pool shot," partly to myself, but loud enough that the four barflies could hear me.

"How good do you shoot, boy, good enough to shoot for a beer?"

I responded "a beer....sh*t I play a whole lot better than that, there's nobody around here that can beat me". This got there attention and they all looked at me closer, a little bit more intently, trying to figure me out.

"The owner'll play ya if ya use "The Stick", ain't nobody ever beat him with 'The Stick".......the other four men laughed an eerie laugh at the same time...."yeah, get the Stick, get the Stick" they all chimed in together.

The Bartender reached up above the bar and pulled down a one piece house cue, only this cue didn't have a tip OR a ferrule, just jagged wood where the tip would normally be. The bartender handed it to me and I pretended to study it intently.

Just then the owner walked in the bar and walked toward us. "this boy wants to play ya with "The Stick"....he thinks he's a pool shooter."

"Wait a minute, I didn't say anything about using this thing, it doesn't even have a tip, how can I even hit the dang cue ball right, hell there's no way to play pool with this piece of crap?"

The owner looked at me, sized me up from head to tow, pausing to chuckle to himself at my two pigs "makin love" on my hat, then said, "I'll spot ya the 6 ball if you use that thing and play ya for $50. a game if you wanna gamble."

I said slowly and thoughtfully "you mean if I make the 6 or the 9 I win and you only win if you make the 9 ball....but I gotta use this crazy stick?"

Yep.....and we can play all night long. I nodded my head "you gotta game, I gotta try just to see what happens."

We started playing and each time I broke the balls pieces of "The Stick" flew on the table and sometimes across the room. I knew I could win at this game, but it suddenly dawned on my I might "run out of stick" before I could "bust" the guy. I must have taken 3 inches off the stick in the next 4 hours, but I played really good with that primitive "stick" and beat the owner 20 games ahead, by grinding the "stick" on the floor between shots and chalking it like a regular cue, before long it was fairly smooth and besides whittling it down it actually played ok......considering.

The owner paid me off with 20 brand new fifty dollar bills and I was on my way, now I had $1500. and I was heading to THE RACK....the big action pool room in Detroit. There a guy could get rich playing pool, there were guys winning and losing millions. I was ready to fire my "match" at their wood pile. I had already overcome "The Stick," what could they have in store for me at THE RACK? Surely nothing a country boy with a "Makin Bacon" hat couldn't deal with. :wink: 'The Game and the Road was my Teacher'

Sure it's dangerous just ask New York and Arizona. #rip

 

[All4Moose]

 

[Nostroke]

pretty good STORIES.

 

[CJ Wiley]

After I beat the guy with "The Stick" I went to THE RACK in Detroit to gamble

After I beat the guy with "The Stick" I went to THE RACK (the hottest gambling pool room in the country) - this is what happened.

That same night I drove immediately to THE RACK. I was on a table practicing and Johnny Ross (a notorious pool hustler) came up to me and motioned me over to the side. He leaned over with his hand over his mouth like a used car salesman getting ready to offer me "the deal of the century."

"We got a game for you tonight!" Johnny whispered, "with a guy named Cletus....it's playing one pocket, but the guy plays like old people f*%#...we'll (the local corporation) stake you and give you 30%, but he'll bet really high, we may win 30 to 40k!"

"30%, wtf, you got to be kidding, I won't play for less than 40%"

"That's the deal, sh*t the fu*%in house takes 10% - take it or leave it, it's sure action though, but there's one "catch".....you gotta talk really nasty to this sick freak or he won't want to gamble with you."

"So let me get this straight, I gotta play for 30% AND talk nasty to this guy, what kind of sick f*c%in joke is this, Johnny?"

Just then the front door was opened (you had to get "buzzed" in) and in walks this huge unshaven man that looked just like Brutus in the Popeye comics. He looked around glaring at the room, with a twisted smile trying to form under his three day stubbly beard. This guy looked like the poster guy for a prison movie.... Shaw-shank Perversion' or something like that.

"That's him, do you want to play or not?" Johnny's raspy voice sent shivers down my spine, or maybe it was the thought of talking dirty to Brutus...I mean Cletus.

"Ok, but what the heck do I say to this sicko?" the was the most awkward I'd felt before matching up with anyone in my life.

"Come on, just follow my lead"....I followed Johnny Ross over to where Brutus....I mean Cletus was standing. Johnny marched right up to him and said "what are you doing in here you sleezy piece of sh%* I thought the trash came in and out of the back door".....Cletus looked at Johnny menacingly, then broke into a big grin. "Johnny Ross, my dream cell mate, hope you brought plenty of lube if we're going to gamble tonight".

Johnny said "I got a little kid that'll play your sorry ass some one hole"....nodding at me....I took my cue and said "yeah, you dirty motha fu%$a I got something for you that Ajax won't take off"......I pulled it off, but my heart was pounding under my leather jacket. I"m not sure what else I said, and I'm glad, sometimes in my line of "work" you had to act....and this part was certainly just an act....and fortunately I'd never be in this situation again.

Cletus looked at me and growled "you look just like the brother of a 16 year old girl I used to date....had to date her for 3 years just to f#*% her little brother.....and he looked just like you"......I tried not to put any images to his words, but the important thing was I KNEW he would play me now. Johnny gave me the "it's george" sign and the game was on.

And play me he did, I gave him 9/4 and his scratches don't count for $900 a game starting out and $18,000 later he looked like the blood had been drained out of him. They gave me my $5000 ( the time was $1800, they didn't charge by the hour, with guys like Cletus they took 10% for the "house") Brutal - to this day that's the most I've ever been charged for pool time. But when you're betting thousands against a guy like Cletus it really didn't matter, it was just a "cost of doing business".

They walked Cletus out the door and safely to his car (he still had 20k).

I ask Johnny "I wonder where he's going now?"

Johnny, without hesitation barked "he'll go hire a LIMO and three hookers and they'll drive him around Detroit, handcuffed, like he's been kidnapped, one will have a gun to his head and other two will be whipping him and calling him every filthy name they can think of"......"and I imagine Cletus will be like a kid taking a tour of a candy store," I whispered under my breath.

Just another day at the office for Brutus - I mean Cletus - the dirtiest, stinkiest, sleaziest pool sucker on earth, that also played for tens of thousands of dollars at a Game called pool. I never would have believed it if I hadn't been there and seen it with my own eyes....what a world I was living in, sometimes reality is stranger than fiction..

pretty good STORIES.