Identify the hustler part deux

[book collector]

It's the guy with the grocery cart, that way if he goes bust, he has a home away from home and can carry all his stuff until he finds a new backer, or mysteriously comes into some money.

 

[maha]

A career hustler I knew would spend hours practicing a 'good miss'. He had an uncanny ability of knowing when a guy is a dog to get out so he just let em try and mopped up the leavings. Every match against him felt like u were close and did it to yourself.
If a guy was too good to just eventually sell out, the good misses would come out amd he'd come off as a luckbox that just rolled up safe on his misses.

This approach kept him in action and under most people's radar.

yes that what you do to keep him playing. you are gambling, and gambling you are trying to win the money not each game.

 

[j2pac]

If a school girl comes into your pool room looking for action, be very afraid.

Some of us learn that lesson very slowly Bob.

 

[j2pac]

Tammy Wesley Jones would when she looked like a school girl. Not much bigger than a gnat but hell on the bangers that thought no girl could beat them. Alligator mouth, too big of a bet, Tammy takes down a nice little score!

Another friend, no mistaking her for a school girl but it was fun to watch her deflate an ego three or four times a month!

Fortunately I ran into a couple girls/ladies that could flat play early in my pool days so I never underestimate the power of a girl!

Hu

I understand completely Hu. One of the worst episodes I ever had on the felt, was against a lady hawkeye in a central Ohio bar. I wasn't exactly on fire that day, and she punished me like she owned me every time I left her an out. I got screwed several times that day, and never took off so much as a sock...

Lesson learned.

 

[Jimmorrison]

OK, off topic for pool, on topic for identifying the hustler.

I was at a "black" match track, horse racing. A very few white people but since I kept my horses with a black friend and was known in the community I was welcome. It was about midmorning when an old pick-up pulled in. Mississippi plates but we weren't far from Mississippi so not surprising. The pick-up had an open box around the bed made from two by fours and a horse in the box. This was a bit unusual, there were some awful ratty trailers at that track but nobody hauled a horse in a pick-up!

Watching from the side of my eye I watched an elderly white man and his wife get out of the truck. Getting a little closer I saw he was wearing ironed khaki pants and work shirt. It was thin at the cuffs and neck but neat. I walked up to the truck staying five feet or so back. Nobbling horses was a past time here so approaching a horse too closely without an invitation was a bad idea.

The horse's coat was long and ungroomed but I noticed the racing plates on it's feet. Nothing wrong with the confirmation under that ratty hair either. The lady was nearby and she matched the man, she was in gingham dress and sunbonnet, poor but neat as a pin. Everything was a little too perfect, except the racing plates. I used barrel plates which looked like regular shoes until a horse's hoof was picked up. Aluminum racing plates were in sharp contrast to everything else presented.

A little later a friend came up and asked what I thought about matching with the old couple. "Not no but hell no!" A little later they matched up for $500, a moderately big bet, and won pretty easily.

When I got back to the farm I asked Red about them. That horse was AAA and the old couple's retirement. They knew every match track for a couple hundred miles around and never hit the same one more than once or twice a year. They liked to run for $2500 but would drop down as low as $500 rather than go home empty handed.

I don't know if I might have bitten had it not been for my years in a pool room screaming a warning but the pool rooms told me the people were laying a spread just like I had many a time in a pool room. A fine old couple and I used to pass by their farm on the highway now and then. Tempted to visit but I didn't know them. We were kindred spirits though.

Hu

I was there, and it was fun.

 

[dquarasr]

OK, off topic for pool, on topic for identifying the hustler.

I was at a "black" match track, horse racing. A very few white people but since I kept my horses with a black friend and was known in the community I was welcome. It was about midmorning when an old pick-up pulled in. Mississippi plates but we weren't far from Mississippi so not surprising. The pick-up had an open box around the bed made from two by fours and a horse in the box. This was a bit unusual, there were some awful ratty trailers at that track but nobody hauled a horse in a pick-up!

Watching from the side of my eye I watched an elderly white man and his wife get out of the truck. Getting a little closer I saw he was wearing ironed khaki pants and work shirt. It was thin at the cuffs and neck but neat. I walked up to the truck staying five feet or so back. Nobbling horses was a past time here so approaching a horse too closely without an invitation was a bad idea.

The horse's coat was long and ungroomed but I noticed the racing plates on it's feet. Nothing wrong with the confirmation under that ratty hair either. The lady was nearby and she matched the man, she was in gingham dress and sunbonnet, poor but neat as a pin. Everything was a little too perfect, except the racing plates. I used barrel plates which looked like regular shoes until a horse's hoof was picked up. Aluminum racing plates were in sharp contrast to everything else presented.

A little later a friend came up and asked what I thought about matching with the old couple. "Not no but hell no!" A little later they matched up for $500, a moderately big bet, and won pretty easily.

When I got back to the farm I asked Red about them. That horse was AAA and the old couple's retirement. They knew every match track for a couple hundred miles around and never hit the same one more than once or twice a year. They liked to run for $2500 but would drop down as low as $500 rather than go home empty handed.

I don't know if I might have bitten had it not been for my years in a pool room screaming a warning but the pool rooms told me the people were laying a spread just like I had many a time in a pool room. A fine old couple and I used to pass by their farm on the highway now and then. Tempted to visit but I didn't know them. We were kindred spirits though.

Hu

Hu, you have the best effing stories. Write a book. I’ll be your cowriter. (I love to write but I have nothing to show for it save a few magazine articles and submissions to car- and performance driving-themed publications and websites.)

 

[ShootingArts]

I understand completely Hu. One of the worst episodes I ever had on the felt, was against a lady hawkeye in a central Ohio bar. I wasn't exactly on fire that day, and she punished me like she owned me every time I left her an out. I got screwed several times that day, and never took off so much as a sock...

Lesson learned.

Could be worse, a lot worse. I shot pistols with ladies in competition. Some were outstanding. Sixty shots in a match and the margin of error was less than the value of one shot. Some attractive ladies as you would expect in South Louisiana but not only did the ladies have husbands that could shoot your liver and lights out, they could do it themselves!

Then there were the kids we shot with. 12 year old Max Michelle Jr was triple tough. They weren't shooting the same place at the same time but my twelve year old nephew Lyle scored his share of wins. Then there was Gavin. Gavin was eight or nine.

Gavin was a little bit of a problem child in a small town so his mom asked the ex chief of police if he could spend some time with him. Naturally this was at the shooting range the chief's son owned.

There was a big charity shoot planned. Mrs Louisiana came in a gown, live radio coverage, it was a big deal. Another time I was playing Range Officer. The sheriff had volunteered to send a team so the evening before he points at four young deputies. Y'all four are representing the department, do us proud! They were using duty weapons they shot twice a year as likely as not, obviously no extra practice. LEO's have their own special skills but playing gun games with shooters that played gun games once or twice a week was a guaranteed embarrassment. They took it with good humor but one of the young men was also mentoring Gavin some, the village thing. After the match they demonstrated they couldn't even hit eight inch steel plates at ten yards. The deputy suggested I try it with their gun. I had never mentioned I was a master class shooter myself. I assured them I couldn't do any better than they did with those little Rugers. Not true, and had they shown their butts in any way I would have demonstrated but nice guys had taken it on the chin enough. I couldn't resist after awhile. I went and got my .45 out of my vehicle.

I gave Gavin the .45. He was wavering and shaking, I was giving close support to make sure the 1911 wasn't dropped or pointed in an unsafe direction. Gavin went five for five first try but was tiring badly so I wouldn't let him shoot more. Aside from anything else, you can't beat perfect! TIme to quit. I did usually let Gavin shoot a few rounds pretty much every time I found him at the range.

I never did ask what Gavin's sin or sins were but spending a few months with Mr Nick was getting rewarded for being bad although Mr Nick did correct anything that needed correcting I'm sure.

Hu

Hu, you have the best effing stories. Write a book. I’ll be your cowriter. (I love to write but I have nothing to show for it save a few magazine articles and submissions to car- and performance driving-themed publications and websites.)

It would have to be a book of loosely connected stories. I have tried to write fiction a few times but I run out of steam after a few chapters. I need to build a book properly if I ever want to write one but the urge fades with time. I can't freehand an entire book so I need outlines, character sketches, you know work. I only wanted to write to get out of working.

Edit: That long post up top was waiting around until I was sure I wanted to delete it. I let a lot get stale then delete it.

Hu