Though not technically a "road story", this does involve going into a strange poolroom and asking to play the top gun for money.
I make a trip up from Fort Lewis, WA to Portland, OR to play in a weekend bar tournament. Same old champions are all there: Glenn Atwell, Mike Zimmerman, J.D., Tor Lowry, etc.. I get trounced my second match, and felt I had not quite gotten in stroke yet.
Tournament director said it would probably be a few hours before I played again. I asked where is a good place to practice and play some cheap sets. He gives me a location, and says the owner's son will play some. "But watch out, he's pretty good.."
I find the place and go in and ask for the owner's son by name. He's not there, so I jump on the "player's table", a Gold Crown by the entrance and hit a few balls.
A kid about 10-11 years old comes up and asks if he can play with me. I say sure.
Then, for whatever reason, I fall into absolute dead stroke, and procede to play like Earl Strickland, and I put down a five pack on this kid, acting like it's the most natural thing in the world.. Then, I say "Well, I better get back to the tournament, nice playing you."
The funny part of this story, is what do you think the owner's son thought when the kid tells him some dude came in asking to play him, and then puts down a five pack while waiting? (Besides "Damn, that dude can't stall at all.")
Russ
I make a trip up from Fort Lewis, WA to Portland, OR to play in a weekend bar tournament. Same old champions are all there: Glenn Atwell, Mike Zimmerman, J.D., Tor Lowry, etc.. I get trounced my second match, and felt I had not quite gotten in stroke yet.
Tournament director said it would probably be a few hours before I played again. I asked where is a good place to practice and play some cheap sets. He gives me a location, and says the owner's son will play some. "But watch out, he's pretty good.."
I find the place and go in and ask for the owner's son by name. He's not there, so I jump on the "player's table", a Gold Crown by the entrance and hit a few balls.
A kid about 10-11 years old comes up and asks if he can play with me. I say sure.
Then, for whatever reason, I fall into absolute dead stroke, and procede to play like Earl Strickland, and I put down a five pack on this kid, acting like it's the most natural thing in the world.. Then, I say "Well, I better get back to the tournament, nice playing you."
The funny part of this story, is what do you think the owner's son thought when the kid tells him some dude came in asking to play him, and then puts down a five pack while waiting? (Besides "Damn, that dude can't stall at all.")
Russ