Here's a copy-and-paste about a true story that happened with me, Keith McCready, and Larry Liscotti.
I almost hesitate to post this, but it's a true story about an air barrel, my first experience with a player by the name of Keith McCready. It all happened in Maryland at the Capital City Classic tournament.
I had been away from pool for at least 15 years or more. I ran into an old pool friend at Montgomery Mall who invited me to this pool tournament in Maryland. I really didn't want to go, truth be told, but he was insisting I should come and see the old gang. So I agreed to meet him there at a designated time.
As my luck would have it, I arrived at the parking lot of the hotel and received a phone call from him on my cell, stating he had to work late and couldn't make it. I almost didn't go in, but I was there, and so I figured I'd at least check it out.
I was kind of nervous, figuring I wouldn't know anybody, but much to my surprise, as soon as I walked in, I recognized the tournament director, Dennis Wilson, who warmly greeted me with a hug. When I walked into the ballroom, I saw Fat Wayne from Baltimore, Timmy Crown, Tom-Tom, Drug Fair, Parks. Soon I was feeling comfy sitting on the rail, sweating the matches with my pool buddies.
I went outside to smoke a cigarette, and out walks a player I recognized but had never met. It was Keith McCready. I initiated the conversation as we were puffing our smokes. He and I had a good friend in common which was Geese. Up walks this short man, and Keith introduced me to him as his road partner. I said, "I'm glad to meet you, Jose. Do you play pool too?" He chuckled, looked at Keith, and said yes. Later that week, Jose Parica won the tournament, BTW.
Keith and I went inside together. He had a friend with him named Larry Lisciotti who kept me in stitches laughing all night long. Larry, Keith, and myself were a threesome, it would seem. I was actually having a good time, laughing it up at Larry and Keith. What a combo!
The three of us stepped into an elevator and in walks this cocky blond-haired kid named Pistol Pete. He looked right at Keith and said, "You want to play some 9-ball?" Keith looks at him and says, "Well, sure. How do you want to play?" thinking he'd want a spot. The kid says, "I know exactly who you are, and I'll play your ass even for 100 bucks a game."
Well, Keith was, shall I say, on the shortskies for funds. Larry and I had some dough, and so we backed Keith 50/50. Keith wins the first game, and the kid immediately racks them. Larry says to me, "Did he get paid?" I said, "I don't know. I didn't see any money change hands." The second game, Keith wins it easy. The kid wastes no time and racks them again. This time, I said to Larry, "I don't see Keith getting paid." Larry walks over to Keith and asks him where's the cheese. Keith said the kid was going to pay him as soon as he got change. I'm thinking WTF. Change? It's $100 a game. Larry then instructed Keith to demand to be paid after the next game.
Keith again wins, and it was the third game. Pistol Pete walks over to his case on the rail, packs it up, and scurries out of the ballroom like a snake making a quick get-away. Well, Larry and me jump up and run after him, with Keith in the rears.
Outside in the lobby, a heated colloquy ensued. Pistol Pete says he ain't got no money and there ain't nothing any of us can do about it. I thought Larry was going to kill him. I was giving him a verbal lashing. However, Keith was calm as a cucumber. He listened to Pistol Pete intently, while me and Larry were hammering away at him with our anger. Keith then said to him, "Look, Kid, you shouldn't do that to people. It's okay. You can leave, but don't ever do that again to anybody, you hear?"
I was in disbelief, as was Larry. I didn't understand Keith's reaction then, but I do today. It is Keith's interpretation of that kid's air barrel that is the real meat of this story. Anybody else would have tarred and feathered the kid, but Keith only saw a young'n who wanted to play a good player for the thrill of it at all costs, even if it meant an air barrel.
Oh, BTW, we did run into Pistol Pete several months later in Baltimore. We walked into Bill and Billie's, and he was gambling with Danny Green, a local pool great, on the front table. You should have seen his eyes when he saw me and Keith walk in! What happened then, though, is a story for another thread! :grin-square:
