I had big balls back then, today...not so much. Johnnyt
Worst Place/Table U Ever Played
- Thread starter Kickin' Chicken
- Start date
I had big balls back then, today...not so much. Johnnyt
Chu Lai, South Viet Nam.
I was a Marine there in 1968. The table was not so bad but the humidity was awful. The bed was slow and the rails were very fast. The cue tips were flat. So i played in a straight pool tournament and won with a high run of 21 which was a miracle in itself. I did manage to get a little roundness on the tip by scraping it on the concrete floor. I still have the little trophy that they gave me. Luckily we were not interrupted by mortar or rocket fire.
Shoot a couple balls jump in the bunkers! Now that would have been a pressure game.:grin:
I was a Marine there in 1968. The table was not so bad but the humidity was awful. The bed was slow and the rails were very fast. The cue tips were flat. So i played in a straight pool tournament and won with a high run of 21 which was a miracle in itself. I did manage to get a little roundness on the tip by scraping it on the concrete floor. I still have the little trophy that they gave me. Luckily we were not interrupted by mortar or rocket fire.
Shoot a couple balls jump in the bunkers! Now that would have been a pressure game.:grin:
Not sure about it being the worst, but it was certainly the strangest. It was a biker bar (I will withhold the name) with a Confederate flag sign out front. The place was more or less a metal building on a concrete pad....well half of it was concrete and the rest was dirt floor. They had two, or three bar boxes and living room furniture (couches, chairs and recliners) for the bar furniture. To say rough and tumble guys frequented it is pretty fair to say.
I once seen a table,that had missing felt on one of the rails..ah..could be worse right? So I shot a couple balls into the rail to see how it reacted..It was dead as hell,but upon further researching I realized someone had replaced the rubber with a cut piece of a fan belt. You couldnt miss shooting down the fan belt. It was so dead the balls would just float to the corner pocket every time even if you shot directly at the rail
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Haven't had too many horror stories just your general bad tables.
Although at one of the places I play, they have a table so unlevel you can masse the object ball. I've actually used that to my advantage before to shoot past an obstructing ball. It's more infuriating though when your playing position.
At one of the local colleges they have the chalk locked into the side of the table. That's more than a little annoying.
Another local bar uses road drawing chalk instead of pool chalk. I mean seriously? Isn't it $20 a box?
That's pretty much it, I guess I'm sorta lucky. Though there was a pool room that had to enlist an army of bouncers to keep order. It was a 30ish table room, and they literally had 5 or 6 bouncers (maybe more) on staff every night. It closed down shortly after someone was murdered there. Funny how after new management took over I don't think they have more than one at night.
Although at one of the places I play, they have a table so unlevel you can masse the object ball. I've actually used that to my advantage before to shoot past an obstructing ball. It's more infuriating though when your playing position.
At one of the local colleges they have the chalk locked into the side of the table. That's more than a little annoying.
Another local bar uses road drawing chalk instead of pool chalk. I mean seriously? Isn't it $20 a box?
That's pretty much it, I guess I'm sorta lucky. Though there was a pool room that had to enlist an army of bouncers to keep order. It was a 30ish table room, and they literally had 5 or 6 bouncers (maybe more) on staff every night. It closed down shortly after someone was murdered there. Funny how after new management took over I don't think they have more than one at night.
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One of the regular stops in my pool league is a small bar called McMenamy's. The place isn't even that old, (I think it was built some time in the 70s) but it's a nightmare inside. Immediately when you walk in, there's the only pool table. And when I say "immediately" I mean it. If you're playing a shot from the rail on the corner facing the door, your backswing is close enough to the door that you would hit someone as they walked in (or they would hit you, which happens all too often). On the opposite side of the table is a support beam which impedes any shot unless you have a 40" cue on you. And the entire left side of the table is directly in the walking path of the only entrance/exit. So every single time someone comes in or goes out, they walk by the pool table and are close enough to reach out and touch it. If you can play a rack without having to wait for people to walk by, or without bumping into someone or something, then congrats to you, because it's a rarity.
As if that isn't enough, the table is so unlevel you can't slow roll a ball more than a couple feet or it will drift off to one side. Also, the place has bingo going on there everyday for a couple hours, right in the middle of scheduled league matches. It makes it very tough to concentrate. I dread going there, and it seems like me and my team end up having to play there more than any other place all season.
As if that isn't enough, the table is so unlevel you can't slow roll a ball more than a couple feet or it will drift off to one side. Also, the place has bingo going on there everyday for a couple hours, right in the middle of scheduled league matches. It makes it very tough to concentrate. I dread going there, and it seems like me and my team end up having to play there more than any other place all season.
You can get almost any kind of chalk (except Blue Diamond) for about $3 per dozen. Treat yourself to some
Bad Spots
I played regularly in a bar on Hwy 33 outside of Ojai, CA. One night a guy who seemed slightly unbalanced asked me to play. At one point, he swung his cue trying to hit me after one shot. Luckily, I had moved from where I had been when he last saw me. When I won he then went outside and attacked the phone booth with his pool cue. Glass was flying and aluminum bending and then the phone rang. He stopped long enough to answer it and tell who ever to f*** off and continued his attack until the phone booth was demolished. When he came back inside I left and didn't go back.
A few months later the owner saw me playing at another bar and asked me to come back and play him some when I got a chance. He said the crazy guy never comes in anymore and nothing would never happened again. A few days later I showed up at 10pm. When I walked in, there 3 guys at one end of the bar and 3 guys at the other end. All of them were huge 250-300 lbs and over 6 feet. No one was talking, but there was a whole of staring going on. The owner was bartending and when I ordered a beer he said just leave now and don't ask questions. I later found out both ends held family members. One end was the family of a guy murdered by one of the guys at the other end who'd just out after serving the manslaughter charge for killing him. Nothing ever happened, but the owner was scared to death he'd be caught in a crossfire. I never went back again.
On the brighter side, the table was a Valley Cougar and played very nicely...
I played regularly in a bar on Hwy 33 outside of Ojai, CA. One night a guy who seemed slightly unbalanced asked me to play. At one point, he swung his cue trying to hit me after one shot. Luckily, I had moved from where I had been when he last saw me. When I won he then went outside and attacked the phone booth with his pool cue. Glass was flying and aluminum bending and then the phone rang. He stopped long enough to answer it and tell who ever to f*** off and continued his attack until the phone booth was demolished. When he came back inside I left and didn't go back.
A few months later the owner saw me playing at another bar and asked me to come back and play him some when I got a chance. He said the crazy guy never comes in anymore and nothing would never happened again. A few days later I showed up at 10pm. When I walked in, there 3 guys at one end of the bar and 3 guys at the other end. All of them were huge 250-300 lbs and over 6 feet. No one was talking, but there was a whole of staring going on. The owner was bartending and when I ordered a beer he said just leave now and don't ask questions. I later found out both ends held family members. One end was the family of a guy murdered by one of the guys at the other end who'd just out after serving the manslaughter charge for killing him. Nothing ever happened, but the owner was scared to death he'd be caught in a crossfire. I never went back again.
On the brighter side, the table was a Valley Cougar and played very nicely...
When I lived in Germany, I use to travel down south to the Plantation Club in Frankfurt to gamble. Making money there was easy, because I was the only white guy there, and my buddy who I went there with was Black...but no one knew we were partners on the gambling. Every-time I went there it was always beat the white guy, and the tables
3 Valley 3 1/2' x 7's...but the one I always wanted to gamble on was the one that the cushions were unglued from the rails and the rail cloth was so loose, the cushions actually laid on the slate, so when I had to bank a ball, I'd have my buddy pick up the cushion and hold it in place with both hands spread apart so the ball could bank off the rail, had to do the same thing using the rail to get position with the cue ball. The table was so bad, no one could run out on it, but because I could shoot straight as hell at that time...I almost never lost a game on that table. It got racial a few times, because of my being there...but once my friend Benny Brooks told them I was with him...they all backed away...because I guess at sometime in the past he'd beat quite a few of the players out of money and they tried to take it back from Benny in the bathroom...but all they got was cut up with a straight razor...so no one would play Benny again, let alone mess with him....so I was his ace in the hole! I didn't like being there....but I did like the money more
Glen
3 Valley 3 1/2' x 7's...but the one I always wanted to gamble on was the one that the cushions were unglued from the rails and the rail cloth was so loose, the cushions actually laid on the slate, so when I had to bank a ball, I'd have my buddy pick up the cushion and hold it in place with both hands spread apart so the ball could bank off the rail, had to do the same thing using the rail to get position with the cue ball. The table was so bad, no one could run out on it, but because I could shoot straight as hell at that time...I almost never lost a game on that table. It got racial a few times, because of my being there...but once my friend Benny Brooks told them I was with him...they all backed away...because I guess at sometime in the past he'd beat quite a few of the players out of money and they tried to take it back from Benny in the bathroom...but all they got was cut up with a straight razor...so no one would play Benny again, let alone mess with him....so I was his ace in the hole! I didn't like being there....but I did like the money moreGlen
Goodridge, MN...town of 37 people, but had a kick ass bar. I had just started playing pool at this point, and they had a weekly tourney. This table was the oldest Valley barbox I've ever seen. It had rips in the cloth, but the cloth had been on the table for about 6 years. The cueball was not only the plug ball, but the oversized plug ball! That thing was huge!! It had a finish on it that made you miscue every other shot. The table rolled so bad you could roll a ball straight down the middle of the table and make it in the corner pocket!! lol!! I'm not sure how, but I managed to win a couple tourneys there. I drank back then, so that probably helped Good times though!!
Good times though!!
well with the exception of one bar / poolhall in Ontario that shall go nameless (mainly i cant remember the name) its not bad tables i run in to its the crummy sticks.:angry: bent, warped, flat tipped, no tipped, some one got hungey tried to eat it. after a month long bus trip in the east of canada with out having brought my cue i vowed to bring a cue on all other trips. Now for my kicking around the city if i dont have my cue i allways have my tip tool and a cube of chalk in my pocket at the very least
Back in the early 70's I was enrolled at Memphis State University taking advantage of my newly aquired GI bill benefits. One of the guys in class mentioned he was going to go play a little pool afterwards. There was a place called Highland Cue right across from campus and we agreed to play there. Neither of us had any idea what we would stumble upon. This was during the heyday of recreational drug use and the room was located on what was then known as The Strip. The gutters were littered with syringes and sidewalks littered with dealers. Upon entering we encountered a mass of humanity.....virtually standing room only. We walked back into an area that had a solitary table and witnessed some junkie shooting up .......We later learned that this was where anyone that made a purchase outside would come to use. Of course we left w/o playing ......but it still gets my vote for worst room.
A Moose lodge that was in a old house. The table was in a small room with 3 ft clearance along one long rail and 4 1/2 ft along the other. The floor was warped with a 2 ft crown. One side of the table was on one foot blocks because of the floor. The table was never level. Your stance was always off balance because of the floor slope. The table was piece of work. It also had the 2 3/8 CB. The rails were like concrete and the cloth was like mud because of all the chalk. The balls had so many chips they looked like oversize golf balls. There was a sign next to the table "No drinks or cigarettes allowed on the table" They were in the Moose travel league so you ended up playing there at least once a season. The place eventually burned down along with the table.
Sounds like you & Jokim Noah would be good buddies. Personally I think Cleveland is alright.
Dave from Cleveland
Dave from Cleveland
one more...
okay, I have one more to share.
In my 20's & 30's I was tough to beat. Not at any tourneys, mind you, I was never aware of those. Just at bars mostly around here in CT.
It was a fairly typical Saturday night and I had recently discovered a nice bar in Milford that met my two basic requirements for fun. Hot chicks and a nice barbox. This place was called Charlies Pot Belly Pub.
I called my buddy, Clyde, who loved joining me on my pool outings because I almost always dominated the table and that meant I'd be winning way more drinks (and a little cash) than I (actually we) could possibly consume. And, so of course, there would also be some overflow to share with the girls. Life was so uncomplicated then. :grin-square:
Clyde was a big black man who was both friendly and as funny as could be. Mr. Personality! But he was also someone you wouldn't want to mess with - he was a real capable warrior.
So, it turns out that on this particular night, three friends (not mine) who tried repeatedly without success to win the table from me were taking great exception to the good time Clyde and me were having. While I was playing I heard the "N" word starting to come up in these boys conversation, and right then, I knew this wasn't gonna turn out good.
A few games and drinks later these guys were becoming more obnoxious by the second and it was abundantly clear that they had a problem with the one and only black man in the joint. Some words were exchanged and next thing I know we were all heading out to the parking lot to settle it. Damn it, I really think I was making progress with that cute brunette!
Here we are, jawing in the parking lot, them three, Clyde and me. Knowing how Clyde operates, I'm liking our chances. I figured Clyde could deal with two of them and I usually did okay in the few bar fights I had ever been in, one on one. Jawing gave way to pushing and like a bolt of lightning, Clyde punched the one guy closest to him h-a-r-d straight in the face. He went down to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Me and one guy were squared off, still mostly talking when the third, unoccupied guy, goes to the trunk of his car. This can't be a good sign - Probably not checking to see if his spare tire was in good shape.
Of course, he was grabbing for some sort of equalizer. So, trying not to take my eyes off of my opponent too much I did sneak a few peeks to see what sort of weapon it was. Clyde was heading for him when all speculation ended. The son of a ***** pulled out a freaking hunting rifle. :shocked2: Not a chain, stick, brass knuckles, tire iron, or even a machete, nope, it was a rifle. With that, both Clyde and me started to ease our way back toward my car. The guy with the rifle was talking some real trash now and the one who had been laid out was getting back to vertical. The one I was set to tangle with, thankfully, was now trying to talk some sense into the rifleman. It seemed like it took an hour for Clyde and me to make it to my car. The entire parking lot scene actually only went maybe three or four minutes, start to finish. I suppose rifles pointed at you have a way of making time stand still.
The bad guys (that would be them) jumped into their car and squealed out of the parking lot in a hurry. Clyde and me, you would think thankful to be alive, squealed out after them in hot pursuit. What kind of jackasses go chasing after mean, drunks who just pulled a rifle out on them? Purebread jackasses, that's who. And me and Clyde were the purest jackasses of all. 
k:
We followed them for just a couple of miles off the Post Road through an unfamiliar residential neighborhood when their car pulled into a driveway and they all got out. One of them went inside the house and from the driveway, the other two exchanged unpleasantries with us. These guys still had that gun in their car so we left, but real slow and arrogant like. It's a testosterone/jackass thing. So, now we know where they live! And we never went back there.
Another night at a pool bar. :yikes:
Best,
Brian kc
okay, I have one more to share.
In my 20's & 30's I was tough to beat. Not at any tourneys, mind you, I was never aware of those. Just at bars mostly around here in CT.
It was a fairly typical Saturday night and I had recently discovered a nice bar in Milford that met my two basic requirements for fun. Hot chicks and a nice barbox. This place was called Charlies Pot Belly Pub.
I called my buddy, Clyde, who loved joining me on my pool outings because I almost always dominated the table and that meant I'd be winning way more drinks (and a little cash) than I (actually we) could possibly consume. And, so of course, there would also be some overflow to share with the girls. Life was so uncomplicated then. :grin-square:
Clyde was a big black man who was both friendly and as funny as could be. Mr. Personality! But he was also someone you wouldn't want to mess with - he was a real capable warrior.
So, it turns out that on this particular night, three friends (not mine) who tried repeatedly without success to win the table from me were taking great exception to the good time Clyde and me were having. While I was playing I heard the "N" word starting to come up in these boys conversation, and right then, I knew this wasn't gonna turn out good.
A few games and drinks later these guys were becoming more obnoxious by the second and it was abundantly clear that they had a problem with the one and only black man in the joint. Some words were exchanged and next thing I know we were all heading out to the parking lot to settle it. Damn it, I really think I was making progress with that cute brunette!
Here we are, jawing in the parking lot, them three, Clyde and me. Knowing how Clyde operates, I'm liking our chances. I figured Clyde could deal with two of them and I usually did okay in the few bar fights I had ever been in, one on one. Jawing gave way to pushing and like a bolt of lightning, Clyde punched the one guy closest to him h-a-r-d straight in the face. He went down to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Me and one guy were squared off, still mostly talking when the third, unoccupied guy, goes to the trunk of his car. This can't be a good sign - Probably not checking to see if his spare tire was in good shape.
Of course, he was grabbing for some sort of equalizer. So, trying not to take my eyes off of my opponent too much I did sneak a few peeks to see what sort of weapon it was. Clyde was heading for him when all speculation ended. The son of a ***** pulled out a freaking hunting rifle. :shocked2: Not a chain, stick, brass knuckles, tire iron, or even a machete, nope, it was a rifle. With that, both Clyde and me started to ease our way back toward my car. The guy with the rifle was talking some real trash now and the one who had been laid out was getting back to vertical. The one I was set to tangle with, thankfully, was now trying to talk some sense into the rifleman. It seemed like it took an hour for Clyde and me to make it to my car. The entire parking lot scene actually only went maybe three or four minutes, start to finish. I suppose rifles pointed at you have a way of making time stand still.The bad guys (that would be them) jumped into their car and squealed out of the parking lot in a hurry. Clyde and me, you would think thankful to be alive, squealed out after them in hot pursuit. What kind of jackasses go chasing after mean, drunks who just pulled a rifle out on them?
Purebread jackasses, that's who. And me and Clyde were the purest jackasses of all. k:We followed them for just a couple of miles off the Post Road through an unfamiliar residential neighborhood when their car pulled into a driveway and they all got out. One of them went inside the house and from the driveway, the other two exchanged unpleasantries with us. These guys still had that gun in their car so we left, but real slow and arrogant like. It's a testosterone/jackass thing. So, now we know where they live! And we never went back there.
Another night at a pool bar. :yikes:
Best,
Brian kc
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Bud Olson's
Bud Olson's Tavern in Omaha. The table rolled in every direction (really it did), pocket angles had been messed with, felt was wasted, and it was about 25 degrees in the back room where the pool table was on the cold days.
We have to play league there every year. I told them that if I win the lottery, I'm buying and leveling that sh*thole.
Bud Olson's Tavern in Omaha. The table rolled in every direction (really it did), pocket angles had been messed with, felt was wasted, and it was about 25 degrees in the back room where the pool table was on the cold days.
We have to play league there every year. I told them that if I win the lottery, I'm buying and leveling that sh*thole.
Fun reads, and they all make me very glad I don't step foot in bars to play pool.