A (Pool) Sharks Tale!

Back to the tall tales and short stories...

I recently watched an old movie which always fires me up, as well providing great lessons in character, integrity, and reminders in the ways of hustling, and living with the sharks when in comes to matters of the pool halls. 'The Hustler' was made in 1961, based on a novel written two years previously, and featured the legendary Paul Newman (pictured) as 'Fast Eddie Felson', the challenger to Jackie Gleason's 'Minnesota Fats' as the best pool player around. Shot in stylish black and white, it remains the best pool movie ever made. It encapsulated the stereo-typical image of smoke filled pool halls, along with the sort of characters associated in these establishments. It was so authentic you could almost catch a whiff of the stale smell of bourbon and cigarettes.

I didn't particularly enjoy a mis-spent youth, but I did take advantage of any spare opportunities available to me. Whereas my contemporaries were playing the slot machines in the arcades, I was either upstairs or at the back of the amusement arcade honing my pool skills. I knew I had a talent at shooting pool, but it wasn't until I hit my thirties that I really started to realise my potential.

When I moved to Bournemouth at the turn of the century I joined a pool club, and a good mate of mine at the time, Marty Farrelly, used to visit me quite regularly and we'd play marathon matches lasting for hours and hours. It's fair to say that Marty had a bit more flair than me, but then again I had a bit more 'nous' than him, so invariably the matches were pretty even and we both improved greatly by way of appreciating and understanding each others playing styles. Marty got so good and had a bit more spare time than me, so he persued his skill to the extent of entering tournaments, and he got so good so quick, that before you knew it he was ranked officially inside the top 50 pool players in the country. Knowing that I could compete with him, gave me the confidence to continue my own playing, but rather than competing in tournaments, I tended to 'hustle' around the pubs and clubs. This was an education in itself...

When you 'hustle' around a town, you soon get noticed and reputations are soon earned. You also come to terms with the problems associated with playing for money or gambling. I've never been one to have a flutter on the horses, or nip down the bookies to place bets on football results, but when it comes to backing your own ability I do feel a little differently. But unfortunately, playing for money only leads to trouble, distrust, and dealing with dodgy people!
The simple rule that I've learned is: don't play for money, as it always ends in tears!
The secret of being a good hustler is to appear as a competent player, but not as a good player. That way you can entice a challenge, and when you then raise your game to win, not too many questions get asked. If however, you go from 'chump' to 'champ' in an instant, then you're inviting trouble.
The worst thing about playing for money is that when you win, you very rarely get the cash. The usual response from your opponent is that he'll play you again, double-or-quits. This is all well and good, but when you win again the same response is received. This continues until eventually your opponent wins one game, but when you throw the gauntlet down of double-or-quits yourself, he gives you the finger and demands his winnings!
Top tip: If you ever do play for money, get a third party to hold yours and your opponents stake, and then the winner can collect the funds from them before deciding whether to continue with another game.

There was one story I can recall of when I kept winning and my opponent had no more money to bet with, so he bet me his girlfriend for the next game...again I won, and yes I won her affections for the night. Being a gentleman I declined of course!
Another tale involved playing against a 'pikey', and after every game that I won an additional 'pikey' arrived to try and intimidate me. By the end of the evening I knew I was going to be in a lot of trouble. Fortunately, I managed to bet the stakes at a consistent rate, rather than double-or-quits, and I carefully lost a few games so that the 'pikey' won some of his money back...but never again!
I recently had a few games of pool with my mate Chappers, when we were suddenly confronted by a guy demanding to play one of us for money. Chappers gracefully withdrew, but I was insistent that I wouldn't play for money, and I guess the guy was appreciative of this in the end as I whipped his ass! Lol.

The only period of my life when I did play competitively, but within the confines of a team in an official league was when I lived in Bath. I drank at the George & Dragon in the village of Batheaston just outside the main city, and we had a pretty good team.
In our first season we gained promotion from Division Two to the top league, as well as reaching a Cup Final. A team is made up of six players ~ each plays one individual game against an opponent, and then you pair up to play three double games. Over the course of the two seasons I played I only lost a few times and I knew that I had become a good match player. But I wasn't enjoying the seriousness of the top league. I'd rather play for fun, and seeing as our team was slowly disbanding anyway, I quit at the end of our second season. There was also the added distraction of a lovely girl who worked in the George & Dragon.
When we playing home games I'd rather be chatting to her at the bar than supporting my team-mates around the pool table. And at the away games I spent all my time on my mobile phone texting her, with the exception of when I was actually playing. In fact I remember one game, when I had to be encouraged to put down my phone as it was my time to play. I reluctantly put my phone in my back pocket; shook my opponents hand; tossed the coin which my opponent won; he broke off, but nothing went down....and then I proceded to clear the table in about two minutes. Once my opening shot went down I could just see the rest of my balls lining up one after another, and providing I got my positioning right, I knew I could clear up in one visit. And that's just what I did. As soon as the black went down, I shook my opponents hand again...and got straight back onto the phone to continue messaging my lady!

Ah...seven-balling opponents!
It may not quite be a 147 as in snooker, but it's the near equivilant!
It doesn't happen very often, but when it does it's a great feeling to achieve it.
There's only your seven balls plus the black, but to clear the table before your opponent can get to pot even one ball is the holy grail for a pool shark!
A bit like a top snooker player instinctively appreciating an opportunity for a maximum clearance, just by the lay of the balls, a good pool player can see a similar chance to clean up immediately. One such case occurred when I has enjoying a friendly game with my mate Curph down his local 'The Portsbridge' in Cosham.
As soon as Curph broke off and nothing fell down, I approached the table and could just see the next eight shots all laid out for me...I just knew. I then looked at Curph and almost by way of an apology I asked his permission to clear the table. He appreciated the gesture and hopefully understood it was just one of those situations which I couldn't resist! I cleaned up accordingly, put my cue back in the stand, and brought Curph a pint...a case of quit while you're ahead and don't upset any locals! Lol.

After the pool league back in my Bath days, I sort of 'retired' myself from playing competitively. I 'hocked' my cue and walked away from it all.
But I must admit that I have rekindled thoughts of participating seriously once again. I genuinely think that with a bit of practice I could be quiet a handy player, although if I was to persue it I think I'd rather do it as an individual compared to being part of a team.
I'm not saying that I am the best...I'm just saying that I know that I can compete against the best.
So maybe I will purchase a cue again, get down a local club or pub, start practicing seriously, and see where it tales me...

Steve M