What I am about to write is probably the hardest thing imaginable for me. The story begins at the age of 5 and my family has moved to Puerto Rico. Actually, not my entire family because my father remained in the states to work. We lived in a square concrete home with 3 bedrooms. My mother had her own room, my sisters shared a room and my brother and I shared a room. We lived in a small pueblo outside of Jayuya (pronounced..Ha – Jew – Ja) in the center of the island. We were relatively happy as most kids are and my brothers and sisters all played well together. We would sometimes make believe we were a rock band especially since the Beatles had just made their appearance on the Ed Sullivan show. My older brother would sing I Wanna Hold Your Hand doing his best Paul McCartney impersonation. We would visit my relatives who lived nearby and have dinner together. A very large family with a combination of uncles and aunts….twelve in all. My grandfather owned a farm in the mountains and he would grow bananas and coffee beans. We never saw much of him but when we did it was like a scene from the Godfather where all his children would come over to kiss him and ask for his blessing. And that is the only nice memory I have of my childhood because all that would change…….forever.

Across from the dirt road in front of my house stood a huge sugar cane field. We would sneak thru the flimsy fence and grab a sugar cane which for a child a place like that is like having a real life Candyland. Soon that field would be my living house of horrors and I would be lost forever. One beautiful sunny day a neighbor’s kid who I believe was around 21 years old came over to a friend of mine and myself and asked if we wanted to go with him into the sugar cane field for some reason that I cannot clearly remember. He took us deep into the center of the field and he beat me and my friend and sexually abused us. All I remember is dying inside. I felt so separated from my protected world that I was like a walking ghost among the living. It’s so strange the little nuances of life….the small details that have a much bigger picture. The next time you see a child see if you could see the innocence in their eyes…see if you can see how much trust they have in the adults or the people who surround them…and then imagine that in one continuous horrible action that all disappears. How alone a child must feel when they have no one to trust anymore. I stated the word continuous because my abuser threatened me that if I ever told anyone he would kill my little sister and so my abuse endured for what felt like an eternity. When I walked home from school I was constantly looking over my shoulder so I would not be pulled into the cane fields again and the horror to begin.

I was in such a daze that when my brother told me that we were going back to America I thought I was dreaming because it was all going to end. But for those that have never experienced sexual abuse that kind of pain does not disappear so quickly. I felt like such a piece of shit that I could not stand being in my own skin. How many 6 year olds do you know that are already contemplating suicide?  In those days going to a psychiatrist/therapist was unheard of and there was no way I could ever speak to my parents about that. Some days I would fall into such a heavy state of depression that I could not stop sulking or crying for hours. My mother would reach out and try to talk to me but I just couldn’t open up without feeling that it was all my fault and I would be punished. Punishments were extreme in my house. When we lived in Puerto Rico my younger sister crossed the dirt road without any supervision and this made my mother furious. She made me get on my knees….take my shirt off and proceeded to teach me right from wrong with the welts received from a thick leather belt. Honestly I looked forward to the beating because any other pain than the one I was feeling surely would be better. In the United States we lived across the street from La Guardia Hospital and one summer I would cross the street and go into the hospital lobby to drink the ice cold water from their fountain. I can still hear my pleas to my father to stop hitting me with such venom and disappointment. The odd thing was that afterward my father was upset that he had to hit me and I actually felt bad for him. I remember I really enjoyed drawing as a child I guess because it introduced me to another world outside of the one I couldn’t stand to live in. Then one day after copying a picture I saw in a book I proudly showed it to my mother. That was the day I stopped drawing. The beating I took that day scared my siblings. My mother would beat me until my skin broke and my legs would be bleeding. It was my legs that took the biggest part of that abuse because I couldn’t hide them under my father’s desk. She thought I was not doing my homework and was spending my time doing nonsense. Had she asked I would have shown her my homework assignments were already done. I already felt like a piece of shit and these beatings just reinforced the validity of these emotions. Most people have childhood memories of birthday parties and hanging out or making new friends. Not me! My childhood memories are all filled with the multitude of vicious beatings I took from the people who in the same breath said they “love me”. I spent my summers alone with no friends because I didn’t trust anyone and let’s be honest here…who would want to spend time with such a useless person. At least thats the way I felt then. I spent most days looking to God for answers but he never showed up.

“Like All Dreamers, I Mistook Disenchantment for Truth”

Now if you have read my past posted blogs you would know that a few years later I would be living in the street because I refused to buy my step-father a carton of cigarettes. Needless to say that experience didnt help my self esteem. I think it was the philosopher Jean Paul Sarte who said (and I’m paraphrasing) ” The greatest gift a parent can give their child is to die at an early age”. Of course the first time I heard that quote I was so angry that I was like “Yeah Fuck’em they should Die” but I was wrong. You see what I would learn later is that what Sarte meant was that if the parent was not around then the child would be forced to create his own choices and opinions…his own fears not the ones handed down by cultural or someone elses experience. Prior to actually finding a phenomenal therapist I was trying to seek answers on the “why”. Why me? Why don’t my parents love me? Why do people treat each other so poorly? Why did my mother choose a stranger over her own flesh and blood? Those are all dreamer questions and they have no relevance to the truth. Because when you dream of having a better life than the shitty one you have been living you lose sight of the truth. All my life I have had so much pain both physical and emotional that I felt choked by it. I resented living and I resented this world I lived in and the people that surrounded me. But when the greatest gift comes your way its hard not to pay attention to it. You see in all my searching I learned the value of language and words and how they help paint the world we choose to live in or want to live in. I became a painter after all…just not with colors.

The word that haunted me the most was FORGIVING. I will admit that the act of forgiving did not come easy largely because the anger was too great. Why should I forgive? Shouldn’t “they” apologize? Would that not be the appropriate route for all parties? The only problem with that type of entitlement thinking is that it doesn’t reside in TRUTH. Most people see the word FORGIVING and see only one word but after a while I saw two words….FOR…GIVING. The peace had to come from me not from the people I had such anger to. I don’t have a picture perfect childhood to say the least and much of my life started late compared to most people and thats ok. One day I sat in a park and made believe I was talking to the man who abused me as a child and I forgave him. I told the child inside me that you did nothing wrong and it was ok to have all those thoughts and how proud I was for the strength that child showed in the face of such confusion. Finally, one day I picked up the phone and forgave my mother who I had not spoken to in decades and asked her to forgive me for wasting so much time on hating her. You know what? she did! I did the same thing before my father passed away. I went to visit him and we had a great time together talking and laughing. I know the divorce was hard on him and I asked him “how is your heart?”. I didn’t know that a few months prior he had a heart attack and he thought that was the reason for the question but I told him no….what I meant was “are you at peace with your life?” and I will never forget his response he said “you mean what your mother did to me?”. It was at that moment that I realized that I was actually in a better place emotionally and spiritually and I finally understood the words of Jean Paul Sarte. My pains didn’t hurt me as bad as they felt because the moment I learned two simple words…I received the Greatest Gift of my life.

It was the begining of august 1988 and working at the pool hall sucked. You see summer was the “dead season” especially in New Jersey. Couples, families and friends usually spent their time outdoors either on the beach or at the boardwalk down at Pt Pleasant. The pool hall was like a scene in those western films. Open desert and tumbleweeds being pushed around by the hot summer air. I worked long hours back then. We opened at 10am and closed at 2am. I spent most of my days either watching television or doing practice drills. At night when customers came in I looked at them with an unusual animosity. I felt annoyed like “where were you earlier when I was alone and going nuts?”. Ofcourse you would think I would be used to that being that I had done it for over ten years. Truth be told, I was actually feeling depressed.

Years ago one of my billiard coaches was named Frank and to this day I think about and miss him greatly. He said something to me that I will never forget. I had finished doing practice drills and decided to take a break. As I sat there full of myself and the great workout I had just achieved I wondered……how great would it be to own my own pool hall. I get to play all day and hang out with all these great players I met. Watch the people come in and show them how they too can be great just like me. Then I started to think about the day I would retire and all I wanted to do is spend my days hanging out at the pool hall. There I sat, in this fantasy world of perfection, and then Frank walks over and starts yelling at me. “I bet you think you can’t wait till the day you retire so you can spend all your time playing pool” he said. At first I thought I said something outloud and felt foolish but he continued….”and I bet that you probably think how nice it would be to own your own pool hall?”. Ok, now Frank was freaking me out. I stared at him slightly confused on two issues…1) how the hell did he know what I was thinking at the time and…2) what was so wrong about the picture I was painting in my minds eye? So I fired back at Frank and said….”yeah, so whats so wrong about that? I think that would be awesome”. He got right in my face and I thought he was going to punch me but instead he told me a reality of pool that I was blind to. First he said, “your a fucking idiot” and then he proceeded to exclaim “pool, is a lonely mans game”. I didn’t hear the meaning of these words until years later. All I heard was the internal conversation validating my daydream and thinking Frank was wrong.

Now, over a decade has passed and I find myself sitting alone behind the counter of a pool hall. I drive home at two in the morning and all I can hear are Franks words…..”pool is a lonely mans game”. I started painting this picture in my head that I would always be alone. Chances of meeting someone nice and special in a pool hall was a long shot. I mean it hasn’t happened in over a decade so why would it happen now? Don’t get me wrong, by nature, I am not a morose character. But everytime I would see a couple walk into the pool hall I found it depressing. I drove home late one night and after I took the keys out of the ignition i sat there and closed my eyes and I remember I said aloud…”please show me a sign because otherwise I don’t know what I am going to do”. The next day, Holly walked into the pool hall.

The owner of the pool hall, my boss Mark, was a nice guy who unfortunately was going through a divorce. I had a rare day off and I was at the pool hall largely because my day off always provided an opportunity to make money….oh who am I kidding….rob someone! I was in “dead stroke” that day and made alot of money. By 6pm I already had next months rent money and a few bills which meant the rest of the month was gravy. I had just finished robbing two guys in a game of pill pool and walked behind the counter. As I was getting a cup of coffee I heard Hollys voice behind me asking for a table for her and a co-worker and Marks voice cheered up a little. Mark liked Holly and thought she was sexy and at the same time he was reluctant to flirt with her. So for a brief spell I was Cyranno de Bergerac. I would feed Mark something funny or flirty to say to make Holly laugh. I was happy for Mark and really didn’t think much of Holly except that she reminded me of Demi Moore. After she left Mark confessed how he would like to date her and I felt that she brought him out of his emotional slump.

A week later and Mark leaves for the evening because the pool hall was slow and he had to get up the next day to open. Two minutes after he left Holly walks in and ask is Mark there because as she put it..”he said that if I came in he would play pool with me for free”. I lied and told her to take a table to warm up because Mark just called and he is on his way in. I frantically grabbed the phone and start whispering like a spy telling Mark..”she’s here” and Mark openly tells me…”but I’m naked already”. I told him I gave her a table and told Holly that he was on his way here. After I hang up the phone I see the pool room vultures making their way to Hollys table to flirt with her so I walk over and then ask her would she like to play while she waits for Mark. She agrees and wants to play 8-ball which already I don’t like her because I can’t stand 8-ball or anyone who plays it. Then she asked me my advice on shot selection and after giving her a “thiefs” point of view she dismissed my professional opinion and I hated her even more. But its funny the things that connect us to another human being because my short disdain for her would change in an hour.

It was coming close to closing time and I jumped into my routine of cleaning up as Mark and Holly continued playing and talking. I shut the overhead house lights off and was about to leave when Holly called me over and asked if I wanted to join her and Mark to smoke a joint before we all head home. I really didn’t want to for two reasons one selfish the other not. I didn’t want to stay because I wanted to give Mark alone time with her……that was the unselfish thought. The selfish thought was this…..I had my own pot but figured since I was going to smoke anyway why not someone elses and save mine. I really didn’t care for her so I thought why not. We started smoking and I felt like a third wheel and then Holly started asking me how long I have played to which Mark jumped up and warned her not to play me for money. Then I honestly don’t know how it happened but the tide shifted. I started to share with Holly a subject I have studied for years known as NLP (Neuro-Linguistic-Programming) and her eyes widen as she states that she just started studying that recently. The next thing I know it was like Mark was not even in the room and the most interesting conversation I have ever had was with a woman I couldn’t stand an hour ago.

We all decided to leave because “it was that time” and I genuinely felt sad that this amazing woman was leaving. When we said our goodbyes she politely told Mark “thank you” for the pool time. But, when she said goodbye to me her face lit up and she stretched her hand out to mine to shake and said…”and it was a real pleasure meeting you”. I responded “likewise” and as I drove home two things ran through my mind. One, I felt bad for smoking her pot and Two, I asked aloud..”why don’t I ever get to meet someone that wonderful to date?”. The reality is that I just did. After replaying the conversation in my head I realized that Mark must feel bad because he really disappeared in our conversation. I told myself the next day that I should go to the pool hall just to apologize. When I came in I did just that and Mark told me “don’t worry about that because I realized I’m really not that into her”. Which made me feel worse because that might be a different perception had I not been there. Four days later Holly calls me to ask for a pool lesson and what I would charge. It turned out that Holly was actually dating someone at the time and wanted to get better to play with him. That didn’t deter me at all. One night it was super busy and Holly and her boyfriend came in. But when I looked into her eyes I knew….I knew the only reason she came there was to see me again. We started dating a month later and being at the pool hall was an ok experience but when Holly walked into the room my eyes and heart grew five times in size. She lived close to the room and everyday on her way to work she would stop by and meet me for lunch.

If you were to ask me about my 47 years on this planet which are my most memorable it would have to be my memories of Holly. I finally understood what Frank meant when he said…”pool is a lonely mans game”. You can love many things in this world but the only true love that makes us feel the gift of love is the opprtunity to bond with someone and fall in love. You see, as I found out later, Frank was upset because he spent his life in a pool hall and he couldn’t wait to retire to spend his free time playing. Frank was married and his wife died of cancer. It wasn’t until the biggest part of his heart was gone that he realized that pool never filled any of it. His anger that day towards me was his fear that I would make the same mistake. He was a good coach and a great teacher but for that lesson, he has a special place in my heart.

Holly and I lived together for 2years and were married for 15. We divorced (long story) but we remain good friends and speak or email each other. I still love to make her laugh or validate the way she feels. When I look at her picture my heart still swells up with love. I will admit I miss her from time to time but most important I am grateful to be loved by a very special woman.

The Gypsy appeared to me like the Peanuts character Pig-Pen. He was always dirty and looked like he just finished changing the motor oil in his car. He was talkative, charming and approachable. If one ever noticed him walking into a pool hall it was like a shark scouting for a meal before he would grab a house cue and play. He keenly looked over the room to see who was playing alone so he could rob someone for whatever he could get. The first time he approached me I was doing practice drills and he didn’t ask to play he just commented to the effect of “this must be where the professionals practice“. I always thought that it was an under-handed compliment because I was practicing to get better but it wouldn’t matter anyway against him. I threw it right back at him by responding…”I’m only trying to get as good as you“. I felt that this made him uncomfortable because the last thing he wanted anyone to think was that he was a competent player. One day he came in and couldn’t find one game with anyone and so then he approached me. He knew I played straight pool so we played a short game to 50 points for $20. I beat him by ten balls and quit. He paid me the $20 and was angry that I quit. I told him “don’t worry we will play again“. We played one other time and he lost then too….we played a race to one hundred and fifty points and he lost by twenty five points. I learned more from watching him talk to a unsuspecting fish than from his playing ability.

If there is any player that I would have to say scares the crap out of me the most it would be the Road Player. Road players would be best described as silent assasins. They are not boisterous like the hustler nor do they exult the stature of a professional. But, when they get on the table there is nothing more hypnotic to watch, nothing more perfect in stroke and technique. I have witnessed many people of this caliber whose names will never grace a billiard publication or end up in a pool stats log. The first road player I ever witnessed was a young Puerto Rican kid known as Rico. Rico was very tall and slim…..not skinny, he was muscular like a well tuned swimmers body and he moved with the determination of a cheetah acquiring its prey. Because he was so tall his pre-strokes were done from practically a standing position and his legs would spread apart until his eye was behind the cueball and he fired with deadly accuracy in both ball pocketing and position play skills. The first and only time I saw this was at the Golden Cue on Queens Blvd. and he was playing the best player there for $500 a set, race to ten. He broke and ran all ten racks…….three sets in a row. But finally it was the look on his face that told you how serious he was in his determination to win. After that display all I knew is…………… I wasn’t practicing enough.

I have met so many professional players that have been so open and sharing in billiard technique that I feel very fortunate for that experience. My favorite, and this might be biased because he is from New Jersey, would have to be Allen Hopkins. Allen and his wonderful wife Dawn I think have done so much to advance this sport that they deserve a special place in billiard history. The Valley Forge tournament is a must-see if you are a billiard enthusiast or competitor. The greatest feat of super human ability I have ever witnessed Mr Hopkins achieve would make your jaw drop. He bet anyone in the pool hall that he could break a rack of fifteen balls and play the balls in rotation into one corner pocket without missing. Allen Hopkins had pretty much an entire pool room against him that night. He broke and displayed every imaginable shot to accomplish this inspiring feat. He would double and sometimes triple rail bank balls into the intended pocket that he not only took everyones money but literally took everyones breath away. The people just didn’t care that they lost. To quote Club-Soda Kenny…”it was worth watching something that most people will never see or appreciate in their lifetime“.

Lastly, the Degenerate Gambler. Can you guess who I will talk about next? No, not me smartass……I am talking about Club-Soda Kenney (nice lead-in eh?). Kenny, at least to me, was a very nice guy but man I have never seen such a habitual gambler. Kenney would borrow $50 from one person so he could pay someone he owed $20 bucks and take the remaining $30 and go to the track so he could make all the money back. Sadly for Club-Soda he never won at the track. In the movie A Bronx Tale there was a character named MUSH….well Club-Soda was our mush. If he didn’t have bad luck he wouldn’t have any luck at all but that would never stop him. One night Kenny won the wednesday night 9-ball tournament. If I remember correctly Club-Soda got paid for first place $650 around 10PM and by the following morning he lost it all playing pinnocle. I remember he was a competent one-pocket player and taunted me one day that I was wasting my time playing straight pool. He said “play some one-hole for $20 and I’ll teach ya something“. It was the first time I had ever played one-pocket and I broke, made a ball on the break, and ran out. Club-Soda Kenny was shocked but I wasn’t shocked that he didn’t have the $20 to pay me.

Next Post….How I met my wife? (A pool hall love story)

Stunned and feeling numb I walked the streets of my neighborhood wondering what I would do next. All I had going for me was going to school and practicing martial arts at the local community center. It sucked because it was the middle of fall in New York and boy was it cold. I had no other clothes except the ones I wore the day my mother threw me out and the old worn out coat I owned which was also my blanket at night. There were a series of buildings across the street from what was known then as LaGuardia Hospital. The buildings had a maze of tunnels that connected one building to another spanning an entire city block. In those tunnels were storage rooms and some were locked and others open. I would search to find the open ones and lucked out if I could find a sofa that I could sleep on. Some nights I cried myself to sleep and other nights I would plot on how to get my revenge. One night while walking I passed by the apartment building I used to live in and saw through the windows a birthday party for my brother going on with music playing and people laughing. The rage that filled my soul choked me. As luck would have it it started to rain but the rain didn’t bother me. I lived on the streets now and rain, cold, and snow was now just a common backdrop I had to live with. I never told my friends what had happened. I would make up an excuse everyday for not being able to hang out.

One night I couldn’t sleep and strolled the streets and found myself in front of the local pool hall. I had heard stories about people getting killed and knife fights breaking out and drugs being dealt at the pool hall. All of that was far from true. The entrance to the pool hall was at street level and a long set of stairs took you underground. The place was massive. It was originally a bowling alley from what I was told that closed down and ofcourse the current owner (a two-time billiard champion) remodeled it. I sat at the rail and watched as two highly competent players played nine-ball. I had no idea what they were doing and I was intrigued. Who knew this would be my new home and family. I got a job at a kosher deli that was about 2 blocks from the basement I slept in and four blocks from the pool hall. I ate my meals at the deli and then hung out all night till the pool hall closed. This was my routine for 2 years. I didn’t play with anyone and I didn’t have my own cue. But I found myself forgetting the pains of the world around me. Now I am going to quickly jump ahead to give you some background of my unusual education.

Most people would describe me as easy to talk to, smart and quick witted. My first pool teacher was a guy named Darren. Darren had the most unusual shooting style but he knew alot and for some reason and I am not clear how it all happened but soon I was Darrens student. Everyday I did practice drills. On my days off I would be at the pool hall when they opened at 10:00am and practiced all day…non-stop…till closing which was 3:00 in the morning. I was like Neo in the Matrix when they taught him martial arts…..I was a machine. Eventually the pool hall closed and I moved to New Jersey (long story) and got a job in a local deli. There were no pool halls in the area so once in a while I would take the bus to NYC and play there. Then, in New Jersey, the first pool hall in my area opened up and I was a regular fixture. Once again I was very solitary and didn’t play with anyone except for some of the older players who enjoyed my questions on strategy as well as my polite nature. Another new pool hall opened a few miles away and it reminded me of where I played in New York. It didn’t take long for the owner to notice me and offered me a job. I had no idea what I was in for in terms of experience and catapulting the level of my game.

Again I was quiet and did my job giving out tables, making food and serving coffee. What was so unique about this pool hall that I never experienced before was that on any given day there would be two to three world champions playing. To see the game played at that level watching people play for $10,000 a game was unimaginable. Not to mention the “road” players that would come in. Road players are just that….players that travel the state or country from pool room to pool room seeking action and essentially to make money. Its the mix of champions and hustlers that ended being my new role models. I made it a habit to remember exactly how all the big players drank their coffee. When they came up to the counter I had their order ready. That small gesture opened their years of experience to me. They would pull me to the side and show me the details of cueball physics or how to rack the balls so the incomming player would never make the nine on the break. Subtle techniques that would annoy an unsuspecting player to miss their shot and rob them. This would be my education for the next 10 to 12 years.

I eventually left that pool hall to go work for more money at another pool hall that was the complete opposite. The players that came in were ball bangers and not students of the game. The biggest gambling game was a race to 5 for $5 and table time. When I got there it was like throwing a shark into a tank with blind swimmers. I did exactly what I was taught. I played everybody and lost on purpose. I did this for an entire month and relished everytime I heard one of these tourist putting my playing ability down. Of course that would all change as sucker after sucker got robbed and my natural acting abilities surfaced to play the role of the lucky fool. This made it possible for everyone to think they had a chance to win their money back. Well, not everybody….there was a kid named Mark. Mark was to video games what I was on the pool table. It didn’t matter what game was in the arcade Marks initials were on them and in the first place position. I found it a challenge to try and rob Mark and I suspect he knew because anytime I offered to gamble he would turn it down…..no matter what game I offered.

One night I was teasing Mark about the fact that he would never have the balls to play for money. This got under his skin and he said “I will play you pool for $20 a set if you play me a video game for $20 first“. Right away I knew the reason for this proposal. Chances are that I would lose the video game challenge and when he lost in pool he would just give me back my $20 and he didn’t lose anything. I wish I can break it down for the reader how fast the following idea/scam popped into my head. I told Mark “you got a bet” and his eyes lit up. “What video game did you want to play?” he asked. I said “how about the Formula 1 racing game“? Mark was shocked because if there is any video game Mark excelled at the most it was the driving games. He confidently asked “do you want me to spot you a lap“? I calmly replied “no, just give me the first check point but you cannot begin driving until I pass the checkpoint and at the end of the game whoever came in first place wins“. Mark shook my hand and we posted the $20 dollars which was something I insisted on because with what was about to happen I didn’t want him backing out of paying.

We took our seats and I reminded him once again of the rules. We put our quarters into the machine, picked our course and I acted like I was going to lose and upset that I got hustled by him. The race starts and I hit the gas and on my way heading toward the first checkpoint. Just prior to approaching the checkpoint I slammed on the breaks and stopped the car. Mark looked at me and didn’t understand what I was doing. I just sat there quietly and let the clock run out. According to the rules we agreed on Mark could not move his car until I crossed the checkpoint. My car came in 1st place and Mark 2nd…….oh yeah, and I got Marks $20. We then played pool and Mark was so upset that he could not pocket two balls in a row and all I did was run the table everytime It was my turn to shoot.

The next day the story had spread throughout the pool hall and this regular named Marty walked over in front of everyone, smiling, and called me THE THIEF. Strange eh? You probably thought I received the nickname for playing pool instead I got it for beating someone at a video game. After that I was a locomotive running over anyone who wanted to gamble at pool. A few months later when my birthday arrived that year the regulars at the pool hall bought me a leather pool case and inscribed on the cover the words The Thief.
Next Post: The Characters I Grew Up With or…My New Family.

I have made it a life hobby to notice patterns. Not just in myself but especially in others. For a number of years I sustained myself playing pool and studying people. I paid my rent, car payments, nice restaurants, clothes, electronics etc, etc. I accomplished this by noticing patterns. In the pocket billiard game14.1 Continuous (aka Straight Pool) the person with the highest runs understood the patterns of the table in order to succeed. Like all things in this life, patterns, can be positive or negative…..real or imaginary.

So, let me give you an example based on real life experiences. Because these stories are true I will change the names of the so-called victims to protect myself from getting my ass kicked. Let us start with ANTON. Anton was a middle aged romanian man who owned his own landscaping business. He committed the first sin when you walk into any pool hall…..he was arrogant. Arrogance is an imaginary pattern that states “I am better and smarter” and in this case, “richer than everyone else in the room“. I could never get Anton to play me for money because he knew he could not shoot better than me. I played and practiced all the time and he played once a week. But, that didn’t stop me from robbing him of $510 (which by the way was my half of the take). One evening Anton walks into the room and he starts bragging about how much money he has won at a poker game. I jump on him right away to play knowing his response will be no. Out of arrogance he pulls out of his pocket a huge wad of cash and challenges me by proposing that if I can match his bankroll he will play me. Of course this was impossible but my goal was to take a portion of that wad. Like the old joke….how do you eat an elephant? one bite at a time.

Every pool hall has at least one exceptional player who plays at a professional level and can pretty much beat every regular that plays there and the occassional tourist that thinks highly of their skill and leaves disenchanted after playing such a shooter of great billiard acumen. In the pool hall I worked at that player would be known as Redneck Bob. Bob was a machine and had he not possessed such a bad temper he would actually have become a great professional player. Now Anton walks into the pool hall bragging with his huge wad of cash and like I stated before he won’t play me and he knows I don’t have the level of cash he has. We are at a stalemate or at least it would seem so. At the pool table closest to the counter is Redneck Bob playing against someone for I think $10 a set. Anton watches in amazement at Bobs skill. Like a machine Bob clears the table effortlessly. I keep bugging Anton to play offering him the most ridiculous games to entice him but to no avail. Anton comments about Bobs extra ordinary skill to which I respond “Bobby sucks he’s a choke artist“. Anton looks at me like I am crazy and I bet him $10 that Bob misses his next shot. Anton says “you got a bet” and Bob does not miss. Anton collects his $10 from me and I continue to bad mouth Bobs playing ability and get Anton to bet again but this time for $50 dollars. Once again he says “you got a bet” but this time Bob misses. Frustrated, Anton wants to go again…and again…and again. He quit after losing $1,020 to me and stormed out of the pool hall not to return until six months later.

Most people don’t know this but the first historical record of a pool hustler was a priest in France. The tactic he utilized is still used today. Lose the first bet then raise the stakes and keep the person chasing their money. This priest made so much money working his way through the courts of France that eventually they couldn’t pay him anymore and promoted him to Archbishop. See a pattern? In the David Mamet film House of Games a con man says “a sucker is born every minute……and two to take him“. Starting to see another pattern? The pattern I saw in Anton right away was that he liked to show off….he had a pattern of an inflated ego. On a side note let me add that I didn’t rob just anybody. I needed an incentive and Anton fulfilled that need. You see my pattern was that if you disrespected women then to me you were a potential target. Anton spoke about women with the belief that all women are whores. He was also married and hit on any young girl in the pool hall. That behaviour just rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s because I have two sisters or that most of my friends are women but regardless if you act that way you have an enemy in me. That being said, ok, so he had an inflated ego and he loved to bet on a sure thing otherwise he would never had taken the Redneck Bob bet. That set the stage of a plan that took a few weeks to set up. Let me pull back the curtain and reveal the wizard……..actually the thieves.

I approached Redneck Bob with a proposition that needed some practice in the weeks prior to robbing Anton. We set up a simple signal to alert Bob on when to miss a shot when he was playing. I also alerted him that I wanted to do it to Anton specifically because of the big bankroll and I honestly thought we would have only one good opportunity to pull this off before anyone caught on to what was really happening. So everytime Anton placed a bet Bob would look up casually in between shots to look for the signal. Any gesture I made with my right hand (waving at someone, pointing at something, stretching with my right arm elevated over my head, scratching my ear/face) would indicate to Bob to miss the next shot. Anton thought he was betting on a ball pocketing machine but the only problem is that I controlled the on/off switch. $1020.00 later Anton wasn’t so arrogant anymore. When he returned six months later I asked if he wanted to play pool and gamble but he wanted no part in that. Can you blame him? He asked me if I had hustled him that night and I responded congruently…”No I didn’t“.  It took someone to notice his negative patterns and turn them against him…..It took a Thief.
Next Chapter…..How I was given the nickname “The Thief”