Did I tell you the story of how I beat Minnesota Fats in an exhibition 9-Ball game? I have the cue-ball to this day.
There was a grand opening of some dept store and they had a table set up. I showed up with an acquaintance to see what was going on just as Fats said he needed someone from the audience to play him.
Everybody was waving, and I just stepped through the ropes and picked up a pool cue. He turned, startled, and said, "Looks like we have a volunteer! You want to go first?"
I knew I was dead if I broke them, so I said:
"You break."
"Then you don't get to shoot!"
The crowd roared with laughter while my sperm curdled. Fats crashed the rack -- balls went absolutely everywhere. But in.
My turn now. Firm lip, chin up, bowels dissolving... I saw an easy shot and took it. Shot another. I was not planning on the next shot each time, just shooting to get it in and then go see where the cue ball was. Lining up on a third ball...
"THIS GUY IS A STRAAAAAIIGHT SHOOTER!"
I looked at him, and he took out an enormous handkerchief and blew his nose. This made his belly rise up a full six inches and drop down again. <-- To the applause of the crowd.
Now that I was fully concentrated, somehow I got the fourth ball in. Then missed.
Fats clearly felt like he needed to show who's who and Bob's yer uncle, so bingety-bang-pock-crack-zing in about thirty seconds, there was the last ball slap in front of a corner pocket with the cue ball about eight inches away.
Instead of simply sinking it straightaway, he did a three-bank shot to the far end and back. It hit the eight ball in.
And then the cue ball followed it. I won.
I distinctly heard Fats say, "****!"
But the crowd saw it as a masterful finish: No balls left on the table.
My acquaintance (later a screw in a prison) joined the crowd clustering around Fats -- and without my knowledge, palmed the cue ball out of the corner pocket.
He handed it to me in the parking lot. It still has the blue marks on it.
There was a grand opening of some dept store and they had a table set up. I showed up with an acquaintance to see what was going on just as Fats said he needed someone from the audience to play him.
Everybody was waving, and I just stepped through the ropes and picked up a pool cue. He turned, startled, and said, "Looks like we have a volunteer! You want to go first?"
I knew I was dead if I broke them, so I said:
"You break."
"Then you don't get to shoot!"
The crowd roared with laughter while my sperm curdled. Fats crashed the rack -- balls went absolutely everywhere. But in.
My turn now. Firm lip, chin up, bowels dissolving... I saw an easy shot and took it. Shot another. I was not planning on the next shot each time, just shooting to get it in and then go see where the cue ball was. Lining up on a third ball...
"THIS GUY IS A STRAAAAAIIGHT SHOOTER!"
I looked at him, and he took out an enormous handkerchief and blew his nose. This made his belly rise up a full six inches and drop down again. <-- To the applause of the crowd.
Now that I was fully concentrated, somehow I got the fourth ball in. Then missed.
Fats clearly felt like he needed to show who's who and Bob's yer uncle, so bingety-bang-pock-crack-zing in about thirty seconds, there was the last ball slap in front of a corner pocket with the cue ball about eight inches away.
Instead of simply sinking it straightaway, he did a three-bank shot to the far end and back. It hit the eight ball in.
And then the cue ball followed it. I won.
I distinctly heard Fats say, "****!"
But the crowd saw it as a masterful finish: No balls left on the table.
My acquaintance (later a screw in a prison) joined the crowd clustering around Fats -- and without my knowledge, palmed the cue ball out of the corner pocket.
He handed it to me in the parking lot. It still has the blue marks on it.
