Re: Hello to the mellow... new lurker and a story about Magnolia Red

Nice story! You gotta love it whenever the hotshot gets a lesson.

dwhite

"John Mustarde" <jmustarde@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote in message
news:pbu9345dn3mcgs25hrhhlncdgf2vdpclss@xxxxxxxxxx
Just thought I'd unlurk a moment to say how much I
enjoy the sensible RSB members. Very good company and
learning here, once I got my filters set properly.

I've been playing sporadically for awhile as a
permanent Dplayer who runs a rack occasionally. Now
that I'm medically retired, it's a race to see if I can
run two racks in a row before my back retires my game
for good. But there's hope - I finally got glasses that
let me look through rather than over them as I line up
and shoot, and I've been able to adopt a lower and I
think better alignment position as a result.

Recently I bought a 7' table for my workshop. Plenty of
room out there - it's 40'x30', insulated, air
conditioned, two TVs, hispeed internet, nice Lazy Boy,
and a foundling kitten to keep the mice and spiders
under control.

So now I eagerly awaiting a UPS delivery: new Simonis
860 in tournament blue, new Aramith Pro balls, a new
I-2 shaft for my ancient McDermott D4 cue (bought
second-hand in 1985), and the Banking with the Beard
books and dvd set.

I've had some small experience with people who knew the
game. In my twenties we called them Players with a
capital P. "So-and-so can Play but his brother can't
Play."

A Player was a guy who knew the game well enough to
gamble to win; a Player could easily beat anyone who
could not Play, and always tried to get a spot from
another Player of superior ability.

I hung out at the Golden Nugget on West Seventh Street
in Fort Worth, Tx in the mid 70's. I was in my mid
twenties; Utley J Puckett was a white-haired regular,
but he usually just entertained with his big smile and
funny comments and stories. He seldom played.

A guy about Puckett's age known as Magnolia Red was my
favorite Player. He played twenty-dollar one-pocket
every afternoon with a rotating group of retirement-age
characters, local wanna-be Players who could beat him
occasionally now that he was older and his eyesight was
failing. I think Mag was on Social Security because he
was flush, happy and gambled a bit the first part of
the month, but disappeared the last two weeks of the
month, probably when his wife cut off his funds.

Red had a steady routine: He carried a grungy pink
squeeze bottle with a tiny dispensing hole. It had
originally contained Johnson's Baby Oil. Now it was his
hip flask, which he filled with vodka or gin or some
such clear liquid health food. He would tip back his
head, squeeze off a long stream of "Baby Oil" straight
down his throat from his extended arm, let out a
holler, then start singing to beat the band til Puckett
or his opponent got him to shut up and play

One day a local young hotshot Player taunted Red
mercilessly, calling into question his ability to ever
have had any talent at pool. So Red offered to play one
set for $2500. They would play 9-ball on the 7-foot
Brunswick Heritage table, and the hotshot would have to
spot Red the 7.

I was quietly rooting for Red, but was sure he would
get swamped. I'd never seen Red play a single game of
9-ball, and I had seen the younger guy play often - he
could get out from anywhere, and make any shot on the
table.

Like I said, this young guy was really a fantastic shot
maker and could beat anyone in Fort Worth. But he
always needed a backer to put up the money - on his own
he never had a pot to piss in. I recall once he won a
few hundred, and the next day showed up wearing a fancy
matched black-and-green tiger-stripe suit. But then he
wore it day and night, ten or twenty days in a row,
until it started to fall to pieces right off him.

So the backer agreed to the game - $2500 or so, biggest
game of the season that year. Red had a good spot, but
the game was set in the early evening, after Red had
been squeezing off streams of Baby Oil all afternoon.
To make a long story shorter, it went hill-hill, much
to my surprise, then Red got a shot in the last game
and squeezed off a nice long bank for the win.

The crowd went crazy, the backer wordlessly handed over
the money bag, and the young player cried over the
crowd noise "I want my money! I want my money for
playing!" and his backer gave him a look that said "you
sorry piece of *** you'll get your money" and walked
away.

Some say Red had loaded his Baby Oil hip flask with
plain water instead of gin that day... he sure seemed
drunk, but his stroke was sober as could be...

Those were some fun days. Too bad I didn't learn to
shoot pool back then. The competition was so far over
my head they wouldn't play me at all.
.
--
John Mustarde
Paris, TX



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