Hamster Tales

Got there at three in the morning and flagged down a cab. I wanted to get to one of the action rooms where they sweated it all night. Figured the real gamblers would be still up and in the mood to play some. I knew from experience I could get played at any of three different places, but the best room was always Harry Wicks old bar and poolroom where the Golden Cue is today. I couldn’t wait. Jesus, I was dying to see what ‘ol Willie could do on the table after being dead for a year or so. Got to Jimmie’s place and bingo, there was Minnesota Fats. Ok... Wanderone. The fat bastard was sweating and shooting and talking (and talking some more) all at the same time. He had a crowd around him listening to his patter and watching the self described best hustler of all time do his thing against some hick from the country. Must have been winning big time ‘cause he was crowing like a rooster and playing to the gallery. The kid he was playing probably didn’t have a clue who he was, but old Rudie was sure telling him and the gallery at the same time. As I watched, the kid reached into his pocket and paid him off. I think he had tears in his eyes... poor kid, another lesson in life, as they say.

"Hey, Fats...", I yelled. "Still stealing pennies from the rubes? How’d you like a real money game?".  I don’t think he even recognized me at first, but after a while a smile crept across his face as he remembered. "Been saving your allowance since we played last time, son?", he said. "Bet you’ve accumulated nearly twenty bucks by now. I’m surprised your daddy let you out of the house after I took it all from you a coupla years ago". "My allowance got raised..." I said genially. "How does a race to fifteen for fifty grand sound? Or are you still chicken when it comes to playing for real money?" Damn, you’d think I’d offered him the crown jewels. His face lit up like a neon sign and he did his best to remain cool, but I knew I’d hit a nerve. Easy money. He was like a vulture who had just spotted a road kill. "I don’t have that much cash on me, kid". He said, "But I can put it together pretty quick. Meet me here tomorrow night at 11:00 and you’ve got a game..."

I found a room outside of town and got some sleep. I knew it wasn’t going to be me playing but I wanted to be fresh for the match. It’s not every day you get to see a pool legend playing that close up. I think I was chortling in my sleep as I thought about the grand deception. I could only hope Fats would see the funny side of things when I beat his fat ass. Okay, I really didn’t give a damn if he was amused as long as he paid up... Couple of big scores doubling my bankroll everytime and I’d be on easy street. I woke up with a start around four-ish thinking I’d overslept and missed the appointment, but everything was well in hand. Had some food and a coupla beers and then thought, what the hey, I’ll go down town and waste some quarters in the slots for a while. I drifted into Harry’s place around ten and got a shock. There must’ve been three hundred people there - word had apparently got around and everyone wanted to sweat some of the action. I got kind of a jolt of excitement and nerves, but inside I was pumped at the thought that so many people would see old Rudie getting what he deserved. Not that I disliked the old man, you understand, but he can get to you with all of his nonsensical patter and bragging. Around a quarter to, Fats walked in and immediately started his shit. "I was afraid you’d left town, sonny", he said. "Good thing your daddy doesn’t know you’re here to lose your allowance... you do have the jellybeans with you, right?" I mentally shut out his noise and banished him to the background while I screwed my cue together. The table he’d selected wasn’t what I would have chosen - the pockets were gaping buckets and the cloth was worn and kinda thin. But I was so sure Willie could take Fats under any conditions that I didn’t really care.  We lagged for the break and he won. I wasn’t ready to play my Mosconi card just yet and I sat down to watch him break. It was kind of odd we were playing 9-ball. I don’t think Willie had been known to like the game very much, but Rudie never gambled at straight pool any more and a race to 15 would sort out the men from the boys. Or, in this case, the legend from the wannabee..."

At this point, old Andy coughed a few times.. "It’s my throat getting dry...", he explained. I got the idea immediately and waved at Ruby to get him another beer. Guess I was getting caught up in the story and wanted to hear the rest. And he knew it - he had me in the palm of his hand. After a long swig of Molsens’ best, he continued...

"We swapped a few games back and forth. You see I didn’t want to get Willie involved until I needed him. Rudie was a bit shaky, oddly enough, although you have to remember the old bastard must have been in his eighties at that point. Then he seemed to get his second wind and ran off four racks in a row. I wasn’t hugely concerned. I mean it was only seven to four in his favor at that point. But I thought it was probably a good a time as any to bring in the heavy artillery. "OK. Willie", I said to myself, "it’s up to you now...". "Who’s Willie?", said the small voice in my head. He sounded puzzled. "You are, you son of a bitch..." I said. "Don’t do this to me now. I need some help here." "You must have got me confused with someone who knows what the hell you’re talking about, asshole", he said. "My name’s Jimmie..."  "Seriously now, stop messing with me." I mumbled under my breath. "Saint Peter told me you were Willie Mosconi and he wouldn’t lie to me." There was a short laugh in my head. "He must have made a mistake. He’s kind hard of hearing - didn’t he mention that? I’m Jimmie Mosconi from Queens. Never played a lick of pool in my life, but I’m a pretty good little dancer. Wanna see a soft shoe shuffle?" My world got a bit off kilter at that point and I started to feel faint. But I’m a fighter and I soon recovered my nerve. What you gonna do? The next time I got up to go back to the table, I did a quick medley of Jimmie’s best steps, twirling my cue like a baton (I think that’s where Paul Newman got his bit for the Color of Money) and started shooting for real. But the fat man was better than I remembered and I choked... ended up being dumped 15 - 8. He shook my hand and said, "Next time you get your allowance, sonny, come and see me again..." I told him to go to Hell and he probably has by now. Good thing I had a return