Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, May 14, 1995 TAG: 9505150063
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: RAY COX STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
It probably was a fellow in a high-starched collar and a pair of cap-toed shoes that were too tight who first said great skill in the game of pool indicated a misspent youth.
The game's unfortunate reputation is a product of such views. That reputation is so bad, in fact, that some believe pool players have something against work.
This is outrageous.
One does not attain pool proficiency while lying in a hammock.
That should be readily apparent this weekend to anybody who walks through the door of Guys & Dolls, a multi-tabled palace of pool on Roanoke's Williamson Road.
Gentlemen who push some of the meanest rods in the hemisphere have converged there for the second consecutive year for a one-pocket tournament, this one dubbed Roanoke One-Pocket II. The final is scheduled for 9 p.m. Sunday.
One way or the other, you must pay to witness this event.
Should your path to the championship come through the 49-man draw - instead of past the ticket-seller at the door - this much we know: You aren't financially faint of heart.
You can tell the real players by the bulge in their shirt pockets. Some of these guys could moonlight as ATM's.
Actually, their job is difficult enough, what with all the travel. And the hours are murder.
But at least you don't have to watch your drinks anymore. A prince of the pool room once had to guard against the possibility of having his refreshment altered by chemical means.
``They used to put something in your drink that messed up your equilibrium,'' said longtime player Grady Mathews of Columbia, S.C. ``You'd think you were playing great, but you were playing awful.''
At age 52, Mathews has judiciously avoided most of the hazards of the profession. Most, but not all.
Mathews has curtailed his road work now that he has part-time custody of his two children, 10-year-old Marie and 8-year-old Grady.
``I played pool 12 hours a day for 20 years,'' he said. ``That probably explains three divorces.''
They call Mathews ``The Professor.'' Certainly, the pool cue-straight build, the gray cropped beard and the non-filter cigarettes give this native Texan a professorial air. He also taken more than one aspiring pool shark to school. That isn't how The Professor got his nickname, though.
``I suppose it stems from my doing The New York Times crossword puzzle in ink, rather than any educational attainment,'' he said.
Speaking of taking some classes, the man to see is Buddy Hall of Metropolis, Ill. Hall, aka ``The Rifleman,'' is one of the world's foremost practitioners of the rapid-fire art of 9-ball pool. For a mere $650, he will provide a 10-hour course of study to any pilgrim.
``Whatever you need,'' he said. ``It's like golf lessons. You go by the individual.''
Funny he should mention golf.
``Golf is probably the preferred other game for a lot of these guys,'' said Conrad Burkman, the rumpled publisher of the National Billiards News, a tabloid based in Northville, Mich. ``Golf works well with pool. You can play golf all day and pool all night.''
The very definition of a glamorous lifestyle in many quarters. Dave Bollman of Virginia Beach knows. Bollman, the 1994 champion at the Guys & Dolls tournament, is a reformed professional golfer.
Bollman blew some minds when he won this event last year.
``It would be rather surprising if he does it again,'' Mathews said.
Bollman is a player of elegant stroke, as he showed paunchy Donnie Morrison of Greensboro, N.C., in an opening-round victory Thursday, but there were a lot of terrific players. You didn't screw together a stick in the Star City this week if you didn't know what to do with it.
The local green-felt crowd came, too, their wand-like sticks in cases slung over their shoulders.
There was bearded Don Sparks of Roanoke, a left-hander shooting against similarly southpaw but more acclaimed Steve Mizerak (known for his Lite beer commercials and a talent matched only by his waistline).
Local stickhandlers also included Richard White, Jim Walker, Don Hartsell, Chris Ransom and Don Beverly. Martinsville is the home address for Chip Robertson, who is not to be confused with Julian Robertson, the tournament promoter.
``It's been a rat race around here,'' Julian Robertson said.
Informal handicappers of the race for the tournament title were divided in naming a favorite among little Jose Parica of the Phlippines, Jimmy Fusco of Philly, Mizerak and Mathews. Nobody was saying Hall wasn't capable, either. Another mentioned prominently was Bill ``Weenie Beanie'' Staten of Myrtle Beach, S.C., a silver-headed gent who made his pile of dough on a Washington, D.C., hot dog chain and an even hotter cue stick.
The last word went to the newspaper guy.
``Grady has to be one of the top one-pocket players of all time,'' Burkman said.
The hot dog man and the publisher were only two of the clever businessmen represented. Another savvy sort was Pat Fleming, who shoots and sells tapes of high-stakes matches by the pile.
The biggest bundle of all might have been made by whoever owned concession rights to the cigarette machine. That baby got almost as much of a workout as the pay telephone beside the workbench for the custom cue sticks.
Nothing to cut the tar and nicotine with but soda pop and obsolete coffee, either. Hustlers aren't drinkers, for the most part. Suds and sauce tends to interfere with their money-making ability.
Not so with cigarettes. There was more curling smoke and dangling butts than in a bad gangster flick.
``Nerves, I guess,'' Burkman said.
And they say these guys don't work hard.
by CNB