The Practice Player: A Hustler’S Odyssey

By Joseph “Bing” Quijote

For Marine Sergeant Henry Chaney, billiards is more than just a way to pass the time. He knows that the perfect game can be found for those who dare to accept the challenge to master it. When the spirit known as the Force mysteriously takes over your endeavor, he believes, you will experience an in-the-zone performancethe epitome of invincibility.

Henry now understands that aiming is not done with the eyes; it is done with the spirit within. He becomes the confident master of the mysterious in-the-zone technique. His dreams of being a professional are finally within his reach. First, he needs to square things up with Scully, his longtime nemesisa constant thorn in his side. But Scully has other plans for Henrys future.

Before Henry can put the secret of this mystical mindset to work to further his professional billiards aspirations, he is incapacitated by a brutal attack. Soaked in bitterness, he vows to take the secret to his grave.

Twenty-two years later, Henry reemerges, no longer a viable player. He meets Jason Reese, another player, struggling to enter the Zone again. Now, these two players, a generation apart, will search for answers on parallel paths back to greatness.

Events reach a head in a $100,000 tournament with even bigger stakes. Its a do-or-die match for the moneyenough to save a seven-year-old boys leg from amputation.

Will the Zone embrace those who seek itor will the very human weaknesses of the players overcome their desire to master the spirit instead?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Oct 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781458205902

Joseph “Bing” Quijote

Joseph “Bing” Quijote currently lives in Hawaii.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Joseph Bing Quijote.

www.ThePracticePlayer.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0590-2 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0592-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0591-9 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012915838

Abbott Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

Abbott Press

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.abbottpress.com

Phone: [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Abbott Press rev. date: 09/24/12

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

The Practice Player

Chapter 1

Harry Chaney, a black security guard, arrived home after work and walked through the front door. Hi, Ma, he called out to Gina, his Filipina wife. She was at the stove, stirring a pot of stew. Where’s Henry?

He’s in his room crying—been like that since he came home.

Why? What happened?

Don’t know. He said some boy took his money. Go and talk to him. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.

Harry stopped in front of Henry’s room and found the door closed. He knocked and then opened the door. Fourteen-year-old Henry was lying facedown on the bed, his head on his wet pillow.

Harry walked to the edge of the bed and sat down. He put his hand on Henry’s head and gently rubbed his wavy hair. What’s the matter, Son? he asked. Not feeling well?

Henry turned his head toward his pa as tears kept running down his cheeks. I lost all my money, Pa. I made two dollars and lost it all to Scully, he said, sobbing in spurts.

Who’s Scully? asked Harry.

He’s an older black guy, about sixteen.

Today was your first day selling papers, Son, and your first day of summer vacation. You should have brought the money home. We talked about it last night. Money don’t grow on trees, you know. Now tell me what happened.

Right after we finished selling papers, we went over to the Rec Room. Scully was in there playing on the pool table. The two brothers with me had to go home, but I wanted to play. I’ve never played pool before. Scully said he’d teach me. We played three games, 9-ball, I think, and I won every one. Henry gave a weak smile and then related the graphic details of their encounter:

Wow! You beat me three games in a row. You’re good. I know you played before, said Scully.

No, said Henry. This is the first time. I swear."

I don’t believe you. I can tell by the way you hold the cue stick. You’re lying. I know you’re lying.

No. I promise. This is my first time.

If you’re telling the truth, we have to play for money.

No, I don’t want to gamble.

It’s not gambling. You already beat me … three times. C’mon. You already proved you can beat me. We’ll play fifty cents a game. C’mon, Scully said.

I lost four games in a row, Pa. When I lost the first game, Scully said I owed him two more games. When I lost the second game, he said I owed him one more. Then when I lost the third game, he said we were even—that we had to play one more game for the championship because somebody had to be the winner. I lost that one too.

Pa shook his head. He knew Henry had been suckered in by a punk who thought he was a smooth operator—taking advantage of a kid who didn’t know what was going on. He was royally pissed.

Don’t play Scully again. Don’t even go to the Rec Room. After you finish selling papers tomorrow, meet me at Tony’s Barbershop downtown. You know where it is?

Yeah, Pa. That’s where I had my hair cut the last time.

Okay. If I’m not there, tell Tony you’re Harry’s boy and you’re waiting for me. Got it?

I got it, Pa.

Now let’s go eat.

*****

THE NEXT DAY AT 4 p.m., Henry arrived at Tony’s. He walked in while Tony was busy cutting a customer’s hair. Tony was a lean, black man just about six feet tall with specks of gray above his ears. He was the same age as Henry’s pa: forty-five.

You’re next, kid, Tony said.

No. I’m waiting for my pa. I’m Harry’s son.

Aha! Go ahead and sit down. He should be here pretty soon.

After picking up a sports magazine from a nearby table, Henry sat down and browsed through the pages. Hearing the sound of pool balls coming from the back room, he perked up his ears and then went back to the magazine. Pow! He heard it again. Curious, he got up and walked toward the sound. From the door, he saw that there were three pool tables. Two fellows were playing on one table, and the other two tables weren’t in use. He never knew there were pool tables in the back room. The last time he was there, nobody was using the tables, so he didn’t hear anything.

Hey kid! Tony called out. You can wait in there for your pa. You can watch, but don’t do anything else.

Thanks. I’ll just watch.

Henry went inside, found a high stool about two tables away, and sat down to watch the two players. They were playing a different game than the one he had played with Scully. They were using all the balls, whereas he and Scully only used nine.

Five minutes later, a seedy-looking character wearing a baseball cap sidled up to the chair next to him and sat down. Wanna play for a couple bucks a game, kid? I’ll give you a spot.

Henry gave him a blank look. He had no idea what he was talking about. I’m just waiting for my pa.

Yeah? Who’s your pa, kid?

Harry … Harry Chaney.

The man gulped. Uh, sorry to bother you, kid. I was just kidding. Sorry. He got off the stool and slunk away.

Henry watched as he hurried his steps and fled out the door.

A few minutes later, Harry came in and started walking his way. As soon as the two players saw him, they hung up their cues on the cue rack and started walking out, not even finishing their game. Henry didn’t know that his pa was about the best player in town and that a lot of hustlers feared and respected him. Many of them didn’t want to be in any poolroom he was in. They were scared that if they hustled any of his friends, he’d hustle them back, and they’d feel humiliated for refusing.

Go pick up a cue, he told Henry. Henry went up to the cue rack and started fidgeting with the cue sticks, not really knowing how to choose one.

Harry walked over to him. Now watch me carefully in everything I do. I’m going to teach you from the ground up, step by step. Then, when you practice, I’ll be standing next to you, and I’ll correct everything you do wrong. So let’s start out by finding out if the cue stick is straight. You roll it on the table like this.

Harry showed Henry everything he knew, including the six fundamentals he should master. For the first month, he stayed with Henry every day after work, drilling every bit of advice and skill he possessed into Hank’s mind and body. When the month was over, he took Henry aside.

Now you come here after selling papers every day by yourself and practice. Don’t play anybody for money—not one penny. Practice everything I taught you, and if you need any help, go and ask Tony. He and I used to go on the road and hustle pool before you were born, so he knows everything I know, okay? I already talked to him about keeping an eye out for you. So you listen to him, stay out of trouble, and behave yourself in here. Okay?

Okay, Pa. I’ll behave, said Henry.

Good. Now let’s go home.

Learning how to play pool was the greatest gift anyone could have ever given Henry. He took to the game like it was the only thing left in the world to do. He ate pool, slept pool, breathed pool, drank pool, dreamed pool. For him, there was no greater love in the world than pool.

One day when Tony wasn’t busy, they had a conversation. Tony, when did you and my pa start playing pool? asked Henry. Tony started thinking about it and gave a chuckle. Thinking back to the old days brought back fond memories.

Over thirty years ago. We started playing from the ninth grade on. We were going to a private Catholic school, and the priests’ dorm had a pool table in the basement. Every day after school, we snuck in there while all of them were busy, and we played three or four hours, except on weekends.

You mean all the way to graduation?

Yep, all the way. They never caught us once. We got real good, but your pa was better than me. We played straight pool. They call it the championship game because they play it in all the big tournaments.

What about 9-ball?

That’s a kids’ game.

Really? Everybody in here plays it.

Yeah, because it’s faster, more exciting, and that’s where the cash is. Straight pool is classical music. Nine-ball is rock and roll. That’s the comparison. Anybody can play 9-ball. Not many can play great straight pool. Go ahead and ask your pa. He’ll tell you.

Yeah, but it gets so boring. I’d rather practice 9-ball.

I know. It is boring. But look at it this way: once you really get good with it, 9-ball will be a snap. My advice to you, kid, is keep on practicing your straight pool, and it’s going to pay off later down the road. You get me?

Yeah, I get you. But when I watch the guys in here playing 9-ball, it really pumps me up and gets my juices flowing.

Well, stick with it, kid. Hey! I got something you might like. Wait here. I’ll go dig it out of my closet.

Henry went back to practicing. When Tony returned, he was holding a book in his hands. It looked pretty new. On the cover was a guy in a suit shooting pool. The title read, Willie Mosconi on Pocket Billiards.

Henry’s eyes lit up. Wow! A book on shooting pool? I never read one before. Who’s the guy on the cover?

That’s world champion Willie Mosconi, kid. He’s about the greatest player alive. Your pa played him in an exhibition and almost beat him, but Mosconi ran a lot of balls; he came from behind and won. That’s how good your pa was. But Mosconi is something else. Nobody plays like him. You keep this book, use it every day and practice the way he teaches you. Someday, you might become just as good as him. Why … you could be our first black champion.

This is the best present I ever got. Thanks, Tony. I’m going to keep it under my pillow and read it every night.

Tony smiled. It felt good giving something away that was really appreciated. Yeah, kid, you do that. Good luck!

Henry couldn’t believe his good fortune. He held the book in his right hand and fanned the pages slowly from the back to the front. He could see that it was a treasure trove full of pictures of how to do everything on the table. He realized how invaluable it was. Right then and there, he made a promise to himself that he was going to learn everything in that book.

It was time to close up. Tony was about to give Henry a second gift—something he’d really value. Henry put away the balls and the cue stick and brushed the table down. This was his ritual whenever he finished practicing. It was also his duty to brush down the other tables just before Tony closed. He had already done that. Just as he was about to leave, Tony called him over.

Henry, I’m going to put my trust in you starting tomorrow. You know that I’m closed on Sundays. I’m going to let you have this key to the front door so you can come in and practice all day every Sunday and any day whenever I’m not here. You make sure that you lock the door from the inside when you come in and don’t let anybody else in. And when you leave, you make sure that all the doors are locked. Do you think you can handle that?

The good news made Henry’s head swim with delight. To come here every day until closing time at 7 p.m.? It was a godsend. Nobody gets a gift like that. He thought it was pure heaven.

Tony … I don’t know what to say. To be trusted like that—I can’t believe this is happening. It’s too good to be true. Of course I can handle it. Wait and see.

Tony knew he made Henry’s day and felt good about it. Now make sure you don’t lose this key. Guard it with your life. Henry placed the key in his pocket and made sure it was snug there. Tony closed up, and they both went home.

It was 7:30 at night when Henry opened the front door to the house. His ma and pa were talking at the kitchen table. Pa told him to be home by eight every night, and he never failed to comply. His arrangement with Ma was for her to open the refrigerator when he came home and heat up the food she prepared earlier. This was done every night he spent at Tony’s.

Henry was filled with excitement. Ma! Pa! Look what Tony gave me—a book on how to shoot pool.

Let me see that, Son. Well I’ll be damned! That’s the guy I played about twenty years ago. He was giving exhibitions all over the country doing trick shots, and when he finished, he asked for someone to play against him. I did one time and almost beat him.

He browsed through the pages. This is a great book, Son. Look! Here—in the back. He tells you how to finish off the rack. He shows you everything you need to do. Son, you practice everything in this book, hear? This guy is the best there is. Do what he tells you, and you can be as great as him. I’ll be damned. I never knew he wrote a book. Now put it away and eat your supper.

Wait, Pa. Look. Tony gave me the key to his shop—said I could practice anytime I want—on Sundays and anytime.

That’s a big responsibility, boy. I don’t know. You can lose the key and if someone finds it, they can rob the place.

But Pa! If I had a key chain to put around my neck, the key would never get lost. Please Pa … please?

Harry thought about it. Okay. I’ll get you a key chain. But on Sundays, you be sure to close at 6 p.m. while it’s still light. Don’t let anybody in there—not your friends or anybody else, hear?

I hear, Pa, I hear.

Now eat your supper, Son, before it gets cold.

Yes, Ma.

Just as Henry was about to eat, Ma interrupted him. Son, you’re so filled with pool on your mind that I have to keep reminding you.

Henry looked at her and quickly laid his fork down. I’m sorry, Ma—I forgot.

That’s the fourth time in the last five days, Ma said. She was a small woman, barely five feet tall. She had strong religious beliefs stemming from her background of a Catholic country, and prayers before meals were a must. Pa also had powerful convictions in his youth and even went to a Catholic school, but his interest waned as he got older. One thing he didn’t like was having to harp on someone, and he made it clear that Henry was to be talked to and not scolded.

Henry apologized for his action and quickly launched into a prayer. That done, he ate his supper.

Chapter 2

The California State Junior Championship in Pocket Billiards was held in San Francisco. Henry Chaney, now sixteen, arrived by Greyhound the evening before the tournament and checked into a designated motel for unaccompanied minors. The next morning, he boarded a chaperoned shuttle to the tournament site. He checked the listings on the board and saw that there were four brackets in the Senior Class, ages fifteen to seventeen. Eight players were in each bracket.

He saw that he was in bracket 1, but what caught his eye was the name—John Scully—in bracket 4. He realized that if he and Scully won their respective brackets, there was the chance of playing him in the finals. The possibility intrigued him. There were no guarantees, but at least there was hope.

This was the first time Henry had seen Scully since that fiasco in the Rec Room. Henry was no longer the fish that dangled on Scully’s fishing pole. Two years of constant practicing in Tony’s had turned him into a future pool shark—a denizen of the deep—and his prey at the moment was Scully. But there was one snag. The game was 9-ball. Henry’s practice sessions were in straight pool. He had become quite adept at running one-hundred-plus balls—not common for his age.

Tony once told him that 9-ball would be a snap. That’s all he practiced the last two weeks, and he learned it wasn’t that easy, especially on the long shots. In straight pool, a lot of strategy concerned balls that were closer, but in 9-ball, good shot-making abilities were necessary for the far shots. One good thing, though, was that straight pool really developed positioning of the cue ball. Precise positioning was a key element.

The pairings were announced and placed on the board. The matches were a single elimination race to eleven, the semis a race to seven, and the finals a two out of three race to seven. Henry played exceptionally well and won all three sessions in his bracket, and then bested the winner of bracket 2. He was now in the hot seat awaiting the other winner. Scully also won his bracket and was facing the winner of bracket 3. What seemed ironic to Henry was his silent cheering for Scully to win so they could face off in the finals.

Henry’s prayer was answered. Scully won. The announcer presented Henry to the audience first, then Scully. Then they were introduced to each other. When they shook hands, they said their names to each other. Scully had no idea who Henry was.

Good luck, Henry.

Same to you, Scully.

Have we met before? asked Scully.

I don’t think so. You like fishing, Scully? asked Henry.

Why? asked Scully.

I knew a fisherman who looked like you, said Henry.

The announcer broke their conversation: Players will now lag for the break.

Henry was satisfied that Scully didn’t recognize him, probably because he was four inches taller, forty pounds heavier, and two years older. He figured that Scully must have conned so many people in his past that he wasn’t able to keep track of his victims.

Scully had the uneasy feeling that he had run into Henry before but couldn’t place him. Maybe I’ll remember later, he said to himself.

The match was on. The first set went to Henry, 7-5. The second set was won by Scully who had a series of lucky breaks. They were now playing for the championship. Henry knew he had to play his best because of his unfamiliarity with the game.

Scully was the first to get on the hill, 6-5. Henry fought back and tied the score, 6-6. The next game would decide the champion. First place was the winner’s trophy, a Rambow cue stick with case, and $600 in cash. Second would get $300 plus the runner-up trophy.

Henry cared little about the first-place prizes. All he wanted was revenge. That was his only motivation. The final game came down to a series of safety plays. Finally, Henry had an opening, and he ran the remaining balls and the 9-ball for the win. The crowd showed their approval with their shouts and applause. Henry was jubilant, and Scully managed a half smile and a weak handshake.

Savoring his victory, Henry hailed a cab outside instead of taking the shuttle. He and the driver weren’t aware that a car was following them. As soon as the cab stopped in front of the motel, two passengers from the car in back of the cab stepped out, walked up to the front door, and waited. The driver collected his fare and drove off.

It was fairly dark, and the lot was full of cars but devoid of people. Ten feet from the front door, one of the two hooded men pulled