The Art of Gamesmanship

This will be a tips and tid-bits section dealing with gamesmanship, or put another way; how to secure yourself an advantage when playing, hustling, or gambling.


An excerpt from George Fels column, NEW CLOTH, in Billiards Digest, Dec. 1993
"...the perfection of the cloth itself. It has not yet been violated by chalk, dust, or that most sinister of stainers, talcum... Naturally, one cannot ignore the sharking possibilities inherent to these aesthetics. The late billiards player Bud Harris, who played pretty fair pool when he could be coaxed into it, had an undeniably prissy nature; he liked everything just so. Thus he stood no chance whatsoever against the Machiavellian Freddy Bentivegna, despite being a much better player back then, because Freddy would simply bring to the table mounds of powder unrivaled for size except in the jungles of Colombia and the mountains of Peru. One had to peer through perpetual fog to watch Fred flay Bud, and more often than not, what one would see was poor Harris doing a kind of forlorn vertical breast-stroke, striving for a reasonable glimpse of at least table if not balls too. The cloth itself was a wonder to behold, (the Fred/Bud encounters took place on 5'x10' tables in the classic Bensinger's, for even greater cloth carnage) Kelly green yielding glumly to ...white whorls and whirls and swirls...Michael Jordan made a point to decorate the broadcast announcers with a clap or two of talcum just before tip-off; Jordan reportedly plays decent pool, and you have to wonder if he studied talcum technique at Freddy Bentivegna's knee."

Here's an addendum to the above post: As irritating as talcum clouds might be to a fastidious type player -- and this should include almost all 3 cushion players -- something almost as effective is to turn the chalk upside down and let the granules leak onto the rail. I used to drive the suit and tie billiard players nuts with that move. In truth I was just as big a neat freak as they were, but I was compensated by how much it jerked their chain.

When hustling in a strange joint, bring your own chalk, powder, and cue ball with you. Tricks to get your own cue ball into the game:

When you are about to start a game, make sure you volunteer to bring the balls to the table, this way you can sneakily switch cue balls at the counter. If your opponent is already playing on the table, suggest playing on a different table. If he concedes, you go get the balls and switch the cue balls. If your opponent refuses to change tables, suggest a compromise and ask for a clean set of balls. He can hardly refuse. To keep him busy when he agrees, tell him you will go get the clean balls if he takes the old set off the table. Switch cue balls at the counter.

Advice on lagging for the break: Make sure your opponent goes first. This will allow you to measure his speed of stroke. It is at least a 25% advantage.

When flipping for the break, if flipping a penny, call tails. It's a 10 to 15% advantage over the normal 50/50 due to the weight disparity on one side. If you are able to make the penny spin on the table, your advantage goes up to at least 60%.

Here's how strong gamesmanship can be. I was in Milwaukee, WI playing in the National 8ball Bar Team League Championships in 82 or 84 (I forgot). There were about 200 teams and this was the final shot of the final game of the final match. My team was a strong one, Artie Bodendorfer, Johnny Abbruzzo (greatest team 8ball player ever), George Powalski (a legitimate 250 ball runner) and me, I was the anchor man. I wound up frozen on the long rail, with the 8 ball between the foot spot and the pocket, and dead straight in. It was not that hard a shot but it was worth $5000, and it was hard to keep the trembles from showing. Needless to say, I dogged it brutally and I miscued. Now I may have been shaky, but I hadn't lost my ability to think on my feet, so as the cue ball drizzled away from the rail, I caught it with the bottom of the shaft of my stick and rolled it back to be refrozen to the rail, leaving my opponent a tough cut shot on his last ball. It all occurred in one smooth motion, and in those days you could make a guy shoot again after a foul, but there was no cue ball in hand. My opponent shot, missed and left me the length of the table away from the 8. Revitalized now, and with nothing else left to lose, I had already embarassed myself, I hit the 8 as hard as I could, made it, and the cue ball flew around the table and fortunately didn't scratch. We made the front page of the Billiard News.

When you are not blessed with natural talent, you have to develop other skills. For example, I was playing in Monroe Brock's big tournament in Richmond, KY at the Maverick Club. Keith McCready was my opponent, and we were playing 6 out of 11, short rack 9 ball banks. The score was, Keith 5 games to my zero, when I broke the balls and didn't make anything. Keith banked 4, missed a tough shot for the session ball, and left me hanging in the corner pocket at the foot of the table with no shot. Responding criminally to a hopeless situation, I took a ball out of the ball return box and put it on the spot, giving myself a cross-side. Keith, thinking HE must have broke the balls and made one, didn't bat an eye. I banked 3 from there, played safe, and wound up winning that game and the next 5 to take the session! There were sweators in the bleachers that knew what had happened, and they were writhing in their seats trying to mentally tip Keith off. Later in that first game, Keith counted the balls that were left, and realized that the score didn't add up right. He knew something was wrong, but couldn't put his finger on it. I cooled him out by allowing that no matter what, he still only needed 1 ball, and that was the one thing we were both in agreement about. He also agreed that I banked 3, so what was it we were arguing about? Gamesmanship was my compensation for the discrepancy between Keith and my shot-making skills. Did I feel guilty about it? Nah.