9 Ball Girl
02-17-2004, 11:34 PM
Straight ouf of www.psmagonline.com (http://www.psmagonline.com):
According to the National Sporting Goods Association, more than 35 million people now play pool. That's a jump of about 20% from 10 years ago--thanks to an entirely modern take on the game. Visiting a pool hall nowadays is a five-sense experience. The rhythms of Beyonce and U2 have replaced the quiet stick shuffle of yore. Overstuffed velvet couches sit in lieu of wooden-slat benches. Microbrews trump foamy swill on the tongue. But it's the sights that prove most stunning. As I gaze across the packed house at one of my favorite parlors, the crowd sticks out for three reasons: hip, stylish--and half-female.
"Women now think it's a cool thing to do,' says Martyne Bachmen, a player on the women's pro tour during the 1990s who now runs a pool equipment website, www.chalkers.com. (http://www.chalkers.com.) "It's a sport where men and women can conceivably compete on an even playing field." Rather than serve merely as men's clubs, pool halls have evolved into pool parties.
For decades, pool was hopelessly saddled with the image of your grandpa moping around a seedy joint your grandma would not have approved of. Those places largely closed during the 1980s and earlly 1990s, as swiftly as men's hat stores. But like most things that your grandpa probably liked, from cigars to poker, pool is undeniably cool again.
Perhaps the best reason to love this game is its social graces. Pool allows people to talk, whether taking tips or swapping stories. There's no clock, no artificial rush. Plus, it's the only activity that can push for Olympic inclusion for the expertise of its greatest players at the same time thousands (myself included) claim performance improvements after a few drinks.
Every part of the pool experience involves tactile ritual. It starts with the cue, either removed from a case with all the solemn ceremony of a diamond peddler unveiling his wares, or else chosen from among dozens of loaners, each handweighed to the ounce and meticulously rolled across the felt to check straightness. Chalk is applied to the cues amid alternate cloud of green, blue and red chalk dust. And wooden racks, either triangles or diamonds depending on the type of game, corral fields of balls in carefully arranged packs designed to produce the perfect, crisp break.
"The crack of the balls at the break is such a unique sound," says Stephen Ducoff, the executive director of the Billiard Congress of America and the closest thing pool has to the NFL's Paul Tagliabue and the NBA's David Stern. "No other sport has that kind of noise, and it's been there forever."
"I call it sublime misery," says Buddy "The Rifleman" Hall, a member of the Billiard Congress of America Hall of Fame, and the professional Player of the Year in 1982, 1991 and 1998. "The sublime is the intense fun and pleasure. The misery is the total commitment."
You don't meet mere people playing pool, either. Instead you meet characters.
It was at a party five years ago that I met perhaps the biggest pool character in the game today. Jeanette "The Black Widow" Lee. Minnesota Fats, she ain't. This siren in stilettos gets her nickname partially from her fashion--black from head to toe--but more from the way she devours her opponents. Sure, she looks sweet, even signing her name with a little heart above the "J," but she's all business at the table. A pro three-and-a-half years after first picking up a stick, and the top women's player in the world less than two years after that, she'll drop 30 balls in straight pool before you can even rise to buy her a drink.
So don't let the new veneer fool you. Even if reborn, pool remains an American classic.
According to the National Sporting Goods Association, more than 35 million people now play pool. That's a jump of about 20% from 10 years ago--thanks to an entirely modern take on the game. Visiting a pool hall nowadays is a five-sense experience. The rhythms of Beyonce and U2 have replaced the quiet stick shuffle of yore. Overstuffed velvet couches sit in lieu of wooden-slat benches. Microbrews trump foamy swill on the tongue. But it's the sights that prove most stunning. As I gaze across the packed house at one of my favorite parlors, the crowd sticks out for three reasons: hip, stylish--and half-female.
"Women now think it's a cool thing to do,' says Martyne Bachmen, a player on the women's pro tour during the 1990s who now runs a pool equipment website, www.chalkers.com. (http://www.chalkers.com.) "It's a sport where men and women can conceivably compete on an even playing field." Rather than serve merely as men's clubs, pool halls have evolved into pool parties.
For decades, pool was hopelessly saddled with the image of your grandpa moping around a seedy joint your grandma would not have approved of. Those places largely closed during the 1980s and earlly 1990s, as swiftly as men's hat stores. But like most things that your grandpa probably liked, from cigars to poker, pool is undeniably cool again.
Perhaps the best reason to love this game is its social graces. Pool allows people to talk, whether taking tips or swapping stories. There's no clock, no artificial rush. Plus, it's the only activity that can push for Olympic inclusion for the expertise of its greatest players at the same time thousands (myself included) claim performance improvements after a few drinks.
Every part of the pool experience involves tactile ritual. It starts with the cue, either removed from a case with all the solemn ceremony of a diamond peddler unveiling his wares, or else chosen from among dozens of loaners, each handweighed to the ounce and meticulously rolled across the felt to check straightness. Chalk is applied to the cues amid alternate cloud of green, blue and red chalk dust. And wooden racks, either triangles or diamonds depending on the type of game, corral fields of balls in carefully arranged packs designed to produce the perfect, crisp break.
"The crack of the balls at the break is such a unique sound," says Stephen Ducoff, the executive director of the Billiard Congress of America and the closest thing pool has to the NFL's Paul Tagliabue and the NBA's David Stern. "No other sport has that kind of noise, and it's been there forever."
"I call it sublime misery," says Buddy "The Rifleman" Hall, a member of the Billiard Congress of America Hall of Fame, and the professional Player of the Year in 1982, 1991 and 1998. "The sublime is the intense fun and pleasure. The misery is the total commitment."
You don't meet mere people playing pool, either. Instead you meet characters.
It was at a party five years ago that I met perhaps the biggest pool character in the game today. Jeanette "The Black Widow" Lee. Minnesota Fats, she ain't. This siren in stilettos gets her nickname partially from her fashion--black from head to toe--but more from the way she devours her opponents. Sure, she looks sweet, even signing her name with a little heart above the "J," but she's all business at the table. A pro three-and-a-half years after first picking up a stick, and the top women's player in the world less than two years after that, she'll drop 30 balls in straight pool before you can even rise to buy her a drink.
So don't let the new veneer fool you. Even if reborn, pool remains an American classic.