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View Full Version : HE SHOT OUT THE LIGHTS. . . . . . . .



05-08-2003, 02:20 PM
In the chancy realm of cue and ivory,
There reigns a king, rotund and lively,
His fame and frame spread far and wide,
For quick is his stick and fierce is his pride,
He sets'em up and he cracks'em out
And wins the cash in bout after bout.


Now New York Fats was his poolroom name,
Til Hollywood gave him lasting fame,
His stroke is feared both near and far
In Hong Kong, Rio and Zanzibar
And the warning's out in North Dakota,
Beware, beware of Old Minnesota.


The Flick was swell, a fabulous story,
Exposing Old Fats in all his glory,
The eight great wonder he has been called,
When he's off on a run of nine jillion balls,
For on the table he has no peer,
He whacks'em out and they run like deer.


Every last hustler he's seen come and go,
Vanquished by cue or braggadocio,
He beats'em all like an old bass drum,
And always for cash, not ever for fun,
Immodest he is, shy he is not,
But there isn't a shot Fats hasn't shot.


In any session that you can name,
Fatty will boast he won every game
Nine Ball, Black ball or pocket apiece,
Fats and the cash go east with the geese,
I've seen him play and this much i know
There was never a shot that fatty did blow.


When the game's over and Fatty's gone home,
To settle the tab and the golden throne
Before he clears the gates of admission,
He'll pitch St. Pete a quick proposition
Let's have no more jolts and let's have no flights,
Just write in your book - Fats shot out the lights.

A VICTIM - 1963

on 2nd thought, if anyone else has any others to post here do so.

Cueless Joey
05-08-2003, 02:33 PM
Nice poem but this has nothing to do with pool per se. /ccboard/images/graemlins/grin.gif

05-08-2003, 02:57 PM
A POEM ABOUT MR.WONDERONE AKA NEW YORK FATS(was his nick name until he saw the "HUSTLER" and dubbed him self "MINNESOTA FATS"".. /ccboard/images/graemlins/tongue.gif
I GUESS IN MY WORLD ANYTHING ABOUT ANY RECOGNIZED/POOL HUSTLER/GREAT LEGEND... IS ABOUT POOL...hmmmmmmm /ccboard/images/graemlins/cool.gif

wolfdancer
05-08-2003, 05:41 PM
Picky, picky....hey if someone takes the time to write a poem, and it's pretty good...they should be allowed to post it anywhere......imho

DSAPOLIS
05-08-2003, 07:37 PM
This was written my David Malone and was on RSB about a year ago... It's actually pretty good...

------------------------------------------------------------
Yet another original Hamster poem if you aren't still tired from
reading the last one. This one's a tribute to one of our newsgroup
regulars, Blackjack, David Sapolis... I got the idea from Jimbo's
query about the "Grass Green Baize" when he asked if I'd had that
famous Charlie Daniels tune in my mind when I wrote it.

Blackjack

The room was on the second floor, up a narrow tread-worn stair.
It was stale like the butt of a cigarette, with the smell of a
wild-cat's lair.
He looked around at the seedy space, there were dustballs everywhere.
There was hardened puke on the fading walls and the carpeting was
bare.
Hardly the place for a major game - but still the directions had been
clear
So he settled down on a corner stool and ordered up a beer...
As his eyes got used to the darkening gloom, the tables came into view
They were mostly old black Dufferins with maybe a Gold Crown or two.
Closest to the bar was a Diamond with fresh and well-brushed baize
He could see the pockets - tight as clams - vaguely through the haze.
The cloth was new Simonis, as far as he could see...
And he nodded, because he knew for sure where the game was gonna be.

He'd just hit town on his 'other' job. The one where he drove a
truck...
Cause it paid the bills, and passed the time, and it didn't always
suck.
Coulda been worse he silently thought, as his life ran through his
head,
Could still be a cop, or a pool room owner, or much more likely dead.
He'd had his fill of the hustling life where cash was hard to find...
Getting handed his ass in sleazy dives where the locals hated his
kind.
He'd found a wife, had a couple of kids, and found himself a home
It seems he'd lost the wanderlust which made him choose to roam.
But still he dreamed of one big game, just one more would be fine,
Just one more test of spunk and skill when his soul was on the line.
And it filled his mind and tortured him and addled up his brains
Because for David Sapolis, the chalk ran in his veins...

He'd been roused last night by a stranger who hammered on his door
He couldn't see the stranger's face because the light was poor.
But something made him shiver as he heard what he had to say...
"I've come to play you, Blackjack. Tomorrow is your day..."
"What are the stakes?" our hero asked, "What game do you propose?"
"You name the game", the stranger said, "It's no skin off my nose..."
"9-ball and I want a spot..." said David. "I haven't clocked your
speed".
"You'll get the breaks." The stranger said, "There's nothing else you
need..."
And then the stranger spoke these words, which made his blood run cold

"If you lose... a pound of flesh... I have no need for gold."
"And if I win? What will you bet?" Bold Blackjack calmly said.
"I'll give you my protection... from now until you're dead..."
This cryptic speech bespoke a power beyond the realm of men
But Blackjack said, "I'll take your terms, just tell me where and
when...
Um.. this is just a question but... what if I wasn't there?
If something came up, or I fell ill, I'm sure you wouldn't care..."
There was a harshness in the answer, and certainty in his voice
As he sneered and gave this answer. "Don't think you have a choice.
There is nowhere I can't find you. You cannot leave my sight..."
And as he said those dreadful words he vanished in the night.

Back at the bar, the door hove to and the stranger stepped inside.
His cloak was black as velvet and a case was at his side.
His face was cold, his eyes were black, his hands were long and thin
And he stepped up to the table simply saying, "Let's begin..."
So Blackjack screwed his cue together, and the stranger racked the
balls.
"Good luck...", he said, without a smile. "The bar-man makes the
calls..."
The first break-off no balls were sunk, it was as the stranger
planned.
But he shot a few and then he scratched - and gave up ball in hand.
And Blackjack was elated, he thought, "I'll swear by God in heaven,
The devil is an amateur - maybe a six or seven?"
The race was long and Blackjack won. The stranger won but three...
Soon the match was over and Blackjack crowed with glee.
The stranger said, "That's fair and square, I give you now your
due..."
And handed him an Instroke case and a Bunjee Jumper cue!
He said, "This case will protect your cues for ever and anon...
I swear I'll stand behind it, or my name it isn't... John."
"Collins? Is that you...?? Our hero said, "But what in heaven's name
Was all that crap about a pound of flesh when we were setting up this
game?"
"I thought you knew", John Collins said, and sighed and rolled his
eyes.
I felt like a quarter-pounder... maybe four... and biggie fries...."
David "The Hamster" Malone.
------------------------------------------------------------

Almost makes me want to cry....

Hopster
05-09-2003, 10:05 AM
That poem is from Fats book : How to play pool with Minnesota Fats. Its the small paper back book that has the picture of him on the cover shooting on a three cushion table.