lfigueroa
Verified Member
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2004
- Messages
- 2,528
I know it's a little late 
but here it is anyways:
I have a love hate relationship with the DCC.
On the one hand, I love the adventure and promise of the event. You walk in and take on all comers, amateurs and pros and, like Mr. Forest Gump, “You never know what you’re gonna to get.”
It’s a funny thing, but for me, each year is much like the Bill Murray classic, “Groundhog Day.”’ Not the tournament itself, mind you, but rather what happens between events. Post 2012 (and 10 previous editions attended) immediately after the conclusion of the event and my drive home to St. Louis, I have rushed to my pool hall of choice to experiment with techniques observed, shots witnessed, and attempt to validate hypotheses proposed. A year passes and then... there I am, first with months, a few weeks, then days, and suddenly with only hours remaining until the tournament and I find myself lost at sea, preparing for an imminent (and reoccurring) armed conflict I feel ill-prepared to fight against far, far better prepared and more experienced opponents.
But I do love going and most of all seeing all those folks I have encountered at previous events and through my interactions on the world wide web. Stu, Mark Wilson, the 14,1 crew: Elvi, Dennis, and Bill; the Windy City crew: Ghost, Freddy, Josh, Don, WBM, and the gentleman from Red Shoes whose name escapes me but remembered our 14.1 match and sweated one of my matches. One pocket.org members such as Steve, Ace, Petie, Pilot Jim, Bernie, and Miller, (who, for reasons unknown but deeply appreciated, sweats my matches -- thank you for your support, Dustin); old RSBers like Dave Stilze (barenada), and Ed Wallace; and of course, the gentlemen and women of the industry like Greg Sullivan, his daughter Julie, CSI CEO, Mark Griffin and his lovely wife Sunny. And then there was Tom Driscoll who came up to me and told me how much he’s enjoyed my writing over the years and offered me a special supplement to the “Springfield Times” on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of Willie Mosconi’s 526 ball run. It’s gorgeous and I will treasure it. The story includes a recap of the run and interviews with two gentlemen who were in attendance that storied night.
The numbers related to me this year for the Derby were: 353 players in the Banks and 277 in the 1pocket. Not as high as in previous years, but it is 2103 and the dough is getting thinner for excursions like this. For whatever reasons there were many notable exceptions to the field, including Efren.
Like most guys, when the match-ups become available, I sit before one of the two screens available to watch the names of the greats, near greats, not so greats, and guys like me, crawl up the screen to find out whom I am to play. Of course, as I watch the names go by not paired with mine, the usual thoughts run through me brain: “Wow, glad it’s not him.” “Woo Hoo! Dodged a bullet there!” “Wouldn’t want to play him.” “Thank God, (he’s a dick anyway).” “Better him than me.” And so on and so forth.
Blessedly, I draw player for a first round 5 P.M. match whose name I do not recognized from a Billiards Digest story, Accu-Stats DVD, or TAR production. But of course, at the DCC that means little when there are wall-to-wall unknown killers in attendance. My first round draw is Darrel Stites from Kentucky and he is a classic grinder. Our match runs long, with some in the background commenting, “It’s like they're playing for $10,000.” A funny moment occurs at the adjoining table as Chris Sutzer and his opponent are breaking down their cues and are trying to out do each other by telling the other how little they actually play pool anymore. This goes on for several volleys until I can take it no more. I turn to look at a gentleman on the rail by my table who’s also been listening in and he just rolls his eyes and I say, “Nobody actually plays pool before coming to one of these events anymore. Me? I just blew the dust off my case. Played, hmmmm, maybe once in the last year.” And we both chuckled.
To be honest, my match with Darrell did go long. At 2-1 in my favor I was in danger of losing the next game and it is the first time in my life that I could feel all those watching, particularly the guys waiting for the table to play their match, leaning for me on every shot. Somehow, Lou wins 3-1. It’s Miller Time.
Monday, for my second round opponent at 6 P.M., I draw Tony Sauls from parts unknown. We play and I can tell Tony is bit nervous. In fact, early our first game, attempting to spot a ball, he aerial bombards the middle of the stack, dropping the ball he's trying to spot. We then enjoy a spirited discussion of the rules in play. Lou goes on to win 3-0. That evening I enjoy great company at dinner at the steak house with Mark Griffin and his lovely wife Sunny.
Tuesday morning I am in the box for a 10 A.M. match with Dexter Audain from New Jersey. Dexter moves and banks well, but somehow I run a few more balls when given the opportunity. Lou wins 3-0.
And then a great thing happens: my wife is on her way from St. Louis to Lexington and, after flying into Louisville and picking up a rental car, stops by to visit me and view for herself the awesome pageantry of the DCC with her very own two peepers. I give her the grand tour and introduce her to all the usual suspects and it is grand. We spent a little more time just chatting and then she is on her way.
The next round is drawn and I am given the opportunity to play a 6 P.M. match, in the main tournament room, against legendary iron man, Jose Parica. To save you the suspense, I lose 3-0, but I did get to six balls two of games. Still, it's unbelievable for a guy like me to play a player of Jose’s caliber. Several times I left him far away with a ball straight in to my pocket and he would go up and with his cue carefully measure the angle from a ball sitting out in the open, to the side rail, AND THEN measure the angle from the rail to the ball to telegraph *the exact angle* he would take to snuggle the CB right to the side of a ball and a position I would not like. The coupe de grace went like this: I had purposely left him with the 14 ball near the first diamond at the far end of the long rail on his side, but with the cue ball semi-jacked up on the eleven near the the opposite corner pocket. Basically a 110 degree angle. Jose looked at the shot for a disconcertingly short period of time, walked along the long rail to his pocket running his hand down the cloth to detect any errant bits of chalk and then gently, brilliantly, without so much as touching a rail precision, runs the 14 8' down the table to his pocket. The cue ball races back and forth and lands just so for a two-railer, which he shoots in with great aplomb. Lou loses 3-0.
The tournament was at full gallop now and the draw is done almost immediately for the 5th round. My opponent at 10 P.M. was to be Chicago cash-player and runner up to Efren at a recent edition of The US Open, Chris Gentile. I had drawn Chris at that same event and my humiliation had been streamed to the universe through the perverse graces of Justin at TAR (thanks, Big Guy). I resolve to fire at will and actually prevailed the first game, 8- -2. That lifts my spirits more than a little and, as I help collect the remaining balls, I can't stop myself from jauntily walking the table perimeter thinking (but not daring to say aloud), “Yeah. Who’s your daddy now.”
And so, over the course of the next three games, Mr. Gentile proceeds to show me the exact nature of his parental status, winning each subsequent game, going away, AND concluding his clinic with a *five-railer* that commenced with the 10-ball sitting just inside the first diamond on the long rail away from his pocket, going the first three rails above his side pocket, proceeding to my side, and concluding its travels by gently plopping into his hole to win the game and match. Lou loses 3-1.
But whaddahey.
I won my first three matches by a combined score of 9-1 and made it to the fifth round. I got the chance to play a couple of monsters. Had a great time playing pool and seeing friends from across the country and ate and drank (too) well -- so what’s not to like? As the late, great Grady Matthews might have said, “This DCC is now another bit of pocket billiards history.”
Lou Figueroa
but here it is anyways:I have a love hate relationship with the DCC.
On the one hand, I love the adventure and promise of the event. You walk in and take on all comers, amateurs and pros and, like Mr. Forest Gump, “You never know what you’re gonna to get.”
It’s a funny thing, but for me, each year is much like the Bill Murray classic, “Groundhog Day.”’ Not the tournament itself, mind you, but rather what happens between events. Post 2012 (and 10 previous editions attended) immediately after the conclusion of the event and my drive home to St. Louis, I have rushed to my pool hall of choice to experiment with techniques observed, shots witnessed, and attempt to validate hypotheses proposed. A year passes and then... there I am, first with months, a few weeks, then days, and suddenly with only hours remaining until the tournament and I find myself lost at sea, preparing for an imminent (and reoccurring) armed conflict I feel ill-prepared to fight against far, far better prepared and more experienced opponents.
But I do love going and most of all seeing all those folks I have encountered at previous events and through my interactions on the world wide web. Stu, Mark Wilson, the 14,1 crew: Elvi, Dennis, and Bill; the Windy City crew: Ghost, Freddy, Josh, Don, WBM, and the gentleman from Red Shoes whose name escapes me but remembered our 14.1 match and sweated one of my matches. One pocket.org members such as Steve, Ace, Petie, Pilot Jim, Bernie, and Miller, (who, for reasons unknown but deeply appreciated, sweats my matches -- thank you for your support, Dustin); old RSBers like Dave Stilze (barenada), and Ed Wallace; and of course, the gentlemen and women of the industry like Greg Sullivan, his daughter Julie, CSI CEO, Mark Griffin and his lovely wife Sunny. And then there was Tom Driscoll who came up to me and told me how much he’s enjoyed my writing over the years and offered me a special supplement to the “Springfield Times” on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of Willie Mosconi’s 526 ball run. It’s gorgeous and I will treasure it. The story includes a recap of the run and interviews with two gentlemen who were in attendance that storied night.
The numbers related to me this year for the Derby were: 353 players in the Banks and 277 in the 1pocket. Not as high as in previous years, but it is 2103 and the dough is getting thinner for excursions like this. For whatever reasons there were many notable exceptions to the field, including Efren.
Like most guys, when the match-ups become available, I sit before one of the two screens available to watch the names of the greats, near greats, not so greats, and guys like me, crawl up the screen to find out whom I am to play. Of course, as I watch the names go by not paired with mine, the usual thoughts run through me brain: “Wow, glad it’s not him.” “Woo Hoo! Dodged a bullet there!” “Wouldn’t want to play him.” “Thank God, (he’s a dick anyway).” “Better him than me.” And so on and so forth.
Blessedly, I draw player for a first round 5 P.M. match whose name I do not recognized from a Billiards Digest story, Accu-Stats DVD, or TAR production. But of course, at the DCC that means little when there are wall-to-wall unknown killers in attendance. My first round draw is Darrel Stites from Kentucky and he is a classic grinder. Our match runs long, with some in the background commenting, “It’s like they're playing for $10,000.” A funny moment occurs at the adjoining table as Chris Sutzer and his opponent are breaking down their cues and are trying to out do each other by telling the other how little they actually play pool anymore. This goes on for several volleys until I can take it no more. I turn to look at a gentleman on the rail by my table who’s also been listening in and he just rolls his eyes and I say, “Nobody actually plays pool before coming to one of these events anymore. Me? I just blew the dust off my case. Played, hmmmm, maybe once in the last year.” And we both chuckled.
To be honest, my match with Darrell did go long. At 2-1 in my favor I was in danger of losing the next game and it is the first time in my life that I could feel all those watching, particularly the guys waiting for the table to play their match, leaning for me on every shot. Somehow, Lou wins 3-1. It’s Miller Time.
Monday, for my second round opponent at 6 P.M., I draw Tony Sauls from parts unknown. We play and I can tell Tony is bit nervous. In fact, early our first game, attempting to spot a ball, he aerial bombards the middle of the stack, dropping the ball he's trying to spot. We then enjoy a spirited discussion of the rules in play. Lou goes on to win 3-0. That evening I enjoy great company at dinner at the steak house with Mark Griffin and his lovely wife Sunny.
Tuesday morning I am in the box for a 10 A.M. match with Dexter Audain from New Jersey. Dexter moves and banks well, but somehow I run a few more balls when given the opportunity. Lou wins 3-0.
And then a great thing happens: my wife is on her way from St. Louis to Lexington and, after flying into Louisville and picking up a rental car, stops by to visit me and view for herself the awesome pageantry of the DCC with her very own two peepers. I give her the grand tour and introduce her to all the usual suspects and it is grand. We spent a little more time just chatting and then she is on her way.
The next round is drawn and I am given the opportunity to play a 6 P.M. match, in the main tournament room, against legendary iron man, Jose Parica. To save you the suspense, I lose 3-0, but I did get to six balls two of games. Still, it's unbelievable for a guy like me to play a player of Jose’s caliber. Several times I left him far away with a ball straight in to my pocket and he would go up and with his cue carefully measure the angle from a ball sitting out in the open, to the side rail, AND THEN measure the angle from the rail to the ball to telegraph *the exact angle* he would take to snuggle the CB right to the side of a ball and a position I would not like. The coupe de grace went like this: I had purposely left him with the 14 ball near the first diamond at the far end of the long rail on his side, but with the cue ball semi-jacked up on the eleven near the the opposite corner pocket. Basically a 110 degree angle. Jose looked at the shot for a disconcertingly short period of time, walked along the long rail to his pocket running his hand down the cloth to detect any errant bits of chalk and then gently, brilliantly, without so much as touching a rail precision, runs the 14 8' down the table to his pocket. The cue ball races back and forth and lands just so for a two-railer, which he shoots in with great aplomb. Lou loses 3-0.
The tournament was at full gallop now and the draw is done almost immediately for the 5th round. My opponent at 10 P.M. was to be Chicago cash-player and runner up to Efren at a recent edition of The US Open, Chris Gentile. I had drawn Chris at that same event and my humiliation had been streamed to the universe through the perverse graces of Justin at TAR (thanks, Big Guy). I resolve to fire at will and actually prevailed the first game, 8- -2. That lifts my spirits more than a little and, as I help collect the remaining balls, I can't stop myself from jauntily walking the table perimeter thinking (but not daring to say aloud), “Yeah. Who’s your daddy now.”
And so, over the course of the next three games, Mr. Gentile proceeds to show me the exact nature of his parental status, winning each subsequent game, going away, AND concluding his clinic with a *five-railer* that commenced with the 10-ball sitting just inside the first diamond on the long rail away from his pocket, going the first three rails above his side pocket, proceeding to my side, and concluding its travels by gently plopping into his hole to win the game and match. Lou loses 3-1.
But whaddahey.
I won my first three matches by a combined score of 9-1 and made it to the fifth round. I got the chance to play a couple of monsters. Had a great time playing pool and seeing friends from across the country and ate and drank (too) well -- so what’s not to like? As the late, great Grady Matthews might have said, “This DCC is now another bit of pocket billiards history.”
Lou Figueroa
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