THE ADVENTURES OF CONNOR BENSON

Volume Two

SOMETIMES, THE BIGGEST PROBLEM WITH GOING ON THE ROAD IS THE EMBARRASSMENT OF COMING HOME A LOSER.

Upon his return home from his recent trip, Connor stayed away from the pool room for a couple of weeks. He was embarrassed to tell everyone that he had lost his entire bankroll playing one pocket and had to come home because he didn’t have enough money left to pay his entry fee for the tournament.

Connor worked part-time at a drive-thru coffee joint called The Human Bean. This particular location was once a Fotomat, where people could drive up and drop off camera film and get their pictures developed. The pictures would be ready for pick up the next day, or for an additional charge, they could be ready in one hour. The problem was the photos were rarely ready in one hour, and therefore, the building became vacant. Someone decided it would be a good idea to open a drive-through coffee shack in the vacant spot. Connor liked working there well enough, but he knew it was temporary at best. I mean, come on, who in their right mind would stop at a drive-through window, at some obscure little shack, in a random parking lot, to get a cup of coffee? How long could this possibly last?

Nevertheless, it was a decent job for a young person that should be going to college. Connor made $4.75 an hour, which was fifty cents over the California minimum wage in 1988. He was able to pick up some extra shifts, and after a few weeks and a couple of paychecks, Connor was carrying close to five hundred in his front right pocket. Feeling pretty good about himself and able to put his recent loss behind him, Connor was ready to head back to The Rack, his local pool room.

Connor practiced hard in the weeks to come. He won a couple of the weekly 9 ball tournaments and booked a few winners playing some small sets with his regular clientele of players. The Reno Open was only a few weeks away, and he was determined to be as ready as he could be.

The Reno Open was held twice a year at the Sands Regency Hotel & Casino in Reno, Nevada, 4 hours north and just over the California-Nevada state line. Now that Connor had turned eighteen years old, he could finally attend. He had heard from the older guys at the pool room what a great tournament this was. Many of the professional players and all of the top guys from the West Coast would be there. Two weeks before the Open, Connor asked his boss at The Human Bean if he could take some time off to go. He was told no.

He didn’t know what to expect going back to The Rack. Were the guys going to bombard him with questions? Were they going to laugh at him for losing? Had they already heard? Oddly enough, and a bit unexpectedly, no one asked him anything at all. It was like he was just there yesterday, and no one had anything new to talk about. At that very moment, Connor learned a lesson that he would carry with him his entire life: You are the only one who cares if you win or lose.

After a faint knock on his door, Connor’s mom, Irma, entered his room. She saw him packing his duffel bag and asked if he was going somewhere. He told her about the tournament and that he wanted to see just where he stood as a pool player. His mom asked how he was going to get there and if he had enough money. He said he was okay with money, which he would have said if he had none at all, and that was going to drive. Her two-word response sounded more like concern than a question when she said, “Your car?”

That night at dinner, before Connor could bring it up, his dad asked him about the tournament. Connor’s parents knew how much he loved to play pool, and although neither one of them had ever seen him play, they supported their son fully and wanted to see him succeed. After dinner, Connor’s dad, Tom, went out to the backyard for a cigarette and a beer. He told his son to come out because he wanted to talk to him. Connor sat there in silence while his dad smoked. Finally, Tom said that he would be driving a company truck for a while and handed Connor the keys to his own truck. He then handed him two hundred dollars in twenties and a quarter. Tom told Connor not to tell his mother about the money and that he was to keep the quarter on him at all times. Connor chuckled and asked if it was a lucky quarter or something. Tom said no. He told Connor that if he ever found himself in a position where he needed his dad, to find a payphone and call. No matter where he was in this world, he would come running. He then said, “You are my son; if we don’t have each other, we don…”. Connor finished by saying, “We don’t have anything.” This was something they had said to each other for years. Overwhelmed with his dad’s love and support, Connor went to his room and cried.

The next morning, Connor loaded up the truck. Along with his bag and cues, he loaded up an air mattress and pump, a pillow, some blankets, and an ice chest with a few drinks and some snacks. Irma handed him a fifty-dollar bill and said, “Don’t tell your father.” She hugged him and told him to be safe and to call home once in a while to let them know how he was doing. She then asked about his job. He smiled and told her that he didn’t work there anymore.

Before Connor pulled out, he told his mom that he was going to stop in Sacramento for a few days before heading up to Reno and that he would call in a few hours once he got there. He was less than a half mile from his house when he let out a shouting, screaming, excited noise that sounded like it was straight out of the Dukes of Hazard or something. He had a bankroll of a little over twelve hundred dollars, a good truck with a camper shell, and all the hopes and dreams a young man headed out to the open road could possibly have. He was northbound on the highway and on his way to a poolroom that was known as one of the greatest action rooms in the country. His nine-ball game had yet to be tested outside of his hometown. In his local pool room, he was one of the big guys, but was he just a big fish in a small pond? Could he keep up with the big boys? Was he a real player or just another wannabe? He was determined to find out one way or another.

Almost three hours to the minute from leaving his home, he found himself in the back parking lot at The Great American Billiards. Although he had never before been there, he had heard many stories about this place and couldn’t wait to get inside just to look around and see what it was all about. As he approached the door, his heart raced with nervous excitement. He stopped to take a deep breath and said to himself, “Here we go,” as he reached for the door.

Well, folks, you are going to have to tune in next month to see how our young road player fares swimming in this sea of sharks. As always, I would like to thank you all for taking the time to read my work, and I sure hope you enjoy the story. Your continued support for SPM magazine is greatly appreciated, and until next month, folks, stay safe out there, and keep that cue ball rollin.

Tommy Hill Bio

Tommy is a master instructor with both the PBIA & AMP; ACS. When he was a younger man Tommy played on the Men’s Professional Billiards Tour and the Camel Pro Tour. Like many un-sponsored pro players of that era he also played on the road in order to keep the dream alive. Tommy has spent 40 plus years in the billiards industry. The adventures of Connor Benson are fictional short stories of a road player. Although fictional, some stories may derive from his own experiences, stories he had heard or things he witnessed along the way.