Scratchin’ and Survivin’ Part II (excerpt)

….When I was growing up, Aunt Retha tried to keep me out of the pool halls. I guess hustlin’ was in my blood though. Daddy would come over to Retha’s every once in a while and give her money when he remembered. Sometimes we’d go places together.

The only places he really knew were the “shooting galleries”, Smiley’s and the pool room down by 18th and Vine. He wanted to be a good Daddy, so because it was usually the middle of the day, he took me to the poolroom instead of the bar. He never took me to the shooting gallery. The pool room is where he taught me how to hustle.

“Chalk up too much and a nigga’ll think you ain’t sure about your shot.”
“Remember Jo-Jo, jus’ ‘cus a motherfucker’s drunk, don’t mean he can’t still shoot.”
“Boy don’t be one of them nigga’s scared to scratch on the eight ball.”
“Scared money can’t make no money.”

That was my Daddy’s advice growing up. It wasn’t no Ward Cleaver shit, but it helped me through some serious situations over the years. If you understand the code of the pool hall and how to work that table, there really ain’t shit else in this world you need to know.

Daddy taught me that sometimes you gotta shoot hard, sometimes you gotta shoot soft and sometimes you gotta put some “English” on yo’ shit. Most importantly, he taught me that if you always scared of missing the shot, you ain’t got no chance to win.

Taking chances was how he got the name “Scratch”. Joe Willie would take the most dangerous shots any nigga ever attempted. He never worried about scratchin’, balls flyin’ off the table, jumpin’ over balls or nothin’. When he was clean, it was some beautiful shit to see. When he was strung out, his ass looked ridiculous.

One time he jumped the cue ball off the table and broke out this big time dope dealer old lady’s front teeth. He had to leave town over that shit for a minute. Eventually that nigga Tut squared shit with the motherfucker so he could come back home.

Tut put this little underground tournament together. He was trying to make a big name for himself. He had the best players comin’ in from all over the country. Frisco, Memphis, Milwaukee, Buffalo, you name it. It cost twenty-five large to get in. Then you could take all the side bets, after hours action and hustlin’ locals you could handle.

The big payoff was $100Gs. If Pop wins he’ll be off the hook for almost everything he owes Tut out of his half. If he loses he’s gotta turn all kinds of tricks for Tut until they’re square biz. That’ll take him the rest of his life.

I hear the old man’s got a good chance though. I haven’t seen him play since I moved to Detroit a few years ago. The grapevine says he’s been off that “Boy” for a minute now and his hands don’t shake no mo’.

They say he was so strung out a while back that he was snortin’ “T’s and B’s” and livin’ in the back of Smiley’s. Then he met some church goin’ lady a couple years ago who put him up in her attic ‘til he kicked “King Heroin” cold turkey. When he’s clean he can beat anybody on the planet. Everybody came to win this motherfucker though.

I’ve been around the country with this pool cue. I’ve whipped just about all of these cats ass before. A couple I’ve never seen. The rest can’t be no better than the best though and I’ve beaten the best. Make no mistake about it, I came here to win. If Scratch ends up being the nigga whose ass I had to whip to get that money then so be it….