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Photograph by Skye Dunlap
Ed Abellera practices for tournament play at Lucky Shot Billiards on Murphy Avenue.
Lucky Break
South Bay billiard fanatics take their shot at tournament gold
By Sam Scott
As a small, nervous crowd looks on, Brian Burke sinks the eight-ball to claim victory. His ticket to Las Vegas is booked. After a full day of playing, and three years of falling in the finals, the Sunnyvale resident is--at last--the local pool champion.
"It feels pretty good after losing three times in the finals," Burke, a perennial second placer, says. "I really couldn't have dealt with losing again."
Having won the regional 8-ball pool title, Burke's next step is the American Pool Association's national championship in Las Vegas, where 280 amateurs vie for $200,000 in prize money.
For the owners of the Bay Area Pool League, the local branch of the American Pool Association, seeing an underdog like Burke win the regional title is part of the thrill of running the league. Even with a handicapping system in place, nobody expected Burke to win. His opponent, Jeff Szafransky of Mountain View, recently placed third in a national open tournament. And Burke, frankly, hasn't done so well in the other finals.
"It's amazing seeing something
like that," says Stephen Shannon, who owns the league with Brian Howard. "It's a great feeling."
From a Murphy Avenue office above Lucky Shot Billiards, Howard and Shannon organize tournaments and leagues for 400 players throughout the South Bay. Some league franchise owners make a full-time living from the billiard business. Shannon and Howard squeeze their pool league responsibilities around their regular jobs, though if the league grows they may consider taking it on full time. Throughout the year, they schedule contests between teams and players. Locally, league players break racks at Lucky Shot and Bank Shot pool halls near downtown Sunnyvale.
The Bay Area league is beginner-friendly. Sharks are as absent from the league as cigarette smoke is from the air surrounding games. Players are ranked and handicapped, allowing novices to take on more advanced foes. Players give or get games to even the odds. Mike Pratt, a lower ranked player, will also be going to Vegas for winning a lower division. Kristi Townsend, the women's champion who will join Burke and Pratt in Vegas, beat a more highly ranked opponent, even though both women won two games.
Townsend, who lives in Santa Clara, epitomizes the chummy aspect of the league. In team competition, she plays with her mother, father, two sisters, brother-in-law, and an 83-year old friend just learning the game. A brood of kids follows them to their games.
Townsend's biggest concern about going to Vegas is the smoke. Smoking is banned in all California bars and pool halls, but not so in Sin City. The clouds of tobacco smoke can be a real pain, Townsend says, particularly for Bay Area players who aren't used to it.
Chris Abellera lines up his next shot during a pre-tournament pool
game at Lucky Shot.
Photograph by Skye Dunlap
During championship tournaments like the March 4 all-day event, the banter flies. Having met each other many times in league play, everybody knows everybody. Only when the semi-final and final rounds roll around do players and spectators take a quieter tone.
The relaxed atmosphere belies how seriously some take the game. Many play three, four, or more times a week. Julie Matyas, a semi-finalist, started playing to meet people and found herself engrossed.
"I got my husband playing ," says Matyas, a tournament semifinalist. "That was the only way he was going to see me."
The high level of commitment reflects in the cues some of the players swing. Nobody thinks to play with the one-piece sticks the venue provides. They want a cue with balance, straight lines, style, and--most importantly--a roughed-up, rounded tip. Finding a satisfactory combination can be an expensive endeavor.
Dave Del Castillo, regional champion three of the last five years, plays with a cue that costs the equivalent of a decent used car. It's an ornate, marbled piece. Castillo figures wielding such a fancy scepter presents some psychological advantage.
"Your confidence level is much higher driving a Ferrari verses a Pinto," Del Castillo explains. "It's all about how it feels in your hand."
Few people match Del Castillo for lavishness, though many have custom cue sticks costing hundreds of dollars.
"After you spend $100, $150, it's basically just about how it looks," says Doug Coleman, punctuating his claim with a cracking break shot.
Appearance do little to help with focus, which Coleman says is the mot difficult part of tournament play. Del Castillo takes only fruit and water on tournament day, wanting to avoid post-lunch sluggishness. He compares billiards to chess in its planning strategies. "I'd rather be hungry than lose," he says.
For Burke, the men's champion, the psychological edge might not have been his cue or his diet, but superstition. To avoid confusion, players indicate which pocket they aim to sink the black eight-ball in by placing an object next to it. Most use keys, a tip-scoring tool, or a cube of chalk. Burke uses a troll doll.
"It was the lucky troll," he says.
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Sunnyvale, California Since 1994
