The Road Player's America

A road player carried more than a cue case.

He carried a map.

Not always a literal one.

He knew which cities had action.

Which towns had a good room.

Which rooms had a table worth playing on.

Which house men could be trusted.

And which places were better left behind.

The road was part of American pool.

For a serious player, the country itself became a collection of tables.

Leaving Town

Traveling with a cue was not as simple as throwing a stick into the trunk.

The equipment had to be protected.

The player needed money.

He needed somewhere to sleep.

He needed transportation.

And most importantly, he needed to know where he was going.

Some players traveled by automobile.

Others used buses or trains.

The method changed with the era and the player's circumstances.

But the objective remained the same.

Find the next room.

Every Town Played Differently

This was where a road player's education really began.

One room might have fast cloth.

Another might have slow cloth.

One table might have lively cushions.

Another might have rails that seemed to absorb the ball.

Pocket openings varied.

Lighting varied.

Room temperature varied.

Even the way the tables were maintained could change from one establishment to the next.

A player who could only play his home table was not necessarily ready for the road.

The road demanded adjustment.

The Local Game

Every town also had its own character.

A player arriving from New York might discover that the local players preferred a completely different style.

A room in Chicago might feel different from one in Philadelphia.

A Texas room could have its own traditions.

A small-town hall might have one or two tables that everybody knew intimately.

The traveling player had to pay attention.

He couldn't walk into another man's room and assume that his own habits were universal.

The table told him some things.

The players told him the rest.

The First Night

A smart road player did not necessarily announce himself.

He watched.

He learned who played.

He learned who owned the room.

He learned which games were being played.

He learned who was serious and who was simply talking.

This wasn't cowardice.

It was information.

The best road players were observers before they were competitors.

They understood that a poolroom had a personality, and you learned that personality by spending time there.

The Local Champion

Every town had somebody.

Maybe he was a tournament player.

Maybe he was the strongest action player in the room.

Maybe he simply knew the tables better than anybody else.

The local champion had an advantage that couldn't be packed into a cue case.

He knew the equipment.

He knew the conditions.

He knew the regulars.

He knew what kind of game the room produced.

A visitor might have more natural ability.

The local man had home-field knowledge.

That could count for a great deal.

The Road Teaches Patience

Travel also taught players something that equipment could not.

Patience.

You might arrive in a town and discover there was no game.

You might wait all afternoon.

You might find a table but no opponent.

You might find an opponent but disagree about the stakes.

You might finally get the game and discover that the table played nothing like the one you practiced on at home.

The road was full of disappointment.

It was also full of opportunity.

That was the bargain.

The Cue Case

The cue case became a kind of traveler's luggage.

Inside were the tools of the trade.

Cue.

Extra shafts, when available.

Chalk.

Tip tools.

Joint protection.

Small pieces of equipment that could mean the difference between being ready to play and being forced to improvise.

The case also became part of a player's appearance.

A good case suggested that the owner took his equipment seriously.

A battered case suggested that it had seen some miles.

Sometimes both were true.

Crossing the Rail

There was also etiquette to arriving in another man's room.

You respected the house.

You respected the equipment.

You didn't immediately tell everybody how much better your hometown tables were.

You didn't insult the local players.

And you didn't assume that being a visitor entitled you to anything.

A road player who wanted to keep traveling needed a reputation.

The game was only part of it.

Character traveled faster than a bus.

The American Poolroom Map

This is what makes the road tradition so interesting historically.

The country could be experienced through its poolrooms.

Big cities had famous rooms.

Small towns had local institutions.

Industrial cities had working players.

Tourist towns had seasonal traffic.

Every place had its own tables, personalities, and habits.

The road player connected them.

He carried knowledge from one room to another.

He learned something in one city and tested it in the next.

Over time, the country became a network of billiard rooms connected by players who refused to stay home.

The Last Stop

Eventually, every road player had to go home.

Maybe he had won.

Maybe he had lost.

Maybe he had simply learned something.

But the cue case came back through the door.

The player put his equipment away.

And sooner or later somebody in the local room would ask the inevitable question:

“How was it out there?”

That was the road.

Not just gambling.

Not just competition.

Travel.

Observation.

Equipment.

People.

Tables.

And the strange education that came from discovering that the same game could feel completely different fifty miles down the highway.

The road player didn't just travel across America.

He learned how America played.