The man who calls himself Last Chance eyed the green expanse of felt, calculating his chances of kissing the 15 ball into the side pocket, then bent to his task.
There was a short stroke of his custom stick and a gentle click, like a combination lock opening. The cue ball sent the 15 into the pocket and obligingly rolled into a perfect line for a shot at the 7.
Last Chance had read the table like a Dell comic book.
“This game is like chess,” he said. “It’s not just about making the move in front of you. It’s about thinking five or six moves ahead.”
It was late afternoon at Wynkoop Billiards in downtown Denver. The lights above the tables glowed, but the only pool worth watching was being played by a 70-year-old man with salt-and-pepper hair and a right hand that felt like a bag of almonds when you shook it.
Last Chance began playing decades ago in his native Georgia. He eventually joined the unofficial circuit of East Coast money players. That took him from Miami to New York City, where he lived in Harlem for 30 years before moving to Denver.
“It’s being in the action and the smell of the poolroom,” he said of the game’s appeal. “The green felt is alluring. To be able to maneuver the cue ball to where you want to play your next shot.”
Last Chance rattled off a list of players he had seen: Luther Lassiter, Willie Mosconi, Jersey Red, Cowboy Jimmy Moore, Atlantic City Herbie.
The names mean nothing if you don’t know the game, but they make up a small corner of a poolroom Cooperstown.
Over in a corner, two businessmen who had come for beer and networking watched Last Chance navigate the table. They nodded in appreciation, white-collar workers watching a master tradesman.
A proper competition table is 9 feet long and 4 1/2 feet wide. It provides a soup-to-nuts mix of emotions: elation when the double carom drops, frustration when you inexplicably scratch.
Last Chance plays straight pool, a purist’s game long overtaken in popularity by faster barroom games such as 9-ball and 8-ball. Straight pool is a called-pocket game, where the winner is the first player to drop 100 or 150 balls, depending on the house rules.
“It’s geometry,” he said. “It’s a beautiful thing.”
Especially as played by Last Chance, who practices two hours every day except Sunday.
“He’s something else to watch,” said Mark Richards, who clerks at the room’s pool counter.
When you are a man of a certain age and still adept at a young man’s game, you occasionally find yourself with challengers hovering. Last Chance doesn’t mind a friendly game, but it wearies him when a kid gets chafed about being shown up, then starts mouthing off.
“You get these knuckleheads who let their egos get in the way, and suddenly they want to solve things with their knuckles,” he said. “Who needs that?”
I have shot pool on and off for 40 years. It was a game my father taught me. Years have passed since my father and I played, but I keep learning from the game and its players.
Last Chance rechalked his cue and eyed the table.
“Pool is a great game, a gentleman’s game,” he said. “It takes patience, practice and a desire to not just be a good player but a great player.”
His cue stick clicked. The 7-ball dropped.
Great game, great player.
William Porter’s column runs Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Reach him at 303-954-1877 or wporter@denverpost.com.
