Read Online Pin Action: Small-Time Gangsters, High-Stakes Gambling, and the Teenage Hustler Who Became a Bowling Champion by Gianmarc Manzione - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gianmarc Manzione
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around to the throng of people watching the match, and said, “Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!” It was three A.M. , so three cuckoos. Then he turned back around and bang! threw a perfect strike.
By age sixteen, Richie got invited to the World Invitational, one of the most prestigious bowling tournaments on the planet in his day and an event dominated by the biggest stars in the sport at the time—older and significantly more experienced guys like Don Carter, Dick Weber, and Carmen Salvino. But Richie did one better than merely earn an invitation: He advanced to the finals.
Clear as Richie’s head may have been, his need for gambling funds bordered on a crack addict’s need for a fix. Like an undisciplined blackjack player, he did not always know when to call it quits. One night, he was bowling Ernie Schlegel at a place up in White Plains, less than an hour north of New York City. For once, Richie was losing, and he was losing big. He kept trying to nudge Schlegel to raise his bet. In action bowling, that nudging could have included anything from impugning your manhood to slandering your mother. But Schlegel would not budge. He had learned his lesson in Philadelphia. So Richie pulled out a gun.
“What the fuck is that going to prove?” Schlegel said. “That I’m going to raise my bet so I can take all of your money?”
Richie, finally, called it quits.
Other times, Schlegel was not so lucky. One night Schlegel bowled Richie at a place called Ridgewood Lanes in Brooklyn with an Everest of cash piled on the score table. Richie needed at least a spare on his first shot in the tenth frame to make the money his. But on his first shot, he left the nearly impossible 7-10 split. The 7 pin is off to the farthest left-hand corner of the pin deck, while the 10 pin is off to the farthest right-hand corner. The only way to convert the split, really, is to throw the ball as hard as you can at one of the pins and hope it bangs off the sideboard or out of the pit. Then you have to hope it knocks over the other pin. Schlegel, figuring he had the game won after he saw Richie leave the dreaded 7-10, began pickingup his money and counting it. Then Richie blasted the 10 pin out of the pit and watched it tomahawk the 7 pin to convert the split. Schlegel lost.
Schlegel loved seeing guys like Richie walk in after a night of big wins at the horse track because he came with loaded pockets and an unthinking willingness to throw all that money down on a match. Making money was not the point for guys like Richie. The point was making enough money to place the kind of bets that made grown men quiver. Schlegel knew that Richie was one of a few action bowlers who could beat him. He also knew that Richie may have been the better bowler some nights, but he was never the smarter bowler. Schlegel was a hustler, the kind of gambler who only bowled when he knew he had the upper hand. He knew when to bet and when to quit. He knew what amount of money to wager in a given situation and why. He knew numbers and scenarios the way a horse-race handicapper knows the names and shortcomings of jockeys. He knew when to bowl his best and when to bowl just good enough to win—just good enough, that is, to keep the other guy thinking he might have a chance if he kept trying. Richie had talent, but his thirst for gambling would always give Schlegel the upper hand.
Like those wise guys who showed up at Avenue M Bowl to seize the largesse that came with beating Mac and Stoop at their home house, sometimes Schlegel could not pass up the chance to go home with Richie’s pony winnings. Some nights it worked; other times, not so much. That is how it went when you bowled Richie Hornreich. Richie was never interested in the nuances of hustling; he was interested in bowling his best at all times, no matter the opponent or the situation. If you were good enough, Richie thought, then place your bet and take your shot. For a bowler of Schlegel’s caliber, it was alwaysworth a
By age sixteen, Richie got invited to the World Invitational, one of the most prestigious bowling tournaments on the planet in his day and an event dominated by the biggest stars in the sport at the time—older and significantly more experienced guys like Don Carter, Dick Weber, and Carmen Salvino. But Richie did one better than merely earn an invitation: He advanced to the finals.
Clear as Richie’s head may have been, his need for gambling funds bordered on a crack addict’s need for a fix. Like an undisciplined blackjack player, he did not always know when to call it quits. One night, he was bowling Ernie Schlegel at a place up in White Plains, less than an hour north of New York City. For once, Richie was losing, and he was losing big. He kept trying to nudge Schlegel to raise his bet. In action bowling, that nudging could have included anything from impugning your manhood to slandering your mother. But Schlegel would not budge. He had learned his lesson in Philadelphia. So Richie pulled out a gun.
“What the fuck is that going to prove?” Schlegel said. “That I’m going to raise my bet so I can take all of your money?”
Richie, finally, called it quits.
Other times, Schlegel was not so lucky. One night Schlegel bowled Richie at a place called Ridgewood Lanes in Brooklyn with an Everest of cash piled on the score table. Richie needed at least a spare on his first shot in the tenth frame to make the money his. But on his first shot, he left the nearly impossible 7-10 split. The 7 pin is off to the farthest left-hand corner of the pin deck, while the 10 pin is off to the farthest right-hand corner. The only way to convert the split, really, is to throw the ball as hard as you can at one of the pins and hope it bangs off the sideboard or out of the pit. Then you have to hope it knocks over the other pin. Schlegel, figuring he had the game won after he saw Richie leave the dreaded 7-10, began pickingup his money and counting it. Then Richie blasted the 10 pin out of the pit and watched it tomahawk the 7 pin to convert the split. Schlegel lost.
Schlegel loved seeing guys like Richie walk in after a night of big wins at the horse track because he came with loaded pockets and an unthinking willingness to throw all that money down on a match. Making money was not the point for guys like Richie. The point was making enough money to place the kind of bets that made grown men quiver. Schlegel knew that Richie was one of a few action bowlers who could beat him. He also knew that Richie may have been the better bowler some nights, but he was never the smarter bowler. Schlegel was a hustler, the kind of gambler who only bowled when he knew he had the upper hand. He knew when to bet and when to quit. He knew what amount of money to wager in a given situation and why. He knew numbers and scenarios the way a horse-race handicapper knows the names and shortcomings of jockeys. He knew when to bowl his best and when to bowl just good enough to win—just good enough, that is, to keep the other guy thinking he might have a chance if he kept trying. Richie had talent, but his thirst for gambling would always give Schlegel the upper hand.
Like those wise guys who showed up at Avenue M Bowl to seize the largesse that came with beating Mac and Stoop at their home house, sometimes Schlegel could not pass up the chance to go home with Richie’s pony winnings. Some nights it worked; other times, not so much. That is how it went when you bowled Richie Hornreich. Richie was never interested in the nuances of hustling; he was interested in bowling his best at all times, no matter the opponent or the situation. If you were good enough, Richie thought, then place your bet and take your shot. For a bowler of Schlegel’s caliber, it was alwaysworth a
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