grantland.com
—
Earl Strickland, Scooter Goodman, and the struggle for the soul of pool
David Hill
As seen in:
MSN,
MSN Singapore,
MSN UK,
The New York Times,
The New York Times en Español,
Business Insider,
MSN Malaysia,
MSN South Africa,
The Guardian,
Washington Post Opinions
and
Covers:
arkansas, comedy, unions, horse racing, gambling, new york city, politics, nba, sports, boxing, games, activism
Writer of books and other things. Player of games. New York by way of Arkansas.
David Hill’s Journalist Portfolio
View as a gridA Bull in Pyongyang
New York Magazine
—
"You guys think this is a joke. This is not a joke." Dennis Rodman is seated at the dais in a conference room at the Soho Grand Hotel behind a bronze bust of himself. Next to him is a smartly dressed Irish bookmaker named Paddy Power. On Power's other side is Daniel Pinkston, a North Korea expert with the International Crisis Group, a pro-NATO think tank that focuses on war and violent conflict. Before them are scads of reporters and cameras.
Shelter From the Storm
www.grantland.com
—
Horses and humans and the path to the Derby By David Hill on Sua Sponte was running. He loved to run. He was a dark-bay colt, muscled up. He was galloping with purpose, summoning every bit of strength he had. Here was a horse. But not only that - here was a racehorse. A great-great-grandson of the champion Secretariat, and a winner in his own right; Sua Sponte had recently won his first race. Here was a racehorse, thundering with all his might, running down the middle of the road at three o'clock in the morning, a two-by-four run straight through his rib cage and out the other side, his disemboweled guts spilling onto the pavement below as he ran.
Sitting Down in the Deep End
Vice
—
A sawdust joint is an end-of-the line kind of gambling parlor. It's a place without frills and pretension.This column is about gambling and gamblers, about regular people who play games for money. Most won't be geniuses or savants. Some will win a little money. Many will lose a lot. But all of them will have a good sawdust story to tell. The Playstation on 14th Street was a total shithole of an illegal gambling den. It was entirely lit by horrible fluorescent bulbs that hummed brightly and bathed the entire room in a pale, clinical light.
The Union Forever
www.grantland.com
—
Hard times and hockey on the Nashville Highway By David Hill on I am hunched over a cup of coffee at the bar at Embers Tavern in Columbia, Tennessee, when Mike sits down next to me. I know his name is Mike because it says so on his work shirt. He looks about 30, has long red hair, a long beard pulled into a point, and round wire-rim glasses - think Trey Anastasio covered in grease. A very attractive bartender came over and handed Mike a beer. "You work today, Mike?" "Yeah, I'd have rather been four-wheelin', though."
The Invaders
www.grantland.com
—
In the first of a series of personal essays about gambling, David Hill looks back at a racetrack, a killing, and the history of organized crime in Hot Springs, Arkansas By David Hill on It wasn't anything new for Curtis to smack Linda June around, especially when he'd been drinking. This seemed like too much, Eric thought, even for them. Eric came up behind Curtis as he stood over Linda June all balled up on the couch. When Curtis cocked his hand back, Eric grabbed it. Curtis spun around and landed a haymaker on Eric's temple that sent him flying into the kitchen table.
Funny You're So Sad
New York Times
—
The guy next to me had recently moved to Brooklyn from Cincinnati. When I asked him what he did in New York he said “comedy.” When I asked him what he did for money in New York he said “temping.” He and I both had little notebooks that we had written our jokes in. The relevant page in mine read “bidet, rats, Obama, Entourage.” I had spent months working on that page.
Then our host took to the stage. “I know you all think you’re comics. Let’s see a show of hands, how many of you have made more than $500 in your lives from doing comedy?” No hands. “I know you all have your little notebooks and your same five minutes you do every night all over town.” This was Ray Combs Jr. welcoming us to the Saturday afternoon open mic known as the Woodshed. “I’m going to go after you,” he said. And he wasn’t bluffing.
Knight Moves in Zuccotti Park
www.utne.com
—
Related Content It's 6:00 a.m. in Zuccotti Park. Quiet hours started at 11:00, but that isn't stopping the kid behind me from playing Bob Dylan's greatest hits on his guitar. I politely tolerate it until he starts "Rainy Day Women." That cinches it. "Knock it off, it's quiet hours." He scowls at me as he puts his guitar back in its case. I'm usually more patient than this. Maybe I'm feeling punchy because in one hour the police are supposed to show up and arrest us all. More likely it has to do with the fact that I'm down two pawns going into the endgame.
Fading the Vig: A Gambler's Guide to Life: $100 Hand of Blackjack, Foxwoods Casino.
www.mcsweeneys.net
—
Fading the Vig: A Gambler's Guide to Life $100 Hand of Blackjack, Foxwoods Casino. I met Anthony in a poker game at the Diamond Club in New York City. He was fairly nondescript, just a normal everyday thirty-something white guy, business casual, head-down and putting-in-work in the pot-limit game. We were having a conversation around the table about blackjack. I had just made a comment about card counting when his head shot up. "You count cards?" he asked me. "A little," I responded. I had no idea how to count cards. "Do you?" "Do I!" He laughed.
Two Horses, Two Races: The Civil Rights Movement Goes To The Kentucky Derby
www.theawl.com
—
Every year for the past 55 years during the week leading up to the Kentucky Derby, Louisville has hosted one of the nation's largest parades, the Pegasus Parade. Every year but one. In 1967, the parade and all the other traditional "Derby Week" events were cancelled. That year, instead of the usual festival and fanfare, tension was in the air. Civil rights protests and counter-protests had brought the city to the brink of full unrest. As race day approached, Louisville's mayor asked the governor to call in the National Guard to help police Churchill Downs.
Am I the Worst Basketball Player in New York City?
www.outsideonline.com
—
"Twenty seconds!" someone yelled from the sideline. I had just snatched a rebound under the other team's basket. Everyone was already down-court, and I stood alone, holding the ball. Time started to run out. "Seven ... six ... five ..." I dribbled across half court, where a short, muscular man with a shaved bald head and tribal tattoos up both arms waited for me with his arms outstretched. My teammate ran up to him and set a pick. I dribbled right, but the illustrated ball of muscle shoved his way through the pick and got back in my face.