By Robert Stubblefield for OnePocket.org
There’s a silence in a real pool room that doesn’t whisper, it lingers. Heavy. Electric. It
hangs in the air like thunder on pause, just after lightning strikes. Not the sacred hush of a
church, but the raw tension of risk. The kind that tightens your chest before the break, or
before someone bets rent money on instinct and pride. That silence is where John Macias
has always thrived. While others hold their breath, he breathes it in.
He came up in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Skinny, sharp-eyed, a goldfish in a sea of sharks.
At 15, he worked at Domino’s Pizza just to bankroll battles with silver-haired grizzlies who’d
beat his lights out for forty bucks every other day. They named him “Lil John” back then, but
there was nothing small about the way he played. He had raw talent in baseball, but pool
captured his entire being. This wasn’t a phase. It was his bread and butter. Then it evolved
into something more: identity, legacy, heartbreak, and perseverance.
Pool devoured his life, family, time, and money, swallowed up by the dim haze of
backroom halls. The game wasn’t just a passion; it was the pulse of his heart. Burned by
traitors and liars, he shunned entourages and their hollow praise, craving only the
thrill of a high-stakes money match. Hands dusted in chalk, smoke in his lungs, he lived in
a world of cues and consequences, where every shot was do-or-die.
One Pocket, a chess-like game of precision, was his canvas and he painted with patience
and control. He read people, set traps, lulled you into safety, then turned your pockets
inside out with a smile. And he always looked the part. Gelled-up hair, clean-shaven face,
button-up collared shirt, loose-fitting jeans. Like he was headed to a Sunday brunch, not a
battlefield on worn out cloth.
“Guys say, ‘Let’s go for a hundred,’” he once told Sports Illustrated. “I say, ‘Where I’m
from, that ain’t even gambling. Come see me when you want to play for real.’”
Real was all he ever knew. He’s said to have walked out of notorious gambling hubs such
as Cahokia with $65,000. Cleaned out Detroit for $50,000. Lost $60,000 in New Orleans
and was set up and robbed of $17,000 in Boston. He never folded. He told stories about
them. Wore his losses like a favorite tattoo.
“I’m not like most guys. I don’t lie about my losses,” Lil John says. “I advertise them. I took
my beatings. Hell yeah, I did. But no one is going to want to play someone who wins every
game. I got a lotta gamble in me, and everyone knows it.” For him, it was simple: honesty, a
fair game, and a hefty bag of cash.
In Running the Table: The Legend of Kid Delicious, the Last Great American Pool Hustler,
author L. Jon Wertheim shares how Danny “Kid Delicious” Basavich heard of a feared
name in the deep South. A man with a fresh-pressed shirt, a deadeye stroke, and a bankroll
that made grown men weak in the knees. He wasn’t playing for beer money. He was
launching five-figure missiles with every set.
Danny Basavich hunted him down, stockpiling cash to get a shot in the box. Finally, Danny
got a hold of Lil John over the phone. They met at Snake’s Palace in Hattiesburg,
Mississippi on W. 4th St. Terms were negotiated. A little poking and joking started up
before the match. Lil John throwing out a curve ball by saying, “Big boy, when we’re done,
they’re gonna call me Lil John Delicious.” The railbirds chirped with delight, but Danny,
thick-skinned as he was, took it personally, and it showed.
The game was 9-ball. $5,000 cash on top of the light. Six games on the wire for Lil John.
Danny unleashed thirteen straight racks in a row, literally putting John to sleep. Snake
himself (former pool room owner and backer of LJ) had to shake him awake when Danny
finally missed. It didn’t matter, the final score: 20-9. Then he beat him again for $2,000
more, with spotting John the 8-ball.
John didn’t complain. Didn’t sulk. He paid every penny, looked him in the eye, and said,
“Unbelievable playing, now get the fuck outta here.” In the end, it would be Danny getting
the last laugh and the final death blow, with a sneer in his eye and a smirky grin, “You were
right about what you said before, Little John. You are delicious.”
That was blood-and-guts pool in the early years. Today, John Macias is a battle-tested
contender who’s braved the darkest arenas and conquered giants to rank among
America’s top money players. He’s faced down legends like Ronnie Allen (backed by Sonny
Springer), Jose Parica, Dennis Orcollo, Gabe Owen, John Morra. The list is long and storied.
Through triumphs and setbacks, he’s seen it all.
In recent years, professional pool has been reshaped, caught in a surge of social media
sheen, sleek uniforms, and bold promises of turning pro players into millionaires. Yet, John
Macias remains untouched by the glamour. With unyielding focus and relentless drive in
every shot, he plays as he always has. A fiercely independent competitor, he forges his
own path, his honor and dignity unwavering.
Now, after taking a step back, one match will remind the world that some legends never
fade. They just wait for the lights to burn hot again. April 28-29, 2025 starting at 5pm est. in
Louisville, KY at Railyard Billiards & Sports Pub. Streamed on https://xpool.live/
The game is One Pocket. A race to 21. $100,000 on the line and untold side bets stoking the
stakes even higher. John Macias vs. Justin Bergman. Bergman, who is one of the most
clinical and sporty players in the country, will be giving him an 11/6 spot.
Most players wouldn’t take that deal. Not against Bergman, an ice-cold killer fresh off a
hill-hill victory over Tony Chohan in December. Bergman thrives in long sets and
unrelenting pressure, but John Macias isn’t most players. The handicap is fair. The money
is posted. And the whispers are growing louder.
When it’s all said and done, win or lose, you’ll see Lil John rise from his chair like he always
does. Slow. Calm. Like he’s been there a thousand times. He’ll walk up, offer his hand, and
look you straight in the eye. And with that same Mississippi drawl, he’ll say what he’s
always said: “Hell of a game.”
For the love of the game