I had the pleasure of meeting Tony Ellin in 1990. I had drawn him in the third round of a tournament and had never heard of him before. Before the weekend was over, everybody would know who Tony Ellin was. The first thing that impressed me about him was his quiet, all business approach to the game. His break was powerful, consistently sinking 2,3, sometimes 4 balls on the break. His shot making was equally as powerful. As the match progressed, he seemed to get stronger. He had little beads of sweat forming under his nose, but he just remained calm and poised, and shot the balls in the pockets. When I tried to mount a comeback, he merely stared at the floor, with his eyes rolling upwards to the playing surface of the table every so often, tensed up as if he would explode out of his chair if I missed.

When Tony sank the match winning 9 ball, he let out a deep sigh of relief, and while holding his cue, pulled his pants upwards from his belt, smiled his big, boyish grin, and extended his hand to me and said, “Wow, that was close!”

There was something so likeable about the guy. I watched his progress throughout the rest of the tournament, cheering him on. I figured that a guy this nice was so out of place, yet he fit in so well. When Tony was in trouble at the table, he quietly sweat it out. When Tony was in control of the table, he quietly seat it out as well. I remember wondering to myself, how can a guy that looks so nervous, be in such control of his game?

Over the next few years Tony and I became pretty good friends. In 1991, I had the opportunity to move to Savannah, Georgia. Tony was my obvious choice for a travel partner. Tony lived just a few miles north of me, and we frequently met to practice, as well as taking turns getting lost across the country in my Honda. From those treks I have many fond memories, including the time he got into fender bender driving my car through Bullhead City, Arizona, as we were headed towards Las Vegas. I woke up to seeing the misty fog rising from the front end of my car, and Tony sitting there with his lips pressed tightly together. He looked over to me with his eyes only, screamed an obscenity for the word “feces’ and began shaking his head and telling me how the guy in front of him stopped for a yellow light. He was so funny, especially when he wasn’t trying to be.

I remember the last time I saw Tony. It was in late 1999. He had finally settled down and was becoming quite the family man. He was very happy, and that made me happy. I always found it very hard not to cheer him on, in pool, and in life. When I heard the news of his passing, I was shocked. The first thought that came to my mind, was that it was such a crummy ending for him. I thought about all of the things he hadn’t done yet, as a husband, as a father, and as a pool player. As I tried to make sense of it, it was hard for me to not feel as though he was robbed of reaching his full potential.

Today, when I think of Tony, I remember his phenomenal spirit, his loyalty to his friends and family, and of course his exceptional ability to play the game of pool. His smile was contagious to those around him. I miss him greatly, but I am convinced that since his passing the stars are shining a little bit brighter than they used to