Manny Pacquiao owns the ring. Efren “Bata” Reyes owns the table.
One throws punches, the other makes balls disappear, but both have the same calling card — they walk into a room and everyone knows the game just changed.
If Pacquiao made boxing a national obsession, Reyes made pool something more than a smoky pastime for barkadas killing time after payday. He turned it into a Filipino export.
From Coca-Cola Crates to World Titles
Before the legend came the kid who couldn’t reach the table.
Literally, five-year-old Reyes moved from Pampanga to Manila, worked in his uncle’s billiard hall, and learned the game while standing on soda crates. He didn’t just learn — he absorbed it, playing three-cushion billiards for money in the ‘60s and ‘70s. By 20, he was already declaring himself the best in the Philippines.
In the ‘80s, he slipped into the U.S. pool scene not as a celebrity but as a hustler. Different name, same deadly aim. It’s said he won enough in a week to make balikbayan boxes jealous. By the time promoters caught on, he was stacking tournament wins like overdue bills.
Firsts, Records, and Ridiculous Paydays
Reyes didn’t just join tournaments — he rewrote them.
In 1994, he became the first non-American to win the U.S. Open Nine-Ball Championship. Five years later, he took the 1999 World 9-Ball Championship in Cardiff, smashing Taiwan’s Chang Hao-Ping 17–8 and, in the process, dragging billiards in the Philippines out of the back alleys and onto global TV.
He’s the first player to win world titles in two different pool disciplines. Add 14 Derby City Classic titles to that, plus the IPT World Open Eight-Ball Championship in 2006 with a record $500,000 prize.
A year earlier, he pocketed $200,000 at the IPT King of the Hill Shootout. You know you’re on another level when your tournament winnings can fund an entire barangay fiesta.
Rivalries That Made Pool Must-Watch TV
Some athletes are remembered for their stats, others for their grudges.
Reyes is both. His “Color of Money” duel against Earl Strickland in 1996 is the stuff of sports folklore — a race-to-120, three-day slugfest for $100,000. He won by three racks, proving that pressure is just another cue ball to sink.
Then there’s the “Z” shot at the 1995 Sands Regency Open Final. One two-rail kick later, and Strickland had no choice but to clap for the man who just humiliated him in front of a crowd. These aren’t just highlight reel moments — they’re the kind of plays that make pool room legends.
He wasn’t just a solo act. Teaming up with Francisco “Django” Bustamante, Reyes took the World Cup of Pool twice, in 2006 and 2009. The message was clear: if Reyes is in the lineup, the trophy might as well stay in the Philippines.
The Magician’s Playbook
Reyes didn’t earn the nickname “The Magician” because he was charming. He got it for making shots no one else saw coming. His “kick safe” mastery — sending the cue ball off the rail to either pocket an object ball or leave his opponent choking on bad position — changed how the game was played.
While others relied on textbook plays, Reyes thrived in chaos. He could think five shots ahead while making it look like he was improvising. Watching him was part sports, part art show, and part robbery — because if you were on the other side of the table, he was stealing your win right in front of you.
A Legacy That Outlives the Highlight Reels
In 2003, Reyes became the first Asian inducted into the Billiard Congress of America Hall of Fame. The awards list is too long to memorize — Legion of Honor, Champion for Life Award, multiple Sportsman of the Year honors — but his real achievement is cultural.
Like Pacquiao, Reyes made kids believe they could take a small-town hustle and turn it into a global career.
His influence is everywhere — in every Filipino player who dares to enter an international tournament, in every overseas crowd that sees a Pinoy pick up a cue and immediately pays attention.
And here’s the kicker: at 68, he’s still out there, taking third place at the 2023 Derby City Classic One Pocket Tournament against players young enough to call him “Tito Efren.”
Retirement? That word isn’t even in his vocabulary.
