I behave very much like a cicada when it comes to bowling, in that once every few years I will make the scene. As such, my game is less predictable than a soccer mom at a male revue show. And while I could go more often in order to sharpen my bowling skills, that would mean taking time away from other more worthwhile pursuits; like my used band aid collection and my Taylor Swift fan club.
So it was that I spent a ladies night out at the local bowling alley. Imma blame Linds B for the idea, if only because she’s in love and probably won’t read this.
I saw this college team bowling championship. Each team had their own coach. What kind of strategy advice is a bowling coach giving? ‘You know what? This time Timmy, I want you to knock down all the pins.’ ‘You sure?’ ‘Trust me. Just do it son!’
We decided to play three games. On the face of it, this may seem like an overreach considering our casual approach to this leisure activity. But when you take into account adult beverages were involved, three games seemed appropriate. More than three games would’ve felt absurdly long and less than three games would’ve meant that we were basically going to a bowling alley to drink.
Notice I refer to bowling as a “leisure activity”. This is because to call it recliner recreation might be deemed mean spirited. All I do know for certain is that bowling falls somewhere between a sport and a manifestation of a social disorder. There’s a lot of room for interpretation there, which is one of the most interesting aspects of bowling.
I began the proceedings by bowling a couple of strikes, after which it occurred to me that my timing was complete shit. The point of most any competitive endeavor is to finish strong, and I realized that I had dropped the ball (pun intended) by coming out with guns blazing. I was showing my Broadway right from the get, which meant that my Camden would soon follow; as in, desperate . . hopeless and just plain ugly.
I have always hated bowling, and I don’t mind admitting it.
–Hunter S. Thompson
As it turned out, my game didn’t suffer the precipitous fall I had expected and I actually bowled a decent game. I am not certain as to where that placed me, but I had more important things to focus on . . like conversing . . and adult beverages.
By the end of the second game, I was cursing the decision we had made to play three. This was on account of the conversation being quite lively and the drinks being quite friendly. It was obvious that we had crashed a bowling alley with the express intent of having fun, and the bowling was really starting to harsh our mellow.
If you subpoenaed me, I still wouldn’t have any recollection as to what happened in the third game. My goals were simply to throw the ball down the correct lane, not drop the ball on my foot and not make eye contact with the old timer at the counter who, I was convinced, was Nosferatu.
If I had been on ‘Bowling for Dollars’, I’d wind up owing them money.
Once we had wrapped up, we changed back into our regular shoes. Amazingly, bowling shoe theft is almost non-existent, which has really streamlined the process. This cut our travel time to the bar in half . . so we were ordering up another round thirty seconds later.
I actually can’t wait to go bowling again. By then, I figure the world will be in a much better place. The Korea’s will be united . . scientists will have proven that bacon is good for you . . Kelly Ripa will reside behind bars for crimes against Ryan Seacrest’s humanity . . the Browns will have relocated to the island in that Tom Hanks movie and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson will be the President of the United States.
Patience really is a virtue.