The crew at work invited me to jump in on league bowling with them. I don’t know a lot about bowling (as will become painfully obvious as you read on), but league sounded important. I was touched, but explained to the group that the last time I bowled, my son (who is now almost 20) was 8 years old and we played with bumper guards. All I remember about bowling was bad shoes and disco music.
My new league buddies assured me it didn’t matter, and that I was doing them a favor by contributing my gi-normous handicap. Now this concept I was familiar with. My outrageous handicap is why I get invited to play in golf tournaments too. I knew it would be fun, rusty though my non-existent skills may be, and I was contributing in some way.
When I first arrived I felt REALLY out of place. Primarily because everyone had tidy little suitcases they hauled behind them with their bowling equipment. I had to use a house ball. My mortification was just beginning.
I gathered my bowling shoes, and resisted the urge to ask if I could get a multi-colored wig and a red nose to go with them. Then my friend invited me outside for some air before we started and I walked outside in my fabulous footwear. He quickly, but politely told me that was against the rules. Yikes! I had a lot to learn. As if my house ball wasn’t like a neon sign blinking “Rookie” above my head, now I had worn my shoes outside! Someone was going to have to get some paper for me so I could start taking notes!
We settled into our bench behind our lane with a beer (thank heavens) and I noticed the lane right next to us was occupied with friendly gals slightly advanced in years. They all had cool blue shirts with collars and their names on them! I suddenly very much wanted a shirt with my name on it. If I had a shirt like that, maybe my shoes wouldn’t look quite so... odd. (No offense to my new bowling friends.)
These ladies in the blue shirts were a force to be reckoned with. They’d saunter up there, stand at the top of the bowling lane, and more or less drop the ball onto the lane from where they stood. This was perhaps not the most athletic bowling maneuver, but it was tremendously effective. The ball would crawl to its destination, and more often times than not, knock all the pins down. I longed for the day that I could drop my ball from mid-air and make it do that.
I was focused on other aspects of ball handling. For me, it was less about technique and more about keeping the ball in front of me. That’s right. I dropped the ball behind me as I swung back. I gasped and turned to see all the guys I was playing with drop their jaws. To their credit, they quickly recovered and assured me it happens all the time. The ladies in the blue shirts did a good job concealing looks of utter contempt.
This bowling thing was harder than it looked! All I can say is that I did improve as the night wore on (and the beers flowed more freely) and I have left myself nowhere to go but up!
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