The pace of my bowling life keeps increasing. This weekend I am participating in my first PBA Regional, ostensibly because my business partner can't get his wife to go. I had planned to do a regional tounament after I'd sent in my application and when one was held closer to home. Oh, and after I'd practiced some more. I was aiming for late july or early August, as there are several tounaments in Florida around then. Of course, I didn't plan on becoming a Bronze level coach in the span of two weeks, nor did I plan on becoming a pro shop mogul this year, so somehow this fits.
Went to bowl.com to check out the other entrants and found two of note - "Allen, Ritchie" and "Jones, Tommy". Ladies and gentlemen, your finalists for the Ft. Gordon, GA Open! Seriously, watching either of them up close will be awesome. My dream is to be assigned to a pair with one of them while I'm wearing the black-and-white-striped football referee's shirt I recently had embroidered with my name. (Unfortunately I will not be allowed to use my Hello Kitty spare ball due to PBA liscensing agreements. They're worse than the Army, I tell ya.) Nothing like an accomplished pro looking sideways at you, then dismissing you entirely, all while kicking your ass. Truly a potential highlight of my life were it to come to pass.
I've taken all precautions necessary for someone confident that he can make the cut. I attribute this confidence to the following factors:
- the mildly delusional thinking common to all those with a solid mental game,
- not stinking out the joint at the unforgiving shot in Reno,
- not stinking out the joint during the opening two weeks of the PBA Experience league.
Is that enough to warrant packing a weekend's worth of clothes and laying out two days' supply of food and water for the cats? I have no other choice but to think so. If I thought any different I might as well wad up the entrance money and throw it out on the interstate. Which I may wish I had done, depending. I'll let you know either way.
I've spent a good part of this week thinking about my recent experience at Nationals, trying to figure out what I was missing. I saw and talked to lifers who have been going for decades and wondered why I, who loves bowling as much as they do, did not feel compelled to follow in their footsteps. A nagging feeling lingered with me that that this wasn't quite worth the time and expense. I watched squad after squad of good-to-terrible bowlers and wondered what they understood that I didn't. Then it hit me - this looks like any other league night, only bigger and longer.
Apparently, I had been seduced by the very thing I warned non-bowlers about when I told them I would be participating in "The National Tournament", that your participation in it was a function of your ability to pay the USBC sanctioning fee, not your ability to bowl. I did not heed my own counsel and adjust my expectations accordingly. Thus, I was shocked to see so many people suffer such inconvenience to bowl badly, and felt even more disconnected from the shared experience of what is a truly unique and special event.
But this is all, in the end, my problem. Part of it is that I'm not a gambler by nature, so a large part of the Reno experience is lost on me. I do like to drink and eat, and I dutifully availed myself of the all-you-can-eat prime rib buffets and plentiful watering holes. (Twice on this trip, I walked into a casino lounge and had a disorienting sense of deja-vu, until I realized that I, in fact, HAD been in these places before during my other pass through Reno, a one-night stop in '04. Freaking bizarre.) Ultimately, with no posse or significant other to roll/get into trouble/engage in sexual congress with, my indulgences left me a little fatter, more hung over than normal, and with no interesting story to tell. And I like having stories to tell.
The bowling itself was, naturally, the best part. Though I was registered for singles and doubles, I did not have a team to bowl with. At the registration desk, there is a board listing the names and numbers of all those needing a sub or looking to sub. I picked one at random (the prime ingredient in any good story) and hooked up with a crew of guys from New Haven, CT. I instantly liked them better than any of the Gainesvillians that were in attendance, if for no other reason that they were louder, cursed more, and had accents that reminded me of every Scorcese movie I've ever seen.
The shot was tight, with no comeback outside. I played straight up the 8 board with a soft hand, had good reaction, hit the pocket the whole time, and could not make a spare to save my life. I was as if the cathedral-like atmosphere of the stadium (a true spectacle of a bowling venue, and not to be missed if one has the chance) rendered my spare shooting system useless by means of some spatial-disorientation light refraction. Or I just sucked that day, whichever. I did redeem myself with a 246 in the last game to hit 600 on the nose. Felt OK with that. The New Haven guys were OK with that, too.
After that, it was more food and drink, singles and doubles with the G'ville crew (where I made some spares, shot just under six for both, didn't stink out the joint, and was generally bored by the people of my city), and a rendezvous with the CT people at their casino. Unfortunately for my love of adventure, they had completely wrecked themselves the night previous and were in no condition to do anything other than sit at a blackjack table. Fine by me, as I could drink for free as long as I kept up the pretense that I, too, was gambling. But no good stories come from pretending. Best I could do was drink until my flight left at 7:45AM Tuesday morning, which is what I did. Not the best idea I've had by some stretch.
After I got back, I couldn't shake the notion that the "prestige" of the event was totally lost on me. It seems to me that it would be a better investment of my time and resources to bowl in some PBA regionals - I could do two or three for the price of one trip to Nationals. I would still testing myself in tournament conditions on harder oil shots with tougher competition, and if I cashed it would be something I'd be more proud of.
Jesus, now I'm sounding like a sore-headed old crank like tenpingirl or bkernan. If it's part of a larger vacation, I could see Nationals being a yearly event worth pursuing. My folly was not planning enough stuff around nine games of bowling. Next time I'm bringing a map, more money, and a woman.
(By the way, mad shout-outs to my new peeps in New Haven - Pat McC., Chad A., Andy V., Henry P., Bob B., Frank B. L. Jr., Doug C., Rocky D., and especially Rich DiPalma, for answering the phone and saying c'mon down. Stay classy.)
As I ride out the Friday of work before my 6:00AM flight to Reno departs (don't ask why so early, I just prefer the challenge/guaranteed plane sleep), I find it hard to be excited about the actual bowling. This is due to the confluence of factors that have led to a great many uncertainties and questions that need answers before I get my groove on.
I do not have lodging when I get there because the hotel room I was to share was booked by the owner of the pro shop I used to work at. He is not happy that I am the owner of his direct competition and thus, is not inclined to have me as a roommate. (There is a 50/50 chance that he won't even show up, but that's another story.) I am perfectly willing to stay in a dump but those sorts of places aren't the type to advertise on the internet. I'll have to cobble something together when I get there. Or maybe I'll "get lucky", euphemistically speaking, though my "game" is not "all that", if you get my drift.
On a related note, I am also out a doubles partner (see above), but I believe that is being remedied as we speak. Although, I hear my new partner is also left-handed, which can play havoc with my game. I just this year learned how to pronounce the words "transition" and "carrydown" - don't ask me to DEAL with them yet.
As for my arsenal, I've picked out the three I'm taking, but unfortunately I won't be using the "ball coffin" I built for air travel such as this.
Unfortunately it's heavy enough for United Airlines to slap on a $50 charge each way to transport it. Not to mention I no longer have lodging close to the stadium and god only knows how far I'll have to drag it. I think I'll just go with the two-ball tote and stick the spare ball in with my clothes.
The group I'm going with are all a bit older than me, which could be a blessing or a curse. They will either drive me crazy, turn in early, or be unexpectedly fun. I'm hoping for the latter, but I have plans to separate from the herd should the need to find interesting trouble arise. I hope to have a story to tell either way.
As for the bowling, who knows. My home house has put out the "National shot" on a few Sundays, but I don't expect it to accurately resemble the one in Reno. It's also hard to recreate the atmosphere, nerves and level of hangover I'm bound to have.
If everything goes well, I won't have a story to tell, so let's all hope I meet with some high adventure, preferably with out gunplay.
The last two weeks seemed two months long. My head feels like there is a lead weight in it. Between the coaching classes, the new pro shop and the end of the bowling season, my capacity to do things like think and sleep are seriously compromised. My vacation to Reno in two weeks is sorely needed. Wait, I'm going to Reno to bowl. Damn. (Ever consider the blasphemy that sometimes you can bowl too much? Right, me neither. But you can think about bowling too much , and right now in my brain the sweep is down and the approaches are sticky.)
Seriously, is there anyone out there going to Nationals the 20-21st of the month? I need compatriots as the team I'm going with are not what you'd call party monsters, save for one who should never touch alcohol again and is fairly insufferable when in the grip. I will be doing my best to get my own fun, but it would be cool to meet some new folks who don't turn into werewolves (or simply turn in) after the third drink. If you're out there, let's hang.
Some thoughts from the weekends:
- After witnessing some of the World Ranking Masters on Thursday, I can't decide whether bowling two-handed is the best thing I've ever seen or a sign of the apocolypse. What Jason Belamonte and Osku Palermaa can do with a ball and the pin carry that results is frightening. And awesome.
- Didn't go talk to Diandra. Totally pussed out on that one. In my defense, it was a competition, not a personal appearance, and I couldn't shake the thought that spontaneosly introducing myself and starting a meaningless conversaion about this space would somehow interrupt her competitive flow. I'd like to think that her victory was a validation of my hypothesis.
- Bronze level coaching class was cool, although there was no way I was going to fail. Once again, Kegel Training Center made my job easy. The technical portion of the Bronze class (bowling ball construction and dynamics) I knew from Kegel's pro shop training class, and much of the actual coaching techniques taught I was familiar with from the lessons I took at Kegel. (Also, the final exam was all multiple chioce and true/false. If you want to test me, make me pull the answer out of my head and write it down, not let me deduce the right answer by pulling out all the obviously wrong ones.) What was cool was teaching volunteers on day three, followed by "before" and "after" video analysis of our students. That made it worthwhile - maybe not to the tune of $275, but worthwhile nonetheless.
- Ever walk into a bowling center and feel like you know everyone in the place, only they all have different names? That happened to me this weekend. It's like centers put out casting calls for acting positions: The Cocky Guy With The Mustache, The Serious Kid With Too Much Hair Gel, The Retiree Who Likes To Talk Alot, The Guy with Too Much Gear, etc. The highlight was the elderly black gentleman with the long ponytail of white hair whose name was "Lord". He was a nice guy who laughed easily, almost as easily as he used biblical analogies. His car was easy to spot as he had a vanity plate the read, "I AM LORD". Struck me as kind of boastful, but I'm not qualified to make that sort of judgement.
On to the tunes:
THE SACRED
Don't think Aretha needs an introduction. I first heard this song on the radio while on the way to see my dad. The station was fading in and out, but it came in clear just in time to catch the breakdown at the end. Just Bernard Purdie on the drums and........ROCK........STEADY........ROCK.......STEADY. It's the kind of thing that makes me want to grow my afro back.
THE SILLY
My favorite song to play on the center jukebox when a girl's birthday party is going on, just to see if the parents react. This is the type of song that rocks and makes me laugh at the same time. Entertaining and embarrassing, it is the quintessential guilty pleasure.
No Double Shot Tuesday entry this week - I was too busy chasing down paperwork and putting out the fires necessary to own one's own pro shop. Yes, my crazy schedule for the month of May, which includes Level I coaching class (last Sunday), paying a visit to the World Ranking Masters tournament at Kegel this weekend, and Nationals the last weekend, now includes figuring out the intracacies of owning a business. Oh, and it turns out that the only Bronze certification coaching class happening within a thousand miles of my house this whole year is this weekend. Taking it all too far as usual, I'll be doing that directly after the WWM visit on Thursday. I'm having serious doubts about my sanity and concerns about my long-term health.
in this light, I'm not going to have much time for the blog this week, although I'll try to get one in over the weekend to recap the international flavor of the WRM and the pressure cooker of learning how to coach.
