So I subbed last night at the "other" center in Gainesville (the one I don't work at, but learned to bowl in), and I had something of a moment of clarity doing so. The shot normally is super wet/dry, bounce-it-off-the-seven-board deal, but yesterday there was no comeback. I went through the normal ball change and adjustments until I found a line, then did my best to pound the bejesus out of my target, That Spot On The Lane. 

The revelation was that, in this singleness of mind, nothing rattled me. Not the increased difficulty of the shot, not the left five-pin, the pocket 7-9, the 7-10, not even the high-frequency ringing noise emenating from the scoring monitor. It was all about commitment to the shot and That Spot On The Lane. It was my only measure of success, to the point that I had no idea of my score or what frame it was. As far as I was concerned my score was 3 sprays, 2 pulls, one hand position brainfart, and a bunch of good shots. 

Now, a year ago it would have been all about the confusion, the fear, the hatred, and the drive home ruminating on what went wrong. And the score, always the score. Well, as has been said many times and much more eloquently, the score does not define you. It's what you brought to the foul line that's all important. Did you honor the shot or cheat it? Christ, I sound like a low-rent Dean Hinitz, but you get my point. 

That's why you'll never see my scores on this thing. (Well, unless it's more than two digits long and starts with a "9". I'll wear that shit like a crown. Of course, this scenario coming to pass would also be final sign of the apocolypse. But mark my words, I would be insufferable right up until the meteor ended all of us.) They don't matter. Commitment matters. Execution matters. Enjoying yourself and making the most out of each frame matters. Oh, and hot single ladies who bowl. Are you hearing me, Clara Guerrero? Why can't I find you on this stupid Internet?   

The painful ending aside, it WAS a good weekend. Managed to eat a ton of food, bowl, and build a road case to hold three balls (with the option for a fourth). I'm going to call it "The Ball Coffin" or perhaps "The Boffin", depending on which makes me laugh more. Seriously, this thing is awesome. I think it can stop bullets. I'll put a picture up as soon as I get my digital camera fixed. (It currently works, but the display got crushed when it ended up underneath one of my bowling balls. It sucks when you can't see the picture or change any of the settings. Might as well get an instamatic and get the photos developed at the drugstore.) I knew that if i built one, someone else would want one. Sure enough, the ex-pro wrestler on the Monday league - let's call him by his "stage name", Assasin #2 - said, "I don't care how much it costs, you make me one." Ka-ching! A few more like that and I'll have a third job! 

Crap, i just got a call to sub for a team at 6:30 at another center, and I'm supposed to be meeting a guy at the shop at 5:30. What's the world record for reslugging three balls? Consider this my attempt to break it. Later.

Now, I'm not the most mature of men, and, as a rule, guys tend to like their humor simple and gross. However, the ladies seem to have no problem with engaging in Ball Humor, though a few twist their faces up in embarassment when saying things like, "My balls are dirty. Could you shine them?" i usually respond with, "Are you asking me out?", and everything's fine. High comedy in low places, indeed. 

(On a slightly unrelated note, as my Thanksgiving gift to you, try this taster out on your dinner guests after you come back from the bathroom. Say something like, "Left a two-pin in there, might want to wait a few." The bowlers in the room will approve. You could also add the adjective "ringing" before "two-pin" for a visual emphasis, though I realize it's not "bowling accurate".) 

Happy Holidays!

About a year ago I cancelled my MySpace page for many reasons, mostly because, at my advanced age, i felt somewhat creepy "hanging" with so many teenagers and young people, if only digitally. i was, however, quite sad to give up the blog page. I dig the writing thing, and it was fun to spout off about something and get near-instant feedback (way more fun than the pen-to-paper-that-nobody's-supposed-to-read diary format). Many times since i'd thought of firing up my own blog, perhaps loosely centered around my obsession with bowling. Of course, that idea got stuck in the "Stuff i'll Get Aound To" pile at the back of my brain, right next to learning a foreign language and rescreening the back porch.

Fast forward to this afternoon when I pulled up pba.com and found the story on this place. Ten minutes later I'm typing this. At work.  

Sweet Jesus.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have some pro bowlers to suck up to.