Bowling 101: People Watching
Bowling… the mysterious world, tucked between bars and downtown eating spots in just about every American town big enough for a set of traffic lights. The cigarette smoke, and heckling thuds of balls clacking together in chaotic applause. The scent of hotly fresh, sweat soaked socks rubbing against the well worn insoles of sour bowling shoes hangs damp in the air. This is bowling, baby! And there’s nothing like it.
See, the beauty of bowling is everyone’s an expert. It doesn’t matter how often you bowl. You could be a pro bowler or a kid fresh off the boat from wherever they don’t have bowling, and about fifteen minutes in and everyone is an expert. The dude who has never broken 100 knows all the adjustments he needs to make and when it’s the lane’s fault, or the oil pattern’s fault, or the ball’s fault etc. Like… Oh you missed a spare by three feet? It’s gotta be the oil pattern. Right. Or… Oh you haven’t gotten a strike in 6 games? Obviously the balls don’t have the grip you’re used to. Yes. That must be it. I love how after maybe four turns, the newbie knows just as much as some pro on TV bowling 250s consistently. It’s my favorite thing about going bowling. The people watching. Bowling is one of the most underrated people watching events one can go to in their life time. You see it all:
There’s the before mentioned excuses everyone comes up with as to why they couldn’t keep a ball on a 3 foot wide strip of wood for 40 feet, much less hit the exact 2 mm wide spot on a pin like they always think they’re going to, and then every single time act surprised when the ball is in the gutter ten feet before said pin. And forgive me if my lane dimensions are off as I didn’t feel like googling them.
There’s always the one hardo guy down at the very end bowling by himself, who thinks he’s like some former hall of famer practicing for his upcoming appearance on espn 17. Whenever they don’t bowl a strike or pick up a spare, they act like it’s literally the worst ball they’ve ever bowled, despite bowling like that their entire lives. Perhaps ESPN would’ve called by now had you been able to average more than a 180 for the last forty years.
There’s the people that run up and basically throw the ball like they’re pitching in a cricket match. I always love when they act surprised too as they walk away. Like throwing the ball damn near overhand as hard as you can wasn’t going to send it bouncing down the lane with the decibel levels of a gunshot.
There’s the gym class of kids, each with their very own set of jocks using 14 pound balls they can barely lift, let alone toss down the lane with any real aim or intent. As if the ladies who don’t want to be there in the first place have the slightest interest in how big THOSE balls are. Come on fellas, the way to a woman’s heart in a bowling alley ain’t through the size of the ball you’re using, it’s how you use the oil pattern.
There’s the guy who brings his own equipment, everything but the kitchen sink, and averages maybe 3 more points than everyone else. He’s got his own shoes, balls, oils, hand cream, ball towel, glasses, sweat bands, and even custom ball bag with a slot for his virginity card.
I could go on and on and on. The list of delightful morons is endless. As much as I love baseball, I think bowling is America’s true past time. You can’t tell the story of any small town without talking about its band of misfits and main characters frequenting the local bowling alley. The bowling alley is the heartbeat of small town America. It runs in our lanes.