Davey Rootbeer
07-21-2005, 07:04 PM
It was about the time that the blueberry blossoms begin to bloom, that i had begun to have impulses to write once more. stinging, painful leisons, welting up my forearm like so many mosquito bites, it pricked and pecked at me, time and time again, mattering not what i was doing at the time.
I was up 3 dollars already, as we had agreed that the pot wager would be a dollar a game. This game, however, was gratis. My back had slowly started to ache, and i felt a flareup of a familiar friend by the name of tedonitis in my right shoulder. Being up 3 games to none, and not feeling solid enough to wager at al,l had made me a bit shaky as i stepped up to the approach to deliver the first ball.
<i> 2 inches right, centre dots, 26th board, heavy headpin, 5-10 messager. X </i>
i calmly stepped off the approach, repressing the urge within me to pump my fist in exclamation and relief. After all, the job of a pro was to strike, and anything less would be considered to be amateur. he leaned over and gave me a weak high five as i sat down behind the scoreboard.
It had been 3 years...no, almost 4 years, i think, since the last time we played side-by-side. Back then, i was the veteran, he was the kid. Still the same today, after the first three games, it seems. I didn't exactly whip him soundly, but barely, as in all three games were well within earshoyt by the 9th frame. It was just the bowling under pressure that caused him to buckle and shank a strike shot on the 6th, letting me win 191-177. we both performed horrible in the second, but it was a minor adjustment that let me come away with the 153-147. The third was a lullabye, but a strong second half only pulled him to within my fumes, a 193-169.
I stepped up to the approach for my second shot as my arm twinged.
<i> 2 inches right, centre dots, 28th board, med headpin, excess carryover. XX. </i>
The scores were a lot closer than the numbers made it seem, though. it was all about the pressure of the 10th frame, which decided the fate of the first two games. He had the momentum coming into the final one, but our minds were off our wallets focused on the runway.
It's been a long time since i've bowled under any kind of pressure before. Back in high school, it used to be gunning for the league championship. nowadays, it's just been friendly pick-up games, no stakes, no money, no winner, no loser.
He had guttered his second ball, leaving him with two opens in the first two frames. Had a smile on his face. gotta give the kid credit for that.
I wiped my ball off and waited for the 10-year old next to me to finish his hurl.
<i> 3 inches right, centre dots, 26th board, med headpin, hook skid, smash. XXX. </i>
At this point i realized what my score was, and kept in mind the way i was throwing. It had been a very tiring previous two hours, and my arm was dropping early and often. i made the adjustment mid-third game, and hit the pocket ever since.
he laughed as he picked up a 6-pound bright red ball, and hurled it at the pin deck, causing a white flock of red-necked pins to emerge and breakdance out onto the lane. It was widely apparent that he wasn't bowling for score this game.
I was a senior, he was a sophmore, last time it happened. i was the captain of varsity on the last day. he was a late-year callup, from the JV squad, with a mind-wrenching backup ball as his first. watching him throw it made my wrist ache.
I wasn't bowling just to beat the other team at that point, we were already down 200 pins and stood no chance. i was bowling against myself, putting myself in a pressure scenario of a perfect game with high stakes, every time i went out there, and got myself a 205, the highest i'd bowled that year, in that last game. last game i ever bowled in a league. he bowled good until the pressure got him, and ended up with a 120. 3..or was it 4? years later, he finished the varsity season averaging a couple of pins lower than i finished my season when i graduated.
he was coming up: i was stationary.
I reached over across the return to pick up my ball, and threw.
<i> 2 inches right, centre dots, 18th board, brooklyn light headpin, excess carryover. XXXX. </i>
The pressure had me that time, and i got away with what could have been a disaster, if it had counted for something. But it didn't, it had never counted for something, the whole game to that point did not count for anything, just another half-hour to be forgotten within the next few minutes.
I realized this as he picked up my ball, and lollipopped it down the lane, inadvertingly hitting a perfect pocket strike.
It's just a game. There's no real stakes, if you win or you lose, it all doesn't matter. Nothing on the line. Not even a buck.
I looked at my four strikes to start the game, and wondered if any pros got nervous when they started the game with 4 strikes. On TV, they seemed so cool, and unhuman, so collected, calm, and unbroken by the pressure of performing for money, on TV, in front of fans.
And there i was, standing on the approach, next to a 10 year old girl with a bring orange ball and clown shoes underhanding it down a bumpered lane, and a party of noisy teenagers to my right.
They weren't trying to distract me. they were having fun.
Fun is something i've only equated with winning. If you win, you have fun. if you lose, you don't. THat's the mantra.
So serious was it that dare i crack a smile, i'd punish myself and focus extra hard.
I looked back at the kid. Smiling, having a great time.
I stood there for a long time with my ball in my hand, and I thought.
I went back to the ball return machine, picked up the bright orange 6 pound balll, and hurled it at the pins from benieth my legs, mimicking the 10-year old.
The kid cracked up.
<i> centre dots, 18th board, 3rd dot, light hook, right side chop.. XXXX8. </i>
My face slowly curled up into a smile, and i felt all the pressure go away, and my back and arm loosen up.
outside that night tonight, gleamed a large, bright orange, full moon, low over the sky. It looked exactly like that bowling ball.
so in the end? I had some fun. not just because i did good, but because i stopped trying to impress, and took a huge weight off myself.
Maybe i'll do it again sometime.
Maybe.
<i>X...X...X...X...8/...9/...X...7/...X...X81
30 60 88 108 127 147 167 187 213 232</i>
<img src="http://www.roomwithamoose.com/vbulletin/attachment.php?attachmentid=13178&stc=1">
I was up 3 dollars already, as we had agreed that the pot wager would be a dollar a game. This game, however, was gratis. My back had slowly started to ache, and i felt a flareup of a familiar friend by the name of tedonitis in my right shoulder. Being up 3 games to none, and not feeling solid enough to wager at al,l had made me a bit shaky as i stepped up to the approach to deliver the first ball.
<i> 2 inches right, centre dots, 26th board, heavy headpin, 5-10 messager. X </i>
i calmly stepped off the approach, repressing the urge within me to pump my fist in exclamation and relief. After all, the job of a pro was to strike, and anything less would be considered to be amateur. he leaned over and gave me a weak high five as i sat down behind the scoreboard.
It had been 3 years...no, almost 4 years, i think, since the last time we played side-by-side. Back then, i was the veteran, he was the kid. Still the same today, after the first three games, it seems. I didn't exactly whip him soundly, but barely, as in all three games were well within earshoyt by the 9th frame. It was just the bowling under pressure that caused him to buckle and shank a strike shot on the 6th, letting me win 191-177. we both performed horrible in the second, but it was a minor adjustment that let me come away with the 153-147. The third was a lullabye, but a strong second half only pulled him to within my fumes, a 193-169.
I stepped up to the approach for my second shot as my arm twinged.
<i> 2 inches right, centre dots, 28th board, med headpin, excess carryover. XX. </i>
The scores were a lot closer than the numbers made it seem, though. it was all about the pressure of the 10th frame, which decided the fate of the first two games. He had the momentum coming into the final one, but our minds were off our wallets focused on the runway.
It's been a long time since i've bowled under any kind of pressure before. Back in high school, it used to be gunning for the league championship. nowadays, it's just been friendly pick-up games, no stakes, no money, no winner, no loser.
He had guttered his second ball, leaving him with two opens in the first two frames. Had a smile on his face. gotta give the kid credit for that.
I wiped my ball off and waited for the 10-year old next to me to finish his hurl.
<i> 3 inches right, centre dots, 26th board, med headpin, hook skid, smash. XXX. </i>
At this point i realized what my score was, and kept in mind the way i was throwing. It had been a very tiring previous two hours, and my arm was dropping early and often. i made the adjustment mid-third game, and hit the pocket ever since.
he laughed as he picked up a 6-pound bright red ball, and hurled it at the pin deck, causing a white flock of red-necked pins to emerge and breakdance out onto the lane. It was widely apparent that he wasn't bowling for score this game.
I was a senior, he was a sophmore, last time it happened. i was the captain of varsity on the last day. he was a late-year callup, from the JV squad, with a mind-wrenching backup ball as his first. watching him throw it made my wrist ache.
I wasn't bowling just to beat the other team at that point, we were already down 200 pins and stood no chance. i was bowling against myself, putting myself in a pressure scenario of a perfect game with high stakes, every time i went out there, and got myself a 205, the highest i'd bowled that year, in that last game. last game i ever bowled in a league. he bowled good until the pressure got him, and ended up with a 120. 3..or was it 4? years later, he finished the varsity season averaging a couple of pins lower than i finished my season when i graduated.
he was coming up: i was stationary.
I reached over across the return to pick up my ball, and threw.
<i> 2 inches right, centre dots, 18th board, brooklyn light headpin, excess carryover. XXXX. </i>
The pressure had me that time, and i got away with what could have been a disaster, if it had counted for something. But it didn't, it had never counted for something, the whole game to that point did not count for anything, just another half-hour to be forgotten within the next few minutes.
I realized this as he picked up my ball, and lollipopped it down the lane, inadvertingly hitting a perfect pocket strike.
It's just a game. There's no real stakes, if you win or you lose, it all doesn't matter. Nothing on the line. Not even a buck.
I looked at my four strikes to start the game, and wondered if any pros got nervous when they started the game with 4 strikes. On TV, they seemed so cool, and unhuman, so collected, calm, and unbroken by the pressure of performing for money, on TV, in front of fans.
And there i was, standing on the approach, next to a 10 year old girl with a bring orange ball and clown shoes underhanding it down a bumpered lane, and a party of noisy teenagers to my right.
They weren't trying to distract me. they were having fun.
Fun is something i've only equated with winning. If you win, you have fun. if you lose, you don't. THat's the mantra.
So serious was it that dare i crack a smile, i'd punish myself and focus extra hard.
I looked back at the kid. Smiling, having a great time.
I stood there for a long time with my ball in my hand, and I thought.
I went back to the ball return machine, picked up the bright orange 6 pound balll, and hurled it at the pins from benieth my legs, mimicking the 10-year old.
The kid cracked up.
<i> centre dots, 18th board, 3rd dot, light hook, right side chop.. XXXX8. </i>
My face slowly curled up into a smile, and i felt all the pressure go away, and my back and arm loosen up.
outside that night tonight, gleamed a large, bright orange, full moon, low over the sky. It looked exactly like that bowling ball.
so in the end? I had some fun. not just because i did good, but because i stopped trying to impress, and took a huge weight off myself.
Maybe i'll do it again sometime.
Maybe.
<i>X...X...X...X...8/...9/...X...7/...X...X81
30 60 88 108 127 147 167 187 213 232</i>
<img src="http://www.roomwithamoose.com/vbulletin/attachment.php?attachmentid=13178&stc=1">