Friday, March 12, 2010

World's Worst Bowler

My friend Marianne invited me to the Elwyn Bowling Fundraiser. I actually gafawwed in her face protesting, I am the world's worst bowler.  Marianne is a good to great bowler and plays on a league every Thursday. Later that day, I start to feel guilty. For once, I have no plans on Friday night. My kids have a reprieve from their various sports and have plans that DON'T include me. Marianne always asks me to go out and I'm always too busy. Also the fundraiser is for a good cause--Elwyn Institute helps special needs children and adults. I recant and she promises me it will be fun. (They have a bar after all). 

We arrive and claim our own lane. This is important, since I do not want to be on a 'team'. I have issues stemming from childhood traumas of always being the LAST kid chosen for the team sport. I claim a pink bowling ball to match my sweater. Fashion is important if talent is lacking. Marianne has her own ball, custom-made for her barbie doll figure. I need a beer before proceeding further. 

My first round isn't so horrible--74. I'm ecstatic. Maybe I'm not the worst bowler in the history of bowling. Marianne bowls 158 and is disappointed. On either side of us, serious bowlers effortlessly bowl one strike after another. My game quickly goes downhill. Game two--54. Marianne tries to give me pointers. Don't let your arm cross your body. Remember to follow through. Don't rush it. You are RUSHING it. Aim just off the center. I can usually follow her advice for one round and then immediately revert back to my favorite shot--the gutter ball. 

You lack consistency and follow-through. This seems somewhat prophetic and applicable to the rest of my life. 

There is a D.J., who is playing GOOD danceable music--although I feel a bit silly dancing in my bowling lane, only to throw a gutter ball. After my third game in the 50's, I need another beer. My fatalistic defeatist attitude proves to be my undoing. The first 10 gutter balls are funny. After that, it's not so funny. Just when I think my score can't get any lower, I bowl a 41. 

The D.J. doesn't believe that I bowled a 41.  In fact, he has to come over and look at the scoreboard. He tells me that he never heard of a score that low. Next thing I know, I'm honored with the WORST BOWLER AWARD. This is quite an achievement. The blow to my ego is somewhat softened when I look at my prize--1 hour full body massage. (thankfully it's not with the D.J.) 

Funny moment of the evening--while preparing for her shot, Marianne's  ball flies out of her hand, propelled backwards, nearly missing my head and landing with a loud thump. 

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