Third Rail: The Next Generation

Al is injured.  Third Rail needs a bigger roster.  The Edge has put out a call for subs.  He’s written a compelling article, reeking slightly of desperation, imploring you to join our motley crew incredibly hip team on Sunday nights.  Flo and The Hoff have another idea.  We’ve created a feeder team.  

Friday afternoons at the bowling alley are a big hit with the 13 and younger crowd.  What’s not to love?  Bowling, laughter, high fiving and dancing.  Lots of dancing.  Oh, and candy.  Love the candy selection at Lanes & Games!     

I loved watching the kids bowl.  None of the pressure to perfect your technique, it’s all about the fun.  Boo (5yrs) bowled candlepin with the little balls.   She held the ball high over her head, obviously practicing her sun salutations, before bringing the ball down to the floor and letting it roll.  Once the ball was on it’s way, she sat down, watching it slowly roll down the lane and JUMPED UP as pins went down.  Her other favorite technique was to throw the ball like a shot put.  This was the one and only time I was thankful she throws like a girl and didn’t dent the floor boards.  The boys (both 12yrs) bowled 10 pin.  They started out seriously, obviously intent on beating their mothers.  As the game wore on, they loosened up and started goofing around.  I loved watching as they perfected the Kung Fu approach … wildly dodging imaginary bad guys as they made their way up to the lane to throw the ball.  Mayhem!

After every good bowl, there were congratulatory yells, high fives and dancing.  Jump for Joy (while holding hands) Dancing.  Bowling Shoes Slide So Well on the Oiled Floors Soft Shoe.  And of course the all important Victory Dance.  Lanes and Games provided a steady steam of 80’s music over a sound system that was clearly installed in the 80’s.  

The kids were extremely well behaved.  The Hoff, on the other hand, was not.  How it happened, I don’t know.  Boo’s candlepin ball ended up in The Hoff’s ten pin lane.  We had been warned not to roll the candlepin ball in the ten pin lane; that little ball could break the ball return machine.  Bad news.  The Hoff, trying to help, ran down the middle of the lane ON THE NEWLY OILED FLOORBOARDS, to retrieve the candlepin ball.  The manager came out from behind the counter to stop her.  He was too late.  Her size 7 foot prints were clearly visible on lane 35.  The manager must not have been too mad.  He offered to hand wipe the oil off The Hoff’s shoes so she wouldn’t slip and fall on her ass.  Now that would have been fun to see.  

I remember the very first night I met The Hoff, she turned to Varsity and said “Do not tell me what to do!  Do not coach me!”  I’m sure he’s tried since then, but I guarantee she didn’t listen.  I found it quite ironic that, during our second game, Charlie turned to his mom and said, “Your advice isn’t working for me at all.  I’m going to do it my way”.  He turned around and threw the ball his way.  KAPOW!  Perfect strike!  Don’t tell those Hoffs what to do!  

The Hoff and Flo are doing our best to find future subs from within the ranks.   We are teaching our kids the joys of bowling, friendship and dancing with oily shoes.  These are skills that may not get them through life; but they will certainly get them through college. 

Third Rail: The Next Generation will be meeting at Lanes & Games on miserably cold, grey Friday afternoons this winter.  Parents welcome as long as they dance.  

The Hoff    167    128

Charlie       121     99

G                78    114  

Flo *          115     89

Boo                      82

Candy Bought: Skittles, Nestle Crunch, M&M’s

·      Okay, as a matter of pride, I must disclose the boys bowled with bumpers; moms did not.

Subs where are you: The call up.

The Edge here.

This is a call. A call for a substitute. Why waste precious bandwith on such a request?

Here's why. One of our key team members has an injury. She can't bowl. Our team needs four, dependable, trash-talking, beer-swilling, occasionally-confessional, always-dapper members to hit the lanes every Sunday night. Varsity, Flo, the Hoff and Edge are on board. But what if one of us has to stay home to feed his or her raccoon? Hence, the call up.

What will you get out of the bowling team? I can only speak for myself. Before the Third Rail Bowling Club, my life was a barren cubicle, a series of meaningless interactions, and lonely, TV dinners. Wait, that’s not true. Let me start again.

Before the Third Rail Bowling Club, I thought I knew all the answers. I run, I write, I go to the movies, I go to rock shows, I have friends. But I don’t do anything regular, like poker night or boys night out or Sunday football hang-outs. I see people when I see them. It wasn’t until we started bowling that I realized the comfort of a club. And not a club that's based on membership dues or going through a rigorous interview process or praying to God or dousing yourself in creamy Italian dressing and traversing the campus on a set of crutches until Thursday. Hazing? No way. In fact, to join our bowling club you don’t even have to bowl well.

To me, the key to Third Rail is knowing that there’s always going to be a group of friends gathering at 6:30 on Sunday night at Lanes & Games to stick three fingers into a hardened melon. You can go every week. You can skip a month. But whenever you return, you’ll find somebody buying the first round of IPAs, somebody suggesting onion rings, and somebody with whom to exchange high fives.

I never high five people in real life. In fact, I never actually compete. Sure, I’ve got a job that's driven by the need to fight, almost daily, for space on the front page. I'm also trying to keep other papers from beating me on particular stories. But there's something at stake in those cases. And there are people (bosses) watching me (worker) to make sure I don’t get beaten.

At the alley, there's competition with no repercussions. It may be hard to understand the Zen of Lanes & Games, with its rusty-colored, wall-to-wall carpeting and the giant, ‘60s era ball washer in one corner. Think of this: You compete against others and you compete against your own history. In my case, I barely knew how to bowl a couple of months ago. In fact, my first time out I put my pointer finger in one of the holes of the ball, sort of the equivalent of trying to strum your piano. I've learned, in just a few weeks, how to be more consistent. My average - established in my first three sessions - is 118. But in the last two weeks I've rolled games of 147 and 154. And you know what? I felt good rolling a 154. I kicked ass.

Final reason to answer the call up: The people, both on the team and off. I missed three solid weeks in the season and returned to find Flo and the Hoff chatting with some dude with a giant wrist stabilizer and a nice lady about her boyfriend issues. I suddenly realized there had been some serious bonding going on here and not only with other Third Rail members. We were part of the Alley. Last week, something even more shocking: I saw a guy order a steak from the kitchen. And he told me he liked it.

That’s all from here. I could list other reasons why you should sub – the potential for shirts, the Playboy pinball machine downstairs, the shoes – but that would take too much time. For now, I’d like to hear from somebody who understands why it just might be fun to hit the alley on the occasional Sunday night and be part of the prestigious Third Rail Bowling Club.

Oh, before I forget… last week’s scores:

The Hoff: 124, 117, 145
The Edge: 130, 154, 131
Sub Craig: 161, 186, 167
Flo: 103, 105, 132

Weeks 9&10. Bowling hazards.

Last week, Varsity took his game on the road and sent dispatches from the Wild West of bowling exploits involving FROSTY BEER MUGS and 14 pound balls with more comfortable finger holes. Finger holes are vitally important, as we've learned by now, thanks to Flo's technically edifying posts and emails. Ball weight is clearly key, as well, as illustrated last week!


Speaking of ball weight, it has been the cause of a bowling team casualty. (Although it could be argued that woeful weakness and muscle disuse factor in.) Al is on the Disabled List, following a repetitive strain injury from swinging the 8-pounder 60 times per Sunday night for the past two months. Where is the training staff when you need them?


This raises the pressing need for a replacement team member. It could be you...basking in the glory of high scores, high-fiving with passion, tossing back beers and Lane fare from the fry-a-lator, and getting to know a whole cast of endlessly interesting bowlers assembled weekly just miles from your regular life. 


So, spice it up! Let us know! We're cool people! Oh, and... we're desperate!

Week 7. Family Life.

Sunday night marked my return to the Sport after a 3-week hiatus. It's hard to believe I had gone so long without hitting the Lanes with my "Sunday night family," as they've taken to calling themselves. It seems a fitting moniker, given the general level of crazy present in the fellowship.

At the Lanes, Hot Toddies
are served in paper cups.

Take, for instance Varsity TT, who showed up to the bowling alley and ordered a HOT TODDY because, as he said "I'm sick, but I still want to drink." I don't know who goes to a bowling alley decorated with full-scale wall mural carpet art and a vending bank that offers Yoohoo! chocolate soda, and orders a drink preferred by English manor lords. Well...actually, I guess I do. My new brother in-bowling. The guy who also shows up with the Girl Scout Candy Catalog and works the lanes between his turns: "Hey R., while you're flying high off that strike you just made, can I interest you in some malted milk balls?"

Seven cash sales to show for it!

I really can't complain about him as a family member, when I think about some of my own. I don't know if it's the hot brown liquid in the paper cup that calls it to mind, or the sensation of spending hours sitting in four seats occupying only 20 square feet (such as the ones at the head of lane 45 Sunday night, or such as the ones inside my family's Bronco as we drove hundreds of barren, empty miles across West Texas on our way to New Mexico ski country when I was a preteen), but I got to thinking about my dad... 

On those Dantean roadtrips, my brother and I were united in the penance of doing time, while my dad had his mind solely on making time. It's possible he had factored into the trip the cost of receiving a ticket for speeds clocked at up to 40 miles-per-hour over the legal limit, for how comfortable he was racing hellbent to the jagged, punishing peaks of Taos. 

These drives would always result in an inevitable, incredible bladder-searing pain due to inability to stop because we hadn't reached "the right point." My brother and I would spend hours parched and numbed in the backseat, listening to his lectures about Ancient Greece and the philosophy of the Spartans, willing ourselves to NEED NO LIQUID for any reason, just like any good Spartan could. 

Alas, we would always be faced with the felling temptation of a drive-thru McDonalds or quick stop at a convenience store... which brings me back around to bowling and Hot Toddies. 

My brother always being more impulsive and pleasure-seeking than I, broke down and bought himself a drink during one of these stops. It wasn't a big drink--just a modest-sized paper cup of life sustaining liquid. It must have tasted so damned delicious. I can't remember him drinking it, but I can so vividly recall the look of strained pain on his face 2 hours later as he couldn't hold it any more. The pronouncement was handed back solemnly from the front seat: the empty paper cup. And yes, you can be sure, it rode with us, steaming and full-to-the-brim until my dad determined exactly the right point to pull over and leave it on the side of a long, desolate West Texas highway just East of New Mexico.

Sorry, Varsity TT, for possibly forever ruining the Hot Toddy for you. But, hey, it's the least a little sister could do. 

And so, with that, let us hasten to the results from Sunday night:

The Hoff: 153 (all-time high game), 81 (all-time low game), 125

Al: 81, 120, 120

Varsity TT: 118, 126, 113

Flo: 122, 88, 109

Rounds of beer/Hot Toddies: 3

Games won: 2

Authentic(?) bowling sayings picked up from Super Sub G.: 5

"That's gonna hold!"

"Somebody call the police! You were robbed!"

"That lane bites!" 

"That lane is torched!"

"MAN-ischewitz!"

Just in case you were waiting with baited breath for this week's revelation of the TRBC's newest drinking game, it involves one of Varsity TT's Authentic(?) bowling sayings: "PICK THAT SHIT UP!" One drink for every time he shouts that out. That's alot of drinks when you're playing with the TRBC, because we're so often so very "robbed."

Week 6. (In 500 words or less)

Brunswick PowrKoil XF*

Apparently, the punishment for submitting a 2000 word essay in lieu of a blithe blog post is being told to try again, in 500 words or less. And so I write. I am not sure who is being punished, you, the reader, or me, the writer. I am hoping it is you.

There has been some debate between TRBC members on whether or not bowling is truly a sport. Our team is divided. I am having trouble accepting bowling is a “real” sport; but, then again, I am also having trouble knocking down the pins. Granted, bowling requires skill and concentration; but physical strength and endurance are not a prerequisite.

Those who know me know I like my sport with a side of adrenaline. I enjoy a physical challenge. I love pushing myself to the limit. I love the rush of endorphins flowing through my body. I like not quite knowing whether I’ll be heading home or to the hospital at the end of the day. What gets my blood pumping? Climbing the cable route of Half Dome mid-Winter with ice picks, crampons and no cable. Sport. Surfing Ocean Beach by the light of the moon, not quite sure if the waves will break behind me or on me. Sport. Running 35 miles through the Sierra Nevada’s in the dark while hallucinating the trees are going to grab me. Sport. Swimming across the Maui Channel hoping the captain keeps his promise to keep the boat between me and the shark that’s been spotted. Sport death.

But these are stories for another blog.

Motherhood has obviously changed my life. I need to be 100% certain I will be home to kiss my babies goodnight. To that end, I decided to take up bowling. The biggest thrill I’ve achieved to date is walking back to my seat and realizing someone drank my beer. Come on! Worst injury? Broken nail. But I am trying to keep an open mind.

I arrived at the bowling alley Sunday as G., professional sub you met in Week 3, was struggling to get his huge roller bag through the doors. Seriously, his bag for one night of bowling was bigger than my carry-on for a week-long business trip. Of course I had to ask what was in there: shoes, 4 bowling balls and the robotic arm*! I watched, fascinated, as he strapped on his robotic arm and adjusted the lever to account for ball velocity, lane dry: oily ratio (FYI: the lanes are usually dry by Sunday), brain wave frequency. The Hoff asked the question which has been on all our minds, is the robotic arm connected to his brain. The answer: YES. Cool.

* Brunswick PowrKoil XF Bowling Wrist Support
 Feather light, durable aluminum construction.
 Lateral adjustments position the hand for changing the roll of the ball.
 Adjusting screws allows fine-tuning of forward wrist cup positions for rev control.
 Available for left or right hand in small, medium, large, and extra-large.
 Extended index finger support enhances side roll for improved length and back-end hook angle

Our opponents Sunday were Team “Dork, Dork, Dork, Goose”. A cute name, but, as M. (Team Captain) pointed out, it’s kind of lame when it appears up on the big screen as “Dork, Dork, Dork”.

R. and M. of DDDG, G. and I tore up the lanes during practice bowl. My teammates were nowhere in sight. I was a little worried that TRBC wasn’t taking the game seriously!

Is it just me, or does G. remind you of Tim Meadows as The Ladies Man? He is “THE DUDE”. He bowls in two leagues, is a sub in two different leagues and enters tournaments on the weekends. His average is 247. As one guy told me last night, if G. gives you any advice, listen to it. Two weeks ago, I asked G. how to improve my score. His advice? Stay home. I did not listen to his advice. I am back, with G. bowling in my lane. I needed to step up my game. I needed to break 100. Heck, I needed to break 90!

Varsity and The Hoff arrived just as League Bowl began. Varsity proudly debuted his new shoes. Black with skulls. The Hoff was sporting her glow in the dark stars shoes. The bowling alley really needs to get ultra violet lights so we can see The Hoff’s stars shine!

Game 1 started slowly. Varsity and The Hoff weren’t in the zone. Varsity knocked 9 pins down on his first bowl, only the 5 pin remained. Easy shot. As he stepped up to bowl his second frame, G. yelled “NOBODY MISSES A 5 PIN!!!” … guess who missed the 5 pin.

Varsity did manage to get a strike a few frames later. G. yelled out “WHO SAID DAVID CAN’T GET A STRIKE!?”. Varsity yelled back “THE EDGE”. G. was making snarky comments all night. G. is now an honorary member of the TRBC.

Someone actually called Varsity “JV” this week. To his face. He was not happy. His game was off. There was no mayhem. There was no dancing. He beat me by only TWO points, that’s right, TWO, in the first game. I’m secretly happy. I’m getting into this sport.

The Hoff spent a lot of time trying to figure out what the “little numbers” above our game total mean. She thought to ask G., since he’s THE DUDE and all. His reply? “I never look at that crap!” Well G., you don’t need to when you’re bowling a 250!

D. stopped by for a visit. She was having a rough night. D.’s boyfriend dumped her the night before and her head wasn’t in the game. She was very depressed, she was wearing an LL Bean crew neck sweater and her hair was in a ponytail. That’s not the D. we know and love.

A member of another team remarked that all the winners of the big League Jackpot have one thing in common: they all have mustaches. The Hoff loudly announced that she is stopping all laser treatments in hopes of growing a handlebar mustache. I admire her commitment to TRBC. I can’t wait to see The Hoff walking around our town sporting her bowling ‘stache.

G. got the highest score over average for the night and won a pizza. He was happy. G. was on track to win the Strike Jackpot of the night, $1324. He made 8 strikes. He missed the 9th. He didn’t win the money. He was not happy. He still shared his pizza and bought TRBC a round of beers. We were happy.

TRBC may not be know as the highest scorers in the league; but, I’m happy to say our reputation as the fun new kids on the block is solid. Other bowlers stopped by to check out our crazy dance moves, unload their heartaches, throw back a few beers. We are hitting our stride!

Sunday Night Stats:
The Hoff: 128, 128, 117
Varsity: 137, 106, 146
Flo: 135, 105, 129
Current League Standing: 6 place
Games Lost: 2
Games Won: 1
Bars of Soap: 0 Team DDDG is much more tolerant than our last opponents.
Rounds of Beer: 3
Slices of Free Pizza: 1

What you’ve all been waiting for … the handicaps! Drum roll please.
Varsity: AVG 137 / HC 93
The Hoff: AVG 135 / HC 95
The Edge: AVG 118 / HC 112
Cap’n Al: AVG 114 / HC 116
Flo: AVG 94 / HC 136

What I learned last night:
Bowling with G. is a sport.
There is money and pizza to be won in bowling.
I had more fun when I didn’t care. I had more fun when bowling wasn’t a sport.
I cannot write a blog post in under 500 words.

Your punishment is over.

Next week we debut our new drinking game ….

Roster. Sunday, October 17.

Flo. The Hoff. Varsity TT. *bowling with 3 tonite.

And...a pep-talk, of sorts, to get you seeing red--or maybe it's orange--before stepping into the coliseum tonight. Hold the gaze and go reap some hell:

IT'S DECORATIVE GOURD SEASON, MOTHERFUCKERS.
BY COLIN NISSAN
- - - -
I don't know about you, but I can't wait to get my hands on some fucking gourds and arrange them in a horn-shaped basket on my dining room table. That shit is going to look so seasonal. I'm about to head up to the attic right now to find that wicker fucker, dust it off, and jam it with an insanely ornate assortment of shellacked vegetables. When my guests come over it's gonna be like, BLAMMO! Check out my shellacked decorative vegetables, assholes. Guess what season it is—fucking fall. There's a nip in the air and my house is full of mutant fucking squash.

I may even throw some multi-colored leaves into the mix, all haphazard like a crisp October breeze just blew through and fucked that shit up. Then I'm going to get to work on making a beautiful fucking gourd necklace for myself. People are going to be like, "Aren't those gourds straining your neck?" And I'm just going to thread another gourd onto my necklace without breaking their gaze and quietly reply, "It's fall, fuckfaces. You're either ready to reap this freaky-assed harvest or you're not."

Week 5: The Pre Bowl

I learned two important lessons this week: 1. snarky comments don’t count as blog posts,  2. never join a team consisting primarily of writers if you have graphophobia.

This post was originally to be written by Varsity.  He was swamped with work.  The Edge gladly jumped in and offered to post, writing being both his vocation and avocation.  However, in reading “the snarky comment,” he suddenly remembered he was swamped with work.  I, on the other hand, am not swamped with work.  I am frantically trying to get ready to host my 5 year old’s Princess Butterfly Birthday.  She wants a magical fairy princess castle cake.  Since I have not been able to magically produce a fairy princess castle cake, I may have to resort to the old fashioned method: Baking.  I hate baking.  I think I want to blog.  Be forewarned, I blog as well as I bowl!

In order to understand Tuesday, I have to give you a little more insight into Sunday. Clearly, Al was in a happy place when she wrote Week 4.  Let’s just take a moment to read between the lines …

“Mayhem was the watchword of Sunday evening” Specifically, mayhem was The Hoff’s word of the night.  Each time her ball connected with the pins, whether it be 1 or 10, she would turn toward her team mates and yell “MAYHEM” while waving her hands wildly.  The Hoff claimed she was channeling Daniel Larusso, the original Karate Kid.  Twinkle Toes insisted she was perfecting Fosse jazz hands and really should take a dance class (or 10).  Clearly, The Hoff is secretly auditioning for the role of Sally Bowles in the Bowling Alley Production of Cabaret. 

“Pins flew willy nilly”  Let’s be honest here.  Pins were flying willy nilly for the other team.  This team came to bowl.  Their team average is 250.  There was no talking, no high fiving, no beer swilling.  Theirs was a game of precision.  They had no patience for Third Rail’s laughter, dancing and MAYHEM! 

“Beers spilled decadently”   I really don’t remember any beer spilling.  I suspect Al took some creative liberty here.  I did learn an important lesson Sunday.  Always buy the first round BEFORE the game begins.  I had offered to buy the first round Sunday; however, when I got the alley, I was actually focused on bowling.  Really!  My main goal was to find the perfect ball and get some practice bowls in.  Beer was the last thing on my mind.  I bowled two spares and a strike in pre-bowl.  I was ready.  The Hoff started us off with a POW! 

Pins went flying.  We all reached for our glasses for a celebratory drink only to realize, NO BEER!  Oops!  I ran to the bar to order a round, thinking I could make it back in time for my turn.  To my surprise, there was a line at the bar!  Specifically, two women ahead of me debating what they wanted to order for dinner.  Who orders dinner at the bowling alley?!?  After much debate, they decided on cheeseburgers and chardonnay.  Who drinks chardonnay with a cheeseburger!?!?   There were 2 women working behind the bar that night.  As one of the women went to unscrew the chardonnay, I waited for blondie to take my beer order.  I waited and waited.  Apparently, blondie is the keno girl.  Keno girls talk to barflies and sell Keno tickets.  Keno girls do not serve beer.  I waited some more as I watched the minutes click by on the clock wondering what deep discussions I was missing back at the lane.  One of my teammates ran in and yelled “WHERE IS OUR BEER!?”  Our beer was still in the keg.  I didn’t realize how long it took to unscrew the chardonnay.  I ran back to the lane to bowl.  The other team didn’t look happy.  They couldn’t bowl until I finished bowling.  I had disrupted their rhythm.  My team was not happy.  They still didn’t have a beer.  

“Club members were accused of using "potty mouth" at the Lanes”   I just want to make it clear that only one member of the team was accused of using “potty mouth”.  The accuser actually offered to bring a bar of soap to the alley next Sunday.  Beware.  We all were secretly thankful the bowling alley bathrooms have liquid soap dispensors.

“(now we know what Varsity lettered in)”  There has been some discussion on whether or not “Varsity” is really the best nickname for David since he never played on the varsity bowling team.  Al sweetly suggested we rename him “JV” to which he yelled “I HAVE NEVER PLAYED ON A JV TEAM IN MY LIFE!!!”  Can someone do a little fact checking here? 

“Yes, week four saw the TRBC solidly at home in the league”  Truer words have not been written.  The bowling alley is our Sunday night home away from home.  TRBC took over our lane like a bunch of oversized teenagers hanging out on a Friday night.  We laughed, we chatted, we teased, we drank.  Unfortunately, we forgot to bowl.  As we began our third game, I looked up and realized everyone else had finished bowling.  All the other teams had gone home.  TRBC had one game left.  Our opponents had to stay till we until we finished in order to calculate the evening’s score.   They did not look happy.  This is about the time Twinkle Toes was threatened with a bar of soap.  We stopped talking.  We stopped drinking.  We focused and bowled the fastest game in the history of TRBC.  We closed the place down. 

That was Sunday.  Now, onto Tuesday.

Due to busy schedules over the Columbus Day TRBC decided to pre-bowl on Tuesday night.  In the words of The Hoff, “Nothing good happens when Sunday is moved to Tuesday.”  I was the first to arrive Tuesday night and immediately noticed the alley had a different feel.  The lights were harsher, the crowd was smaller, the help behind the counter wasn’t as friendly.  I walked up to the counter and said I was here to bowl.  The guy looked at me and said they were full.  I looked out at the lanes and noticed only 30% were taken.  I told him my team had a reservation at 8pm.  He stared at me and said he did not have a reservation.  Did I mean candlepin?  Candlepin is downstairs.  CANDLEPIN?!?  Candlepin is for 5 year old birthday parties and first dates.  I’m here to BOWL!  I told him I was part of the Sunday night league here to pre-bowl.  Apparently, these are the magic words.  I passed the test.  He gave me a buzzer and told me he’d let me know when our lane was free. 

When I say “lane”, I actually mean “lanes.”  Pre-bowl is supposed to mimic Sunday night as much as possible.  To that end, we bowl 3 games against an imaginary team, alternating lanes each game; just as we would on Sunday’s with a real live in-the-flesh team.  Sound simple.  Not so much.  The problem is that since our imaginary team doesn’t bowl, we are bowling two games simultaneously.  As soon as the Hoff started us off on game 1, lane 32, she was immediately up again for game 2, lane 33.   Every time I looked up, it was the Hoff’s turn to bowl.  She didn’t have time to sit.  Heck, she didn’t have time to pick up her beer.  I, on the other hand, am the anchor of the team (i.e. LAST!  I actually looked that up!)  I felt like I was bowling a completely different game.  I sat. I drank. I put my feet up. Every once in awhile I got up, picked up a ball and made a feeble attempt to knock a few pins down.  I didn’t need to get up, the Hoff was up.  AGAIN!

As I sat, drinking my beer, waiting for my turn to bowl; I spotted the Hoff out of the corner of my eye.  Yes, it was her turn again!   As she leaned over to pick up her ball, I noticed her turning her head back and forth over the hand blower.  Her hair was flying.  She was trying her best to imitate D.  D., one of our Sunday night bowling friends is a shorter, bubblier version of Tia Carrere with long, think luxourious locks.  We all envy D hair.  Twinkle Toes suggested the Hoff start carrying around her own personal wind machine.  Clearly, the Hoff can rock D hair! 

We finished three games in remarkable time.  Tuesday night's pre-bowl scores:

The Hoff:  103,132,143
The Edge: 132, 110, 118
Twinkle Toes: 150, 147, 145

Flo: 85, 97, 90
Rounds of Beer: 2

Beer Spilled: None

L., the League’s treasurer, came over at the end of our game to collect our money and validate our score sheet.  She took one look at the Edge’s new-to-him shoes and promptly declared “those are going to fall apart”!  She decided to give us a bit of free advice.  In order to improve our scores, she highly recommended we invest in some well fitting bowling shoes and a reactive bowling ball with custom drilled finger holes.  Novice that I am had no clue reactive bowling balls even existed!  Apparently, there are four basic types of bowling balls:

Urethane bowling balls are softer than other makes. These bowling balls also drag on the wooden bowling lane, which increases their hook potential. For those who tend to bowl toward the gutter, this hook can help drag the ball back to the strike zone in the center of the lane. These bowling balls can be sanded or buffed to help limit the amount of hook if desired.

Reactive resin bowling balls are similar to urethane bowling balls in many ways. To create reactive resin bowling balls, small particles of resin are added to the same mixture used to make urethane bowling balls. Resin tends to be sticky, so it further increases the bowling ball’s grip on the lane and creates more hook potential. At the same time, resin bowling balls tend to skid across the oiled bowling lane and, therefore, reach faster speeds.

Particle bowling balls are reactive resin balls with small ground pieces of glass added to the mix. This glass increases the bowling ball’s grit, which helps it grip the lane. Professional bowlers generally prefer particle bowling balls because they help make spin and hook easier to control.

Plastic bowling balls are the most common type because they are the cheapest to manufacture. Made from polyester, plastic bowling balls handle intense wear and last much longer than urethane, reactive resin, or particle bowling balls. Professional bowlers avoid plastic bowling balls because they tend to skid across an oiled bowling lane rather than roll, which makes them harder to control.

I had no idea bowling was going to be such an investment!  Bonds, balls, shoes, shirts.  This is seriously cutting into my beer money.

I’m off to study the structural components of fairy princess castles.  I wouldn’t want the castle sliding into the moat, at least until the picture is taken!