Greatest bowling shot ever (by Edge)

Let's set the scene, it's past midnight in St. Louis and I'm hanging with a group of guys I met at the film festival, plus by Boston pal Chico. When the festival party winds down, we head down the street to Pin-Up Bowl, a sort of hipster hang-out that's mainly a bar but has about a dozen alleys in back.

Lots of guys with thick beards and tattoos - but less biker and more post-college-I'm-in-a-band-way. Smoking is legal in bars, restaurants, everywhere. So we're soaked in Marlboros as soon as we arrive. And what are we going to do? Hang out in a circle and chug Bud Lights. Nah. We're grown ups. We're going to bowl.

Except for the fact that it's packed on a Friday night and the guy who runs the alley tells us to come back "tomorrow, at noon" if we want to bowl. Heh, heh. So I say to my buddy Chico, "let's try the chair in the alley trick. Gets 'em every time." Never mind I'd never tried the trick. I did see a man who looks like a professional (real shirt, crowd, televised) do a version on YouTube.

But I said it to Chico only really in passing. Having a few weeks of experience on our Sunday league, I realized nothing could be ruder than walking into somebody else's game and putting a chair in their lane.

But Chico isn't on the team. He just wanted to see something interesting. So he grabs a chair, walks into an alley where a group of architecture school grad students are bowling, and sets it down. They stop and look. Now I can't avoid the inevitable.

I play it cool. Nobody knows me here and I figure I can fake my way through to an extent. I pick up a 15. Too heavy. I walk back and try a 10. Hmmm. That might work.

Then, as anybody will attest to on the Third Rail team, I use my normal approach. No thought. No pause. Just jog up there and toss that sucker toward the pins. And toss I did. It sailed halfway down the lane through the air, thumped on the floor on the other side of the chair and thwack. Strike.

"Oh my god," somebody howled. 

"Are you a professional bowler?" another asked, before buying me a beer.

I didn't answer, lest the truth come out. I also didn't pick up a ball the rest of the night - there's no way I was going to sully the magic moment. (Footage is courtesy of Sean Wainsteim.)


To see the shot, go here.

Week 11: The Hoff's Turn

Confession time: Sunday night was the third day in a row last week

that I visited Lanes N’ Games. It has become my home-away-from-home.

The shag carpet wall tapestries, the flag-stone Brady-Bunch stairway,

the sound of the balls rolling and crashing into the pins like waves

at the beach... to me, it’s now as peaceful and welcoming as a zen

garden. Sadly, I am not even being ironic.

It was an eventful night, though our bowling was lukewarm at best.

Cap’n Al is injured, and has taken herself out of the line-up until

January. After a rousing game of not-it, she handed over Temporary

Co-Cap’nship to me and Flo. We will struggle to follow in her

footsteps, gifted as she was at interpreting the byzantine policies

and practices of the League. The good news is, Cap’n Al shares my love

of the Lanes N’ Games ethos, and will join us for beers and

camaraderie whenever she can, until she is back in top bowling

condition.

The Edge’s plea for subs last week paid off doubly. DL, who has been

on the roster since we began, but had yet to materialize, finally

came, shared a beer, checked out the scene, and got his league card,

though he didn’t bowl. Apparently, there was more than one strategy

employed to get him there: Al had cleverly tried flattery, and told

him he was our last hope, and we needed him to “save” the team; the

Edge had taken the opposite tack and challenged his manliness,

suggesting perhaps he was sca-oowed and his Mommy wouldn’t wet him

because she didn’t want hims to get huwt. I don’t know DL well enough

yet to make an educated guess about which of these tactics was the

effective one. Anyway, we’re glad one of them worked.

Our other new sub, E, an old friend of Al’s, began the night by

informing us she was a “terrible bowler”, and that her “friend” had

laughed when she said she was going to bowl, “reminding” her  that

every time the two of them had ever gone bowling, she had fallen on

her bum. Nice friend. E was a bubbly, delightful addition to our

team--she started out rough, but as she rapidly improved, she made

little hops of joy whenever the pins went down. Somewhat more

disturbingly, she managed to transmit her bad bowling mojo to a

hapless fellow a few lanes down, who fell--not on his bum; possibly on

his head. His mishap also set off the “over the line” buzzer, which I

had never heard before, and of which I am now petrified. He was ok,

after a moment of alley-wide concern, and Erin seemed to improve even

more rapidly after that. Hmmmm....

Maybe the mojo-transfer was due to Flo’s new good-luck necklace, a

beautiful painted home-made bead necklace made by her 5-year-old

daughter. Flo was apparently at the height of her mysterious powers.

The previous week, one of our opponents had sheepishly confessed to

Flo that she had had a few margaritas before bowling, and was

therefore not really bowling at the top of her game. This week, Flo

had barely arrived at lane 51 before one of our new opponents had

introduced himself and announced to her that he had been drinking Four

Loko all afternoon. Who knows what secrets her sweet face will coax

out of this week’s opposing team?

The consumption of alcohol combined with bowling is a topic of great mystery and debate. Our new friend J, another of last week’s opponents, drinks only classic White Russians, which seem to serve him well, as he has a very respectable 166 average. I thought I had worked it all out--after 2 beers, I seemed to reach a state wherein my mind

quieted and I could achieve the optimal oblique focus that I have decided is the best psychological approach. After 3, this focus disappeared, though I didn’t much care. Then I took the kids bowling during the week, and bowled two personal best games (167 and 186), WITH NO BEER AT ALL. Flo (who was there for the 167) suggested it was the combination of sugar and cheezy 80’s pop-music that may have provided the effect. More research is definitely needed.

The Edge was feeling off all night, having spent much of the day

buying a sectional sofa. He bowled respectably the first two games,

and had some phenomenal Angry Strikes, and some really good stories,

but lost it completely in the last game. Maybe it was the fact that

his high score from the previous week, a personal best of 147, had

gone un-blogged. Probably it was the whole sofa thing.

Our team has been missing a key member. Even GJ, aka “Robo-sub”,

wearing some truly phenomenal plaid pants, strolled over at one point

and asked, “Where’s the Mouth”? Happily, Varsity has been (quietly?)

keeping up his game in strange bowling alleys across the country, and

will join us again this week.

The stats:

***Flo was on the high score sheet from the week of 11/7!! She was 3rd

in the women’s “high series with handicap” section, beating out even

the league leader! Go Flo!***

The Hoff:  132, 130, 164

The Edge: 136, 137, 95

E: 77, 102, 95

Flo: 98, 112, 92

Rounds of beer: 3

Team accidents: 0

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 ….