Frame of Reference

I can’t remember the last time I went bowling. Come to think of it, I can’t remember the first time I went bowling. But I do remember that whenever I did go bowling I enjoyed it.

Bowling alleys today are not the same as they were in the seventies and eighties.  Back then there was an element of uncertainty when you entered, like a fight might break out at any second. The smell of greasy food, lane oil, and shoe disinfectant combined to form a thick, lingering aroma that was going home with you whether you wanted it to or not.

Due to unfriendly associations of the word "alley", today’s facilities are now called bowling centers. These are sanitized, family-friendly versions of your father's lanes. The biggest change? The prohibition on smoking in public buildings eliminated a serious health hazard. But you can still get a platter of deep-fried everything, and there are actually 11 states with no public prohibition on indoor smoking. If you enjoy second-hand smoke with your strikes and spares, see this list 👉: https://www.cdc.gov/statesystem/factsheets/sfia/SmokeFreeIndoorAir.html

While the game remains the same, the technology has changed. Bowling has been cleansed of its secret scoring science. Gone are the oversized advertising scoresheets and stubby pencils, replaced by automated systems that make identifying upright pins easier while dulling our math skills.  Scoring a bowling match manually is similar to keeping book at a baseball game: both require a sharp pencil and sport-specific knowledge to be done correctly.

"FRED AND HERB WELCOME YOU TO OWENSVILLE BOWL"

The composition of bowling balls has also changed. Originally, balls were made of an extremely durable wood known as lignum vitae (Latin for "wood of life").  Over time the coverstock (outer layer) changed from rubber to polyester to urethane to reactive resin to proactive particle, which gave balls more bite.  The cores have become more complex as well, to facilitate spin. In fact, since the early nineties, manufacturers have used sophisticated design software to improve ball performance.

Bowling is unusual in that it's one of the few "ball sports" in which the ball is not passed from player to player (golf is another).  In the four big leagues (NBA, NHL, NFL, MLB), the balls are all adorned with the league commissioner's name.  Does anybody know the name of the commissioner of the Professional Bowlers Association? No, because Tom Clark's name is only on his ball.  A bowling ball is a personal item and should be readily identifiable to all parties.  Nobody wants to handle the other players' balls.  And therein lies the quintessence of bowling: the personalized ball. In researching this piece I scoured the web for images of personalized balls to build my All-Name dream team. The only requirement was that the names have a bowling-esque, you-know-it-when-you-see-it quality.  Here's the team: 

Velda, Melva, Stu, and the mysterious M. Main

Admittedly, I was never much of a bowler. I never owned a ball (although I did own a pre-enjoyed bowling shirt) and didn’t frequent bowling alleys other than for the occasional late-night, beer-fueled, recreational game.  Bowling for me is like golf: taking it seriously takes the fun out of it.  What makes it great is that anyone can walk in, rent some shoes, grab a house ball, and start bowling. 

When I did bowl it was most likely at the hautily named Steuben Bowling Academy in Bath, NY.  Sadly, the pinsetters were silenced after a wall of the building collapsed in September of 2018. There was no reset. After more than 80 years in business, Steuben Bowl was razed and replaced with a parking lot. It would have been a fabulous gesture for the village to honor the site by memorializing the pin-setting locations in that lot.

On a recent visit to a local thrift store, with nothing particular in mind, a shiny object caught my eye.  I picked it up and turned it over in my hands.  Fashioned of metal and wood, it had substantial weight for its size, which to me is a reliable indicator of quality.  It was covered with a fine layer of dust.  An inscription bore the numbers 62 and 63 - were they referencing 1962 and 1963?  Was this $1.99 treasure approaching its golden anniversary?  What stories did it hold?  Many years ago it surely meant something to someone but was now lingering in a thrift store bin with bike helmets and ab rollers. And so, unwilling to let this travesty continue, I rescued the showpiece which is now properly and proudly displayed in my brother's man cave in Rochester, NY.  

Let the good times roll!