Bowling

They opened a new bowling alley less than a mile from our house. It is not the bowling alley of my youth- this place is PIMP! The lanes are all automated, the scores computed for you, and they even have your ball speed up on the screen for all to see. What more could you ask for? Big screen TVs with sports? Check. Real good sports bar and restaurant? Check. Video arcade- and not one of those cheap closet sized ones, but a real one filled with the latest games? Check. No hot waitresses, though....mostly older, sweaty ex-professional bowler types.

What could be better family fun than to go to the bowling alley? It was one of those “hey, that sounds like a good idea!” moments that, in retrospect, wasn't. Funny, my life is full of those. As it turns out I still suck at bowling. The first game, we all lost to the 5 yr. old. Pretty sad. He was the only one to break 100. Even with his odd style of throwing the ball from over his head (hardwood does indeed dent....), and his incredible ball speed ( less than 4 mph on average), he still cleaned up. He had no clue what he was doing, and no plan for what he would do when it was his turn, and yet, he triumphed. Zen bowling. The boys and I were preoccupied with ball speed. A 20 mph gutterball, while awesome, is NOT better than a strike. One child, who shall remain nameless, actually bowled a strike after falling backwards and landing on his back a ways down the lane, releasing the ball on the backswing (he was, thank god, facing the wrong way at the time). He never saw the shot- and had a melt down even after being told he got a strike, because in baseball, strikes are bad. I promised him I would contact the governing body of bowling and see about a name change for that.....must add that to my to do list.

Anyway, we went on to play two more games- I won one, and Pat won one. The wife sent half her balls in the gutter. I know, there's a great joke in that, but I am not going to go there with a ten foot pole. I am in enough trouble as it is.

“Learnings”

Have the side rails up for the wife.
Keep an eye on the little guy so he doesn't crush his head with the ball.
Make sure the little guy bowls down our lane....
More pizza, more root beer (less beer beer for the little woman).
Nail file for the daughter.
Some sort of guard for the ball return hole so the redhead does not crush his skull clowning around waiting for his ball to pop up by stuffing his head down the hole and pulling it out just before the ball gets there ( "it's OK dad- I can hear it, really! I'm not stupid!").