Reading the newspaper on a slow Sunday afternoon.
Finished the obits, noting that few people my age expired, and started scanning through the sports section where I spotted a half page of local bowling standings. With no friends showing up in the previous section, I figured here was exactly where I was likely to see people I know, so I began poring over the leagues. I didn't see anyone I knew there either, but I soon found myself reading the team names.
There were the timeless names used by bowlers since it was a sport enjoyed by the Royals, teams like Lucky Strikes, Hits n Misses, and I guess Bud's Towing. But others leaned toward the edgy. Cop Tarts, Zodiacs, and Junque Yard sound like people with imagination who are just there to enjoy the game and maybe score a trophy. Perhaps taking that to the next enjoyment level are the clever ones. Gutterly Ridiculous, Purple Hooters, and the Go Go Girls are obviously there for the beer. They're the ones lol and always calling out "who's up?". The top team in that category had to be Margaritaville. They don't even make any bones about why they're out on a Tuesday night. I imagine there's a two year waiting list for an open slot as members eventually quit and return to their meetings.
On the darker side are the bowlers who view league night as an opportunity to assault and humiliate lesser teams. You can just tell Ball Buster, Strike Force, and The Storm Troopers will be watching that foul line on you. They'll spend four minutes waving at the hand dryer before finally heaving the ball like a streaking comet for a teetering split. They tend to swear.
Finally, there were the cute ones. Bowlers who enjoy the sport as a social outing, kind of like clubbing with the din of strikes instead of the cacophony of a DJ booth. Same thing. Ball Of Fire and the Pocket Pounders would love to impress the Brittney Spares, but Men Of Steel were all over it.
This happens every time I get high before reading the Tribune, but I don't usually write about it. Usually I only cut out articles and email the scans to my sons and grandkids. I guess this is what Boomers do in the 21st century.
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