I did something last week that I haven't done in 10 or 15 years: I bowled.
It wasn't particularly pretty.
I know you are wondering how a svelte, athletically inclined, superbly coordinated individual, such as me, wouldn't cut quite the figure bowling. It does stretch the bounds of credulity, doesn't it?
I was at a Scion FR-S event at the Red Rock Casino Hotel just outside of Las Vegas. One of the features of this hotel is a 60-lane bowling alley. Additionally, it has a 12-lane VIP lounge for special parties. Scion threw dinner in the VIP lounge and then encouraged us to bowl after eating.
Just like swimming, there should be some sort of unwritten rule about bowling within 60 minutes of wolfing down an Asian-infused buffet. It would have saved me much heartache and embarrassment.
The sad thing is that there were people there bowling worse than I, but unfortunately not on my alley.
I managed to eek out a score of 100 on my first game, and that was as good as it got. It was truly pathetic.
I made the correct choice to steer clear of bowling all these years.
I did bowl with some regularity years ago. I even belonged to a league. It was the most miserable six months of my life.
Here's the thing about league bowling: They bowl no matter what. Rain, snow, hurricanes, earthquakes, none of it matters to league bowlers. Had there been a bowling alley in the basement of one of the Twin Towers on September 11, the league scheduled to bowl there that night would have shown up.
The league I bowled in was a church league made up of teams from the several Lutheran churches in Louisville. I was already fed up with having my Monday nights screwed up for the previous 10 weeks on the night when I decided that when my league obligations were fulfilled, I'd never bowl again.
We were bowling our second game when the treasurer of the league dropped dead in the alley next to us of a heart attack. His body came to rest across our alley, as well as the alley his team was bowling in.
Bowling came to a stop as word spread up and down the other lanes. It was eerily quiet. A number of bowlers came over to pay their respects to the deceased bowler's son, who was on the same team.
Over the PA system came an announcement that we should have a minute of silent prayer for our fallen brother.
As the 60th second ticked off the clock the same voice said, "Amen. Let's bowl!"
I'm not making this up. Everyone but the deceased's team and ours -- remember, he was lying across our respective alleys -- resumed bowling. I guess had I thought about it, I could have grabbed his ankles and dragged him out of the way. We had to bowl for an extra 30 minutes to make up for the lost time.
Nah, I'm not a big bowler any more.