Well into this past Friday evening, around the time that you begin to realize that it is in fact early morning, I found myself in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar folks. Laramie Lanes. Classmates. No uniforms. No Movements. Eighty's hair metal. WTF? It was like some kind of weird dream - like the one where you forget to put on your pants before leaving the house.
To change it up a little this past weekend, a group of my non-bowling friends and I opted to go bowling for "fun." Now that I am in a highly competitive league, the word F-U-N has been dropped from my vocabulary (only to be replaced by a different one-syllable F-U word). There is no F-U-N in the Bernaski - only business. Fortified by a stomach full of baby carrots and Odell's IPA (a recipe for a potentially messy Movement), I prepared to take care of business.
Among our group of seven, I figured I was in good shape to walk away a winner. A motley collection of folks, there was nary a bowler among them. The lone exception was J-Gig, the Movement's supersub. Although teammates and dear friends, we sometimes find ourselves locked in mortal combat in a struggle to be the second-crappiest Movement. What he lacks in experience, Gingergoo makes up for in raw talent. As such, I figured he'd be my only competition.
It turns out that I severely underestimated my fellow rollers. Each of the two games we played was a highly competitive affair in which the ladies prevailed. For us guys, it was like we put our wallets together and hired some crazed troupe of bowling dominatrixes to punish us our gutterballin' ways. A sort of Crique de Soleil bowling beatdown if you will. Simply put, they owned us. The triple threat of bowling vixens posted top 5 finishes each game and in the end, Willa Mullen walked away with back to back victories - a resounding testament to why there are no women rollers in the Bernaski. I am not sure we'd put up much competition.
In the end, I chalk my poor finish up to a lack of food, excessive liquid, and the fact that I left the captain at home in the trunk of my car (like a bad scene from the Sopranos). Bowling is apparently something I should not participate in on a whim. What started as an extra practice roll ended as a strike to my confidence. Each ball the ladies threw was like a little kick to my stomach until I realized that I badly needed a Movement. Laramie Lazer Wash beware. This coming Monday, I'll be ready and am bringing the high pressure washer to clean out the gutters...