Bowling
Yesterday evening, continuing our streak of “low culture” entertainments, the kid and I, along with her buddy, Ani, went bowling.
As is usually the case with a pastime in which you get to, as the poet says, “get drunk and throw things,” a good time was had by all.
I like bowling and not only because it affords me the aforementioned opportunity to combine getting hammered with hammering things, but also because it’s so straightforward. You’ve got your ball and your pins; the more pins you knock down with your ball, the better you do. Life should be so simple.
It’s possible, in bowling, to bowl a perfect game. That’s cool. In life, perfection is generally unattainable. There’s much to be said for that; no doubt it helps us aspire to greater heights of success and happiness, but there’s something very comforting about a pastime in which perfection is possible. And it’s not even all that rare; Homer Simpson bowled a 300 game; professional bowlers do it with some regularity; and the US Bowling Association even makes pins and plaques you can buy should ever bowl a perfect game yourself.
Social philosopher Robert Putnam uses the phenomenon of people “bowling alone,” (as opposed to in organized leagues) as an illustration of the decreasing levels of social cohesion in society over the last 50 years or so. And while it’s true that Mimi, Ani, and I were there by ourselves, I did feel a certain sense of connection with my fellow bowlers. I cheered the guy to the left of us when he made a “turkey;” I felt warmly towards the double-dating teenagers to our right; I especially appreciated the trio of older women who stopped bowling every few frames for a cigarette break in the parking lot.
My own performance was perfectly adequate; in both cases, I rolled higher than my weight, no small accomplishment, even if our lane did have the bumpers up for the kids.
As is usually the case with a pastime in which you get to, as the poet says, “get drunk and throw things,” a good time was had by all.
I like bowling and not only because it affords me the aforementioned opportunity to combine getting hammered with hammering things, but also because it’s so straightforward. You’ve got your ball and your pins; the more pins you knock down with your ball, the better you do. Life should be so simple.
It’s possible, in bowling, to bowl a perfect game. That’s cool. In life, perfection is generally unattainable. There’s much to be said for that; no doubt it helps us aspire to greater heights of success and happiness, but there’s something very comforting about a pastime in which perfection is possible. And it’s not even all that rare; Homer Simpson bowled a 300 game; professional bowlers do it with some regularity; and the US Bowling Association even makes pins and plaques you can buy should ever bowl a perfect game yourself.
Social philosopher Robert Putnam uses the phenomenon of people “bowling alone,” (as opposed to in organized leagues) as an illustration of the decreasing levels of social cohesion in society over the last 50 years or so. And while it’s true that Mimi, Ani, and I were there by ourselves, I did feel a certain sense of connection with my fellow bowlers. I cheered the guy to the left of us when he made a “turkey;” I felt warmly towards the double-dating teenagers to our right; I especially appreciated the trio of older women who stopped bowling every few frames for a cigarette break in the parking lot.
My own performance was perfectly adequate; in both cases, I rolled higher than my weight, no small accomplishment, even if our lane did have the bumpers up for the kids.
posted by Professor Dave at 11:06 AM
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