On Saturday I went Duckpin bowling for the first time. I have been Tenpin bowling a few times, once in England with a memorable visit to the Brighton beach where I was introduced to the concept of not being able to take your shoes off on the beach because of needles, broken beer bottles and other such charmingly hazardous materials. Actually - before I slur the name of Brighton - it may have been Whitstable, I was so disoriented in those days. No Southern Cross you see.
But to return to the subject at hand. Rental shoes. I know that many people before me have covered this topic in a more lavish and humerous manner. I just want to pause briefly on the uncomfortable feeling when your feet sweat in the garish, plastic, tightness that are bowling shoes. The uncomfortable feeling where you have a sinking realisation that multitudes of other people have sweated in the self same shoe, and you find your stomach wishing that a) you had not eaten the deep fried cheese fries as breakfast and b) you had worn thicker socks or c) you had your own pair of bowling shoes.
Once you get over that, and you work out how to brake whilst carrying a heavyish ball, accelerating for only 2 metres and wearing plastic shoes on polished wooden floors, the game is highly enjoyable. I associated the day with so many high school and teenage emotions and cringing insecurites, and also came to terms with a couple of them. The first being the worst, maybe. Teams were chosen "schoolyard style". This means team captains are chosen and with the bouyant relief that comes from choosing rather than being chosen they pick teammates out of the huddled and fear-grinning crowd.
The person before me bowls with competency if not brilliance and now it is my turn. Suddenly I recall why I wasn't in the A team for volleyball, why I didn't play field hockey with my friends, why I chose not to play any team sports. I detest 'letting my team down' with my shocking inabilities. Also, now I am standing in front of about 10 people, all watching my butt, my ass, my hiney. Last time I looked at it myself it was the proverbial traitor with it's ever growing presence. Luckily I look good in these jeans. Which are falling down because I forgot to put on a belt. Should I hitch them up? That requires a completely undignified hip wiggle, and I only have one hand, the other being occupied with a bowling ball in speckled green. But if I don't do the hip wiggle I may end up face down in the lane following my ball into the gutter with my nose. Aargh. Hip wiggle with one hand, switch ball, hip wiggle with other hand, readjust t-shirt for least butt crack protruberance, deep breath, run, brake, swing arm and release. WHY would anyone do this more than once?
Unfortunately, in the interest of 'not letting my team down' I did do it more than once, I may even have done it 14 times. Somewhere in the middle, around #8 or 9 I managed to hit the white things in the middle. Which I was told, with much laughter, was what I should be aiming at. ha ha. There-in is the shining light in bowling of any kind. When you run, brake, swing and release and you have the sweet feeling of successfully coordinating all that perfectly and the ball rolls down the middle of the lane, at just the right speed and with just the right curve, and smacks into the white things and they all go falling down even sometimes, gleefully, knocking each other down. That will make you do it another 7 or 8 times. Just the Hope of that satisfaction is enough to keep you playing, and even to consider returning to the game.
Finally, after 3 hours and two games, I was allowed to remove the offensive shoes and was released, blinking into the sunlight by my team.
PS. As said by House, (brilliant Hugh Laurie) There may be no 'I' in team, but if you mix up the letters, there is 'ME'
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