Richard's Revenge

A few months back, I conducted the funeral service for a lady who had gone to our church years ago, but had lived away since some time before we got here. As I talked to the family, I discovered that she had been a bowler. I remembered having seen an old scorecard up at the bowling alley the week before with a 160 string from 1973 credited to a Hilda, so I asked about it and found out that the string I had seen on the wall was indeed their mother's, that it was still the "high single" for the village bowling alley. I look at it from time to time when I bowl on Friday nights, for inspiration I guess.

I think it's working. I haven't made it to 160 yet, but a couple weeks ago I hit 131, which I think is the highest score I've ever gotten. Six spares, and nines on three of the spares, my score was growing exponentially by the end of the string. A couple weeks before I had managed a 121, but to crack 130 was a new high. I told the guys there was no chance I was going to be cool about it - it's still a rare enough occurrence that I was pretty much bouncing with excitement. These guys see the side of the Baptist pastor most of the church never manages to see. I feel like a little kid every Friday night.

Tonight I was back on the ground, with a high of 113 in my middle game, but it still felt pretty great. The trouble I still have is consistency. My first string tonight was a 92, and my last one was an irritating 79, the first time I missed the eighties in about a month. I blame Richard.

I wouldn't come out and say it at the alley, because I knew he'd only tell me I was making excuses, but I now realize he was slyly sabotaging my game, avenging my inconsiderate besting of his still admirable 103. It looked innocent enough, and was all done with a twinkle of the eye; I freely admit it takes a crisp intellect like his to plot such a devious revenge. Here's how he did it:

When three guys bowl on two lanes, it's a fast paced game even if you try to take your time. Rotating from lane to lane, each bowler has to bowl four boxes before he gets to sit down for a two box rest. By the time you bowl that fourth box, your circulation is heightened, you're breathing a little shallower, your arm is tired. A break for two boxes is a welcome thing.

We usually let the third guy finish his string each time before going ahead to the next one. That gives us time to look over our scores, circle the winner's total, and write the names in for the next game. There are tough decisions to be made: do we bowl in the same order, rotate in the same direction, compare scores with the bowlers on the other lanes? After the first string we just made slight changes, which were immaterial to the outcome of the evening's contest. But after the second string Richard put the brain cells to venomous use.

I finished the second string on a high of sorts, the third man bowling out the extra ball after a spare in the tenth box. I saw the 113 and in an instant became vulnerable to his plot. By the time I was done the extra ball, he had already purchased my downfall, by the simple stroke of a pen.

Instead of bowling third I was to bowl first. By the time I finished the fourth box of that final string I had bowled six in a row - eighteen straight balls. I thought my arm was going to fall off, and considered the unwisdom of going to the bowling alley without a lifeline attached around my neck. As I picked up that eighteenth ball, I wondered whether I would even make it to the foul line with the ball still in my grip. I survived, but Richard's subtle blow was to prove fatal; I had earned myself a four and a six in the heart of the string. Ethics to the wind; he had beaten me.

As I think back to the last time I looked at Hilda's 160, I recall the rest of her scorecard that historic night. She hit the heights of her career on the strength a string of spares and strikes, but by the third string her score was back down to the eighties. Was someone out to get her like Richard was out to get me tonight?

In 1973 Richard would have been about twenty-five, and sharp enough to have already more than perfected his destructive and sneaky strategy. I just wonder...