Pins of the Past

I cringed as thunder struck down upon the polished wood floor and cheers erupted. They pause, they bowl, they pause again. Over and over, bowlers continue on with determination, willing themselves to leave the bowling alley victorious. Every lane was packed with bystanders, like a crowd of people at the zoo, caning their necks to get a better look, and they watch their fellow players terminate the opponent and emerge from the lane a winner. Many onlookers would call bowling “a stupid sport, with no real merit”, while others call it their life, a part of their daily routine. There are two sides to every story: bowling has two extreme views, one sees it as a waste of time and money while the other believes it to be the greatest invention of all time.

There are two types of people that go to the bowling alley: observers and competitors. Some laugh and joke about failures, while other hang their heads in shame with the simplest mistake. The spectators relax as they watch the team members, while the team members tense at the smallest distraction from the spectators. Those that make fun of bowling laugh at the ridiculous determination of the players, while the players laugh at the naïve stupidity of audience members. Whether amateur or pro, all come to the bowling alley for one reason: to have fun.

When I walk amongst the diverse crowd, I noticed an immense amount of staring directed towards the entrance of the alley. I turned and immediately noticed the large group of bowlers, armed with leather bags containing bowling balls and shoes and gloves and special glasses and cloths and cleaning solutions to clean the bowling balls and shoes and gloves and glasses. They were a fierce force to reckon with as they marched through the entrance adding a great level of tension to the air. The large group immediately separated into two, one turning to the left, the other the right. After some inquiries, I learned they were the bowling league, the best of the best and tonight was a special night: one of serious bowling between two serious teams.

I could tell there is only one constant at the bowling alley: the ten pins in each lane. While teams came and went, and families occasionally visited, only one thing remained every night at closing time. All alone they stand out there, with nothing to stare at but the ball looming towards them at tremendous speeds or at their own warped reflections in the gleaming surface at their feet. Few players have remained constant through the years; they are the only the things left that stay behind with the pins. Every day they dust off their old trophies, and every night, the put them back away. Bowling gives them a window into the past: a time where bowling alleys were the equivalent of the modern-day Phoenix Theater; a time when being the best at bowling was being the best at everything.

Repeating, remembering, reliving—these few competitors are all that is left to keep the past of bowling alive; the last to keep remembered. As I watch these teams compete, I notice the slight looks of desperation on their faces, almost hidden by the focused stress down the long lanes. But if you look close enough, you can see that when they look at those pins—the only thing left that has not changed over the many years of bowling—they are not here, but in the past. They have to win, or it is all over, they lose those memories.

One by one, each player approached the endless lane, staring down the pins, willing them to fall on their own accord. The smells of food and the sounds of laughter proved to be no hindrance for these determined bowlers. They have lived in their past for so long that the slightest jolt will remove them from their reverie; I was even warned to refrain from flash pictures around the bowling league, as they are “quite particular about the environment they bowl in”. I noticed then that no one took these people seriously. They were thought of as animals; each witness careful to not disturb the bowler’s focus. All they wanted was to be recognized, and everyone else refused to acknowledge the great effort that is put into bowling.

I can’t believe how little stock people put in bowling. I easily saw it as a difficult sport, knowing full well I couldn’t score any points without the aid of bumpers, while these people were getting scores unheard of and making shots that I thought were deemed impossible. However, I saw why so many bystanders refused to acknowledge the worth of bowling. Watching the teams, I could see how animal-like they were. Their emotions were heightened, and stress was building, bringing out the primal reactions each person buries deep down. While bowling s a credible and difficult sport, these players were no longer playing the sport for fun or competition, but for a chance to regain those moments when bowling was the light of their life and life had millions of possibilities. Their desperation was so apparent, that each game added to the tension that follows the two teams.

Dead silent, speedy, and tense—the final round was an intense few moments of speculation. Finally, the winning team—exhausted, dazed, and jubilant—emerged from the crowd of people, triumphantly leaving the bowling alley, only to return to prove themselves once more.

-Keeley C.