As you may undoubtedly know Sarge & Red’s sponsored our bowling team at Imperial Lanes…. our skill level seemed unmatched against children at open bowling so I figured what the heck.
After a few weeks of bumperless bowling, we quickly found we sucked, that is until last week when I brought this vintage bowling smurf to league and we won all three games. I brought him back yesterday and started to lose not only the game but hope in my blue pal’s luck-giving power. We were losing, well we lost all 3 games. While during our 2nd losing game I realized his powers must have shifted… they called our number for Strikeball, kind of a cosmic joke I thought since the odds of one of us getting a strike during this miserable display athletic prowess seemed near impossible.
Not wanting to be publicly shamed, I did what most good sons would do, I told my Dad he could throw it. You see we all split the pot on these games so it is win-win in my mind. Part excited, part nervous, and walking with bravado my Dad took his ball and strutted to lane 48. He looked down the alley in an attempt to intimidate the pins into falling, steadied his throwing arm and walked to the line releasing his ball with all the skill and expertise of a drunken toddler. The ball rolled down the lane, it began to hook too soon, it wasn’t going to hit the pocket!! “Brooklyn” I thought to myself, as the pins to the left of the headpin were hit. I watched as 9 pins fell the 10 pin wobbling… wobbling.. teetering…. down!!! I swear I saw a small blue flash hit that final pin as it fell. We cheered, collected our winnings and returned to our game thinking that was it.
As game 2 went on we continued to show the other team who was boss, they were apparently since the won a second game. I hit my average; my Dad, however, was well below his at a lowly 122. Now I want you to remember 122 as it comes into play shortly. We started our third game happy to have some extra funds, it dulled the sting of losing two games. It didn’t help us bowl any better since we still were throwing like garbage. As the third frame rolled around I was done, ready to go home and relax. My Dad was up to bowl when the announcer ominously called across the PA “Bowlers check your tickets for Progressive Mystery muahhh ha ha ha!”
Now for those of you who don’t know, Mystery is when they call a number and if you bowled it in the previous game you win the pot, Progressive is the same but instead of calling until someone’s number is up they call it once and the pot carries over and grows if there isn’t a winner. Remember that 122 from earlier, my Dad’s miserably low score? Well, that’s what they called – 122!! My Dad threw his ball on the rack and ran to the front of the alley faster than he would have run for a fire extinguisher if I was ablaze. Seriously, I’ve never seen him move that fast…ever. We collected our money and split it again. We continued our game and lost, but this time I blame it on one side of my pants being overweighted by cold hard cash.
Well again the bowling smurf worked his magic, he has earned himself another week in my bowling bag, along with my dirty bowling rags, smelly shoes, and extra socks come to think of it I should probably move him to a nicer location, he’s earned it. ~Fin
