My butt is killing me.I have a newfound respect for bowlers, because the pain in my right gluteus maximus is so intense that I’m having trouble concentrating on the pain in my left shoulder, the ache in my left forearm, or the callous on my left thumb (I’m a lefty, in case you haven’t figured it out by now…)
Yesterday I hit Bowl Rite Lanes (714 Summit Ave., Union City), and today I’m paying for it. I hadn’t touched a ball in probably 15 years, but yesterday I bowled three games with, putting it nicely, varying degrees of success. It takes a surprising level of physical endurance, not to mention exceptional concentration – areas where a fat, lazy man like myself tends to be a bit lacking. Obviously, I’m rethinking my stereotype of the typical bowler. And while Homer J. Simpson may be fat and lazy, he still bowled a 300 once, which puts him in front of me in my book.
Of course I probably deserve this pain, because I got cocky and didn’t give the sport (hell yeah, it’s a sport) the respect it most certainly deserves. My first game I was en fuego, baby! I was like “Big Ern” McCracken, destroying pins, bowling strikes, picking up spares, and takin’ names! BOO-YAH! Alright – I bowled a nice little 137. But it meant a lot to me because I hadn’t picked up a bowling ball on the field of battle in well over a decade and I even managed to keep the ball out of the gutter the whole time. But after the Kingpin-esque display of God-given talent, I pulled a Munson for the next two games.
Game No. 2 saw me bowl a pathetic, PATHETIC 31!!! A thirty-$*%!^$-one!?!? That’s a solid 106 pins behind my previous effort. And to top it off, I managed to chuck a ball into the next lane – classic bowling faux pas. In my defense, it was a lighter ball (mine was stuck at the end of the lane) and the holes were too small, so when I whipped the ball it got stuck on my thumb, but still pretty damn embarrassing. Luckily my friends were on that lane laughing at me, so screw ’em.
Game No. 3, my comeback game, saw me roll a dismal 50 – a 50 I had to work hard to get after two empty frames rolling gutter ball after gutter ball. In fact, I rolled five straight to lead off the game, finally hitting a pin in the third frame (and yes, it was in the correct lane this time). Adding near-injury to insult, I managed to pull another classic bowler boner, dropping the ball on the backswing. Again, I was using a different ball (same situation), but I still looked like a tool. Luckily no one was hurt, though I thought about whipping another one at my chuckling friends. I stand by my previous statement – screw ’em …
At this point I was getting my ass handed to me by chicks. Ann, who apparently grew up whipping potatoes at empty Guinness bottles on the streets of Dublin, bowled a 113. My other friend Courtney bowled a strike with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. When my buddy Clint bowled a strike while talking on his cell phone, I knew I was out of my league.
Nevertheless, even after choking down a few slices of humble pie, I had a fantastic time. I had forgotten how much fun bowling is. And since this was the first time I had ever been able to do it with beer (legally, anyway), there was much more fun to be had. Of course, beer has a way of enhancing just about anything.
For more information on Bowl Rite, check out www.bowlritelanes.com. Due to leagues and group bookings, it’s recommended to call ahead at (201) 864-2667. Luckily the lane is right next to CVS so you can stop in and buy a tube of Ben Gay for the day after.
Now I’m off to get a fresh pack of ice for my right cheek …
Chris Halleron lives in Jersey City and tends bar at Duffy’s in Hoboken. His column appears every other week in the Current. He spends a lot of his time either in front of or behind the bar in Hoboken, where his tolerance for liquor grows stronger as his tolerance for society is eroded on a daily basis. Feel free to drop him a line at c_halleron@yahoo.com.
Our Digital Archive from 2000 – 2016
