The greatest dexterity game

The ball was only six pounds and you could hear the pins snickering as it drunkenly rolled down the lane, pinballing from the bumper covering the right gutter to the left. Somehow, magically, it struck squarely between the one and three and, unlike a heavier ball’s urethane devastation, the small green ball bounced gleefully between pins, knocking some down and wobbling others. When all was said and done, however, the snickering had stopped and all ten pins lay prone, defeated. Harry stopped jumping up and down and turned to face me with a smile as big as Christmas morning.

Forced to take physical education credits in college, my fat and lazy self turned to the only sport I could think of in which drinking beer and smoking Marlboros wasn’t just allowed, it was recommended. Bowling. I had never really bowled before other than as an excuse to drink or hang out with friends in high school. As is the case with most things, I wasn’t good and struggled to break 100 with my ball more apt to drain via the gutter than knock down its quarry.

Two semesters later the tide had turned and bowling had become something of an addiction. I had perfected a hook, able to stand well left of the center mark, rolling my ball perilously over the right gutter only to watch it slam mercilessly into the pocket with a thunderous explosion of white and red wood. I routinely rolled games of 200 or better and pushed my average around 190. I loved it. Hell, I even went bowling alone just to throw the rock, sip a couple beers and relax.

College came to an end, however, and real life reared its rotten, depressing head. Bowling took a back seat to work and marriage and mortgages and car payments. On top of that, throwing and twisting a 16 pound ball had taken its toll over the years resulting in wrist issues that, eventually, required surgery.

My eldest son was 6, his brother 4, and I hadn’t stepped foot into a bowling alley in a decade. Gone were the transparencies for hand scoring. Even in the dingiest of alleys, everything was converted to automatic scoring and touchscreens. Bumpers magically arose from the gutters when kids got up to bowl and lowered for the adults, as if we didn’t need the bumpers as well. It was both mine and my kids introduction to modern bowling.

The kids loved it, bumpers ensuring that only the unluckiest of rolls knocked down at least a couple pins. There’s something amazing about watching your kids enjoying something you had once loved. I ordered beer for myself, sodas for the kids and, of course, we ate pizza. I hear other dads talk about baseball or football games as bonding experiences with their kids, for me it was this; sitting in an alley and enjoying spending time with my two little men.

Over the years we’ve continued to bowl. It’s our fallback for a rainy day or simply a day where we can’t decide what else we should do. My oldest is now nearly 16, however, and hanging with his old man in a bowling alley pales in comparison to hanging out with his new high school friends and pushing the boundaries of his ever increasing independence. My middle son is 13 and would rather go play baseball than head indoors and do “boring stuff”. So, it’s up to my 7 year-old, Harry, to tag along to the alley. Luckily, he’s still happy to oblige. Someday — sooner than I care to think about — that will change, too, and it may be the last time I set foot in a bowling alley. It’s a sad thought, made sadder as I realize my kids are growing up and I’m becoming less and less important in their lives. Still, I have a decade of bowling with them under my belt with at least another five years of hanging out and eating pizza with Harry while the rumble and crash of pins echoes around us.

I’m not a huge fan of dexterity games on the tabletop. Usually they’re one-and-done, not doing enough for me to trigger a replay (Rhino Hero is an exception, but only because Harry loves it so much). They’re also notoriously unfriendly to the fat-fingered and innately clumsy. Bowling is the exception. Sure, some might claim it’s a sport but, c’mon, it’s a dexterity game in gigantic form, and one I’m always happy to bring to the “table” if only because it’s the one game that all three kids were always happy to play with me. While that’s slowly changing, I’ll always have those rainy day memories of pizza, laughter, and unlikely strikes to keep me going. That’s not something I can say for any other game in my collection.

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