When I was a teenager I was more known for being my sister’s brother than for anything else, and I didn’t do much to dissuade people from the assumption that I wasn’t much more than that. Call it lack of self-esteem, or maybe it was that I played way too often to expectations. In school I would get teachers the year after my sister did, and they would always tell me they expected great things, so I gave them great things. Of course my efforts were never applauded because they were expected. It was only when I did something unexpected that I got noticed, which always seemed ironic to me.
So, by junior year I had done a grand total of one thing others hadn’t expected, which was shaving my head on the coldest day of the year. But that convinced me maybe I was on to something. If I wanted to stop being known as merely “Joy’s brother what’s-his-name?” I had to do the unexpected. So I did. I joined the bowling team.
Now, when I saw the signups on the bulletin board outside the office I was intrigued. I had never voluntarily tried out for a school sport. Sure, freshman year I had signed up for an intramural volleyball tournament with two other guys who never bothered showing up for the actual games. And I had played well during recess class when we did badminton and table tennis, but that was about my entire experience with sports to that point. So signing up for the bowling team tryouts was a big step, and I did all I could to get ready for it. For a solid two weeks before tryouts I went to our local bowling alley after school and bowled until my arm was sore. I tried every technique there was (and believe me, I did, because I read all the books in the school library and the public library on bowling techniques), and when I stepped into that bowling alley for tryouts I thought I was ready.
I was wrong.
Every boy in there to try out for the team had been on the team the previous year except me and this one scrawny kid who seemed like a nice puff of air would blow him over. Every boy who was trying out had a big weight advantage over me, too, and supposedly the power to go with it. Picture me back then, a tall, lanky kid with a box haircut, wearing corduroy pants and an over-sized sweatshirt. I almost walked back out of the door, but the coach noticed me and made me sit down there with the other guys who obviously knew each other. There was one boy there, Stanley, who I had classes with, and that’s the only thing that made the wait somewhat bearable. We talked about class, and how we were the smartest two in our math class, which took up some of the time. But by then our names were being called one by one and the butterflies began again.
I mean, who was I kidding? I had no real experience, and there were so many boys who had been on the team before. Why would the coach ever pick me? I talked myself out of it so much so that when it was my turn I had absolutely no more worries. I was convinced I wouldn’t make it, so I was as loose as I could possibly be. For the tryout I had to bowl twice. That’s all. My first roll was a strike, and I was mildly surprised as I hadn’t used any of the techniques I learned to accomplish it. I put it out of my mind quickly, though, and rolled again. Another strike. And so I made the bowling team.
It was of course hard work from there, and I had only been accepted as a player on the JV squad, but I got a bowling shirt and everything. I was finally a member of a team, and I took it seriously. Our bowling competitions took place on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and sometimes we had to travel quite far on the bus to get to them. I used the bus ride time to do my homework, for which I was ribbed mercilessly, but I maintained my high GPA so I was good. I even did passably well in the competitions, too, as our JV squad remained undefeated through the first five competitions of the year. Then came the 257.
I’m not going to say it came out of nowhere, but I hadn’t even approached that number before. In fact, the highest score I had banked to that point was a 190. However, I always knew in the back of my mind that the top JV member from any given competition was eligible to become varsity for the next competition, and I knew I wanted that more than anything. I had been a few points off each competition from being the top JV player, and on that day I had it in the back of my mind too. To be varsity was a holy pursuit and I knew I wanted it so badly. We were at home that day — it was a Wednesday — but there was really no crowd to speak of. That’s the glory of being on the bowling team. There really were no spectators except the people who were also there bowling.
I was second from the end, my standard spot. It was a good thing to be at the end of the rotation because it meant you were counted on to get the big points to seal it or to catch up at the end of a competition. Each guy bowled a total of three games, and the scores were added up to equal a team score. There were five of us and five of them, so the numbers got really high by the end of each round. We won the first round handily, although I only had a 139, and they eeked out a win in the second round when I scored 162. It was the first time all season we had lost a round, so it was knuckle-biting time for our team. I knew I couldn’t let us down. Then the magic happened.
It all started with a strike, one of the few times I’d started off a round with one of those. I was usually a slow starter who got better as the round went on, so I was mildly surprised. In the second frame I got another strike, and I knew I was in the zone. Frames three, four, and five went the same way. So, by the time I was up for the sixth frame the other guys on my team had started to chant my name. I worried it would throw off my rhythm but I didn’t say anything to them, and the streak continued with my sixth strike in as many tries. In fact, even the varsity team was watching by that point in-between their own turns. I got through the seventh and eighth frames unscathed, and by then I knew I was going to bowl my highest score ever. It was my undoing.
The ninth frame brought the loudest chanting yet, but I knew I was in the zone and I wasn’t really worried about it by then. What ultimately derailed me was the number that popped into my head right before I went up to bowl. 300. That was the pinnacle of success in the sport, bowling the perfect game. I had never even come close, and yet there it was for the taking. All I needed to do was bowl four more strikes and it was mine. And I went out in the ninth frame confident that I could accomplish just that. Indeed, I did get my ninth strike in a row and went into the tenth frame still perfect. That 300 still floated in front of my vision, and I knew it was within my grasp.
That’s when I tripped. I began my motion (which for me in those days was a slide back, then three steps forward, swinging the ball back on the second step, and releasing it right before I set my foot down for the third one), and my shoes slipped when I slid back. It was uncomfortable, but I just began my motion again. My rhythm was just that much off, though, and the ball came out heavy. I imagined I could hear a gasp in the room when the ball left my fingers and took off down the lane, headed for the pocket. It hit just between the lead pin and its near kin and looked to be another strike, but the 10-pin stood firm on the outside, and just like that it was over.
To say I was devastated was an understatement of epic proportions. In fact, I had to sit down, and the rest of the team consoled me before I threw the spare ball (which I made, by the way). My last ball, though, was a 7, because I was too emotionally spent to do anything else. Someone told me later that our JV team won by 30 pins, but at that moment I had no clue if we had won or lost, I was in my own little world. Until a hand came out of nowhere and tapped me on the shoulder. It was our coach, and he was telling me that my 257 was the best score in the league so far that year. He also told me to get ready because for the next rotation I was being moved up to varsity.
That’s when I gasped, and forgot all about missing that 300. I was on the varsity squad, and that 257 put me there. That’s when I forgave myself for not being perfect, and I went out that next rotation and bowled my heart out. It was that performance that set the table for me, and I sealed up a permanent spot on varsity, earning my letter for bowling. I was so glad I took the risk and did the unexpected because it turned out better than I could have ever dreamed. I haven’t come close to duplicating the feat since, although I’ve bowled quite a few games over 200, but that’s okay. I’ll always have that moment, in that bowling alley, that flirtation with perfection. And it still feels perfect even now.
Sam
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