Alan's Balls

I approached the lane in the same manner that I have for almost thirty years. The same steps, the same mark out on the alley, yet this time something happened. The synapses in my brain failed to notify the muscles in my arm as to where I wanted the ball to go. Like some kind of demented zombie, my arm flailed out in the wrong direction, and the ball went flying off into the gutter. Red faced, I turned around expecting my team mates to be snickering, or at least be looking at me with disapproval. After all, we needed for me to get some pins to win this game. I got none. Luckily I bowl with a bunch of lushes who were busily chatting away over their cocktails, too engrossed to notice my blunder.

Lately I've become aware that my bowling is sucking more than usual. My average has dropped to an embarrassing low number, and my ability to make the ball go where I want it to is gone. Naturally I blame it all on my bowling ball. It is old, and nicked up. There is a gouge just below the thumb hole that I am sure is causing it to miss the head pin every time. There could be no other reason for my poor showing the last few months. So last Thursday I went to the sports shop and bought a new ball. It's a beauty, all shiny, and clean. The holes are freshly drilled and free of the years of slime that had built up in my old ball. Also, it is two pounds lighter than the old one. That's because I am also old and nicked up, and I needed something I could actually lift. My arm, that used to have a bicep, is now nothing more than a wet noodle covered with dried up, wrinkled skin. My knees are shot, my feet are bad, and my eyesight is comparable to Mr. Magoo's. It's a wonder that I can even lift this new, lighter ball. Never the less, I will be at the bowling alley tonight with my new acquisition, because I still enjoy bowling, and they have cheap vodka drinks.