It's All About the Balls

I bowled on a league last night for the first time in about five years. The first time since throwing away my ball and bag, announcing that I would never bowl again. About two thirds of the way into the first game I came to realize just why I had stopped. My arm seemed to have a mind of its own, I was tripping over my feet, and I couldn't get over the feeling that everybody in the bowling alley was watching me miss easy spares. If it weren't for the fact I had just spent two hundred dollars on a new ball, I would have thrown it all in again. But then one of my team mates bought me a beer and things started to smooth out a bit. The second game was more respectable and I had another beer. By the third game and the third beer, the old swagger came back. Not that I think that I'm a good bowler, but after three beers all the distractions and self doubt faded away. It all came back to me, how to bowl. Well, how I bowl. Alcohol is the secret. Not too much, not too little. It seems the sweet spot is one drink per game and I realize I should start that first drink before the first game starts. That is, if I don't want to embarrass myself. My mom and dad bowled into their seventies. I'm sixty seven. My goal is to bowl longer than Mom and Dad did. If ruining my liver is what it takes to do that, so be it.