After traveling beyond the city lights, we thought we were lost in the country side, when finally, the sign for Strikers Entertainment Center came into view. The parking lot full, we were lucky enough to find a close spot, which came in handy when we left and the lot was deserted. Upon entering the center, the wooden lane floor table tops stood empty. Obviously Monday night is not a popular night to be at the bar. We pressed forward beyond the area and into the alley, where the fun began. After receiving our shoes and assigned lane, we took all necessary precautions to prepare us for a fun night of bowling.
names on the score screen-check
stretching-uncheck (really what recreational bowler does that?)
The competition was fierce right out of the bull pen. My nephew and I both cheered at each others mistakes, until my brother caught up with us, then we all got more intense, as we left other family members in the dust. Between frames, we munched on curly fries, fried pickles, and deep fried cauliflower. The cauliflower was so good, I ordered another basket, mostly for my brother who didn’t get any out of the first batch. But seriously, I wanted more. Our customer service was awesome, from shoe counter, cashier, to bartender. The staff was tentative to needs and friendly, which allotted for us to feel more comfortable and start another game.
By time mid game two came around, our stomachs were full on fried foods and we were water and beer logged. Eventually the choice to eat affected my game, as I watched my nieces and sister-in-law leap ahead of the previous game competitors. I was floored when I realized I was losing to a four year old and the bumpers are up!
“It’s your turn.” A voice behind me states matter-of-factly.
Looking at the score screen above me and realizing I am down by forty points from the leader, I put on my serious face. Lifting my twelve pound purple, blue, and pink pearlized ball, nestle my fingers and thumb in the holes, and eye the brown arrows near the middle of the lane. One step, two step, three, my arm swung back gripping the ball, as the other counter balanced me. Dipping low to the floor in one motion, the swinging arm came forward inches from the shiny wood floor. I extended my fingers to release the ball and watched it glide down lane twenty-four headed for ten rock maple wood pins, smashing them into each other. STRIKE! My serious face smiles, knowing I am making a come back. Its frame eight and I am feeling pretty good about my self. My competition bowls, by now, this is everyone. My turn again rises. STRIKE on frame nine, I go again. STRIKE three…turkey. I get one more chance to mow down a few more pins and steal the game with the best score I’ve ever had: 135.