a league of their own

Buildings housing bowling lanes are inherently windowless.  For some reason, I always have a strange sense of forboding when entering a cement block building, intentionally constructed to block out daylight.  They have an allure of delinquincy…how else could you explain buildings constructed to keep out the sun.  Perhaps there is real purpose to this.  Perhaps the glare of sunlight on the highly-polished wood could throw off a bowler–blind the competitor in the midst of his potential strike.  Perhaps the low lighting gives a sense of hourlessness…a way of conveniently losing track of how long you’ve been rolling a heavy ball down a narrow, wooden floor.

For the past year, every Tuesday night, my uncle L___ has participated in a local bowling league, having been recruited for years by his octogenarian neighbor J_____.  So when L____ asked me if I wanted to come along during my week in Pittsburgh, I decided to join the motley crew for a night of bowling–my first in years.

While the alley was relatively empty when we first arrived, it quicky filled up as people walked in the side door, pulling their wheeled bags behind them.  One by one they greeted each other with that familiarity that comes from weekly contact within the context of a common pasttime.  As I looked on in wonder, I gradually met many of the quirky personalities on my uncle’s bowling league, changed into a pair of rental shoes, and found an 11-pound ball that I thought would suit my purposes for the night.

While my uncle’s league is co-ed, the other leagues present that evening were notably male dominated.  There did seem to be something oddly familiar, watching those men roll–and sometimes throw–their bowling balls down the alley, willing the pins to crash.  It reminded me of boys who I’ve babysat who enjoy building towers out of blocks and then knocking them down.  This is not to say that I haven’t witnessed little girls do the same, but it I do remember it being more popular among the boys.  However, during the night I was struck by the music of the balls hitting the floor, the constant crashing of pins, the shouts of both exhaltation and frustration as they witnessed the force of the ball against the pins.

The roots of bowling date far back into human history, although like most ancient activities, there’s debate about where exactly it originated.  However, the game was apparently brought to the United States by the Dutch during the 17th century and actively practiced in New York City in an area of lower Manhattan called Bowling Green.  (In fact, there is still a metro stop on the green line with the same name.)  At that time, the game was with nine pins; today it consists of ten.  However, in 1841 Connecticut banned the nine pin game due to gambling with other states following suit.  (Perhaps my sense of delinquency at a bowling alley is well-earned 🙂  The game was regularized in 1895 in NYC by the newly formed American Bowling Congress (ABC).  And while women bowl freely today, the ABC formally banned women within its constitution during the early 20th century.  In fact, it wasn’t until 1993 that they removed the “male only” clause from its constitution.  So perhaps in light of history, the present day demographic comes as no surprise.  (For more information see: http://www.bowling2u.com/trivia/game/history_of_bowling.asp)

During my night with the league, I thought of my grandmother R_____, who used to have her own weekly night out with her bowling league.  I pictured her on her night out on the town with the girls–the comradery, the cigarettes, the drinks afterwards.  So while my skills is a bit lacking, I picked up the ball and bowled in her memory, or the memories of her I’ve made for myself through the stories.  And  despite the constant attention and advice of one of the men on the league, my score remained rather dismal throughout the night, but I had fun for what it was worth.  Let’s just say that I won’t be trading in my tango shoes for bowling ones anytime soon!

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