This installment of The One Board originally appeared in Bowlers Journal International, March, 2016
Bowling bags are sacred ground for bowlers. The list of people who can acceptably invade such hallowed personal space is shorter than the list of people who can listen to a bowling anecdote without interrupting with a very loosely related tale of their own.
“I picked the 7-10 off the 6-7-10. Greatest worst moment of my life.”
“Oh yeah? That reminds me of the fourth time I shot 300.”
But we digress, as often happens when rudely interrupted, even if by oneself.
Back to bowling bags. The actual bowler, obviously, is permitted access to his or her own bag. He or she may allow a trusted friend, coach or ball rep in there, but only for a specific purpose. Bowlers are right to be protective of their personal space. That’s why they’re smart to only let their closest, personal friends anywhere near it. Well, them and the complete strangers from the Transportation Security Administration, of course.
Anyone who has flown with a bowling ball within the United States has received a notice of baggage inspection. The 3.625” x 8.5” bilingual notifications of warrantless search litter the squad rooms at PBA Tour events. Some bowlers no longer bother removing them. Stacks of 20 or more avisos de inspección de equipaje rest in the bottom of bags, soaking up oil and fraying with wear. Soon, players won’t need towels anymore, leading to intense interactions on television: “Do not put your TSA notice of baggage inspection on my bowling ball.”
Ignoring anyone’s stance on whether or not the TSA should exist, the fact is it does, so one has to concede if they’re going to search a piece of luggage, it makes sense to look at one that holds three spherical, heavy objects with scary core shapes. Add the bevel tools, inexplicable rolls of tape scraps, weird-colored potions, what looks to be a fruit zester if not a cheese grater, stacks of circular sandpaper and brushes with hard metal wires, and the untrained eye would be horrified.
However, TSA agents have trained eyes. They’re supposed to, anyway. Thus, it shouldn’t take long to determine a bowling bag, which already has 27 TSA notices in it and is draped in priority tags (indicating a frequent traveler), probably doesn’t need to be inspected again.
It all leads to an under-reported social problem: bowler profiling. Why are bowlers constantly scrutinized and searched while non-bowlers can do whatever they want? Some IT consultant can fly around the country with a simple carry-on bag while bowlers, who make their livings with their hands, have to risk devastating paper cuts every time they find yet another TSA notice in their luggage.
Profiling starts before the TSA even gets involved. Airlines, hotels and car-rental agencies all mandate bowler profiling by their employees. Random businessman? Have a nice flight. Bowler? You owe another $300 for these bags, which may or may not arrive on time because they’re heavy and thus will be the last bags anyone on our crew touches. And by the way, when you land, all the SUVs will be rented by seafood moguls with no luggage, so you and your four friends and 48 bowling balls will somehow have to devise and execute a clown act in a compact car. Then, when you get to the hotel, the bellman is going to pretend he doesn’t see you, rushing to help the one guy with a single jacket on a hanger rather than load up your as-light-as-you-could-make-them three-ball rollers.
When will it stop? When will bowlers start being treated fairly?
That is a question even Confucius couldn’t fathom pondering.