Category: The One Board

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The Auditory Pleasures of Bowling

This installment of The One Board originally appeared in Bowlers Journal International, April, 2016

“I didn’t see it. I heard it.” – Roy Munson, Kingpin

To the uninitiated, Munson’s ability to analyze Ishmael’s entire game based on the sound of one ball hitting the pins one time establishes what a great mind for the sport Munson has. This is important character development in a fictional bowling world.

In real bowling, almost everything relies on visual information. Bowlers want to see ball motion and pin action. Information is gathered by reading the lanes front to back and left to right. Marks are easier hit when seen, starting positions are nearly impossible to repeat without vision and scores can’t be read without painfully squinted eyes. The only times we ever notice sounds are when they’re distracting. Some guy shrieks six pairs away. A phone rings. An angry fellow chucks his ball onto the floor with the determination he probably should’ve been using toward the pins.


Distractions are not the only sounds of bowling, however. Perhaps it’s time we borrow a skill from Mr. Munson and start listening. Let’s examine three of the most underappreciated sounds that make bowling the magnificent multi-sensory experience it is.

The activation of the pinsetters.

What is morning to you? Merely posing the question conjures the sights and sounds of a glorious new day. A spectacular sunrise over the horizon. Freshly condensed dew on lush, green grass. Birds chirping, children laughing and leaves gently blowing in the breeze, all set to Edvard Grieg’s “Morgenstemning,” the royalty-free soundtrack our brains assign to this almost-perfect moment.

All that peaceful beauty and wonder are great, but it’s not truly morning until you hear the sound of 72 pinsetters turning on at once. The initial click leads to a gentle hum of electronics taking over the building. Anticipation builds for a few seconds and then, finally, here come the pinsweeps. All 72 racks, the equivalent of six simultaneous perfect games, are swept concurrently into the pit in one massive crescendo. The cycling of pins begins its day-long process of replenishing racks for the bowlers. The tournament is about to begin.

The between-games lull.

Qualifying rounds create constant noise, constant action and constant everything. Until the end of the game, that is. While bowlers move from one pair to another, a scant shot is heard here and there, but it’s nothing like the barrage we just endured and will soon bear again. Our ears get a brief respite, much like the song structure not invented by but made famous by Nirvana. The lull makes the onslaught more enjoyable and the auditory overload of qualifying makes the lull oh so sweet.

The murmur of the crowd.

It’s a tense moment. The championship match reaches the 10th frame. A strike for the hometown favorite means he wins no matter what his opponent does. Or, rather, it means the opponent needs the first two strikes and seven. Or, no, the opponent just needs a spare and good count. But it has to be a nine spare, as eight spare leaves open a tie possibility and anything less is a loss. Wait—does the opponent even need a mark?

During professional and high-level amateur events, the crowd is absolutely silent for most of the match. They cheer for strikes and spares, but remain perfectly still and hushed while the bowlers make their approaches. When it gets late in the match, though, it’s math time. Everyone in the crowd wants to be the one who explains the situation and all contingencies of said situation. Because those in the audience are still being respectful, they whisper. The decibel level is lower than a mumbled full-congregation prayer, but the excitement level is decidedly higher. And because everyone is whispering and giving out conflicting information, it’s a beautiful concoction of polite, fast-paced audible silence resembling a room full of malfunctioning bicycle-tire pumps.

The world needs better listeners and bowling deserves to be heard. Next time you walk into a bowling center, pay attention to all your senses. Listen. Bask. Enjoy. Here we are now. Entertain us.

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Bowler Profiling: A Very Real Fake Problem

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.

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Of Routines and Superstitions

This installment of The One Board originally appeared in Bowlers Journal International, February, 2016

Superstitions, by definition and if believed as having any real effect on anything, are asinine. Most people understand this, which is why bowlers refer to ridiculous superstitions as routines. This lets us continue our admittedly absurd quirks while not having to stigmatize ourselves as superstitious.

And, in many cases, these things really are routines.


“I always get to the bowling center exactly 90 minutes before my block because it’s my routine. Then I have precisely one cup of coffee because it’s my routine. Then I relieve myself in the third urinal from the left, unless there are only two urinals, in which case I walk past both of them, then backward to the one on the right, because it’s my routine.”

Perfectly normal stuff.

There are two main types of superstitions. The indisputably ineffective brand is indirect, in which a fan of a sports team might refuse to wash his socks for the duration of his favorite team’s playoff run. What happens when people (even those of us who are so adamant against superstitions we deliberately do everything different every time as irrefutable proof and simultaneous ironic disproof of our belief in superstitions) start to believe these things? Let’s investigate the spectacle of the black cloud.

Black Cloud: Supernatural phenomenon of one person’s innocuous act having a legitimate impact on another person’s athletic performance.

Some people believe if they even approach or notice a bowler on the front eight, for example, there is no chance that bowler will get the ninth strike. “I black clouded him,” those people will say.

Others don’t believe a black cloud is present until the potential feat is specifically mentioned. But to what degree? Can a fan or announcer say, “He’s on the front eight” without black clouding the competitor? Or does that fan or announcer have to explicitly say “He has a chance at a 300 game” or “He’s perfect through eight” to qualify as black clouding the poor schlub?

Further, if you mention a bowler has the first eight strikes, and that bowler strikes in the ninth but not in the 10th, does that still count as you black clouding him? Or did his strike in the ninth absolve you of all responsibility, thereby slamming the blame onto some other jerk who walked up after hearing about the front nine?

Or, and I realize this is reaching, can it be possible that throwing nine strikes in a row is difficult, and therefore the likelihood of not striking increases the longer the string of strikes goes?

Indirect superstitions pose more questions than they answer. So let’s move on.

Direct superstitions involve an actual player performing some absurd act such as refusing to wash his socks. Clean socks, dirty socks or no socks, that player has a direct impact on the game, and therefore, we can’t discount his or her superstition quite so quickly.

A fan thinking his unwashed, smelly, yellowed, disgusting lucky t-shirt helps his favorite bowler is undeniably irrational. But when the player feels better about his chances while wearing his own microbe farm of a t-shirt under his jersey, our perception of absurdity subsides, even if only a little.

This is the beauty of bowling superstitions. Very rarely does someone actually believe the restaurant in which he dined the day before had anything to do with him bowling well. And yet, because nothing went wrong, what’s the harm in going back to that same restaurant and ordering the same meal at the same table in the same chair with the same waiter? Superstitions breed comfort. Whatever he did felt right, and although he knows he could bowl just as well without having done it, he has confidence that doing it again will not diminish his chances on the lanes.

What’s a simpler way of putting that? Oh yeah: routine.

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Speaking Well About Bowling Good

This first installment of The One Board originally appeared in Bowlers Journal International, January, 2016

We’ve all heard it. Most of us have said it. Some of us say it with a twinge of uneasiness, but not enough to stop ourselves. It’s time we eliminate the apprehension and, once and for all, solve the unsolvable.

No, we’re not going to divide by zero, travel through time or throw a perfect game on the Bear pattern without a single Brooklyn. We’re going to answer the question that’s plagued bowling for ages: are you bowling good or bowling well?


In reality, most of us are doing neither. We’re bowling badly. But that’s another debate for another time, even if grammar enthusiasts may have noticed the answer right here in this paragraph.

The distinction between bowling good and bowling well is not the same as between doing good and doing well. Both latter phrases can be correct, but have totally different meanings. You’re either doing good things or doing things well. If you’re a true saint, you’re doing good things well.

Grammatically speaking, the answer is clear and has no room for deviation. You are bowling well. To use boring jargon most American students don’t realize exists until they take a foreign-language class in high school, when you want to describe how you’re bowling (a verb), you need to use an adverb, as that is the part of speech that modifies the verb. “Well” can be used as an adverb, whereas “Good” is most commonly used as an adjective, which is a word that describes a noun. That is, you are a good bowler, which is why it’s no surprise to see you bowling well.

It’s definitive, unrelenting and absolute: according to grammar, “Bowling well” is the proper phrase.

To end the discussion here, though, would slap not just the entire bowling community in the face, but would also throw shade (new bowling-ball name?) at most sports, particularly when played at the highest levels.

The prevalence of “bowling good” is not because bowlers as a whole don’t know what’s grammatically correct, but because it has become ingrained in the culture of the sport, as it also has in so many others. And, if you spend enough time with the best players in the world, you will notice many of them will use the phrase “bowling well” in normal conversation, but in wishing each other well prior to bowling a block, they will almost always say, “Bowl good.”

There’s a certain camaraderie to telling someone to bowl good prior to a block. It shows you’re part of the community of bowlers. You know the vernacular. And, perhaps most important, you’re wishing someone else well, even if you secretly believe the absolute opposite.

Encouragement is positive in almost all cases (the exception being participation trophies—“Hey, kid, congratulations on your mom having a driver’s license and getting you to the game every week”), and if “Bowl good” can supply encouragement from bowler to bowler, then its grammatical fallacies have to carry less weight.

So, then, what’s the answer? We were going to solve the unsolvable here, right? You can say either phrase to a bowler and not be chastised, although you sound less like an outsider if you choose well, which is to say you choose good. Bowling isn’t confusing at all.

The hybrid answer that can get us out of this mess is fairly simple, and despite not being as definitive as we’d like, might please grammarians and bowlers alike. In normal conversation, we will say, “Bowl well,” but in wishing others well, we will say, “Bowl good,” and we will not chastise anyone for accidentally deviating from this decree.

If that’s not decisive enough for you, the only true answer to this question is to stop wishing people well. Or good. Wish them nothing. Prior to a block, simply say to everyone you pass, “Bowl.”

Or, do what I do and avoid the question altogether. “Have fun” seems to work.

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Please Do Not Do Anything

Originally appeared in Bowlers Journal International, October, 2015

Bowling is the true American pastime. Baseball is great, yes, but you don’t need seventeen friends to participate in bowling (in fact, you can get by with zero friends), and you don’t need to own any equipment. Just show up to a bowling center, give somebody some money, grab a bacteria-ridden ball, put on a pair of charmingly disgusting shoes and start hurling heavy spheres.

If society is not ready to proclaim bowling the official national pastime yet, we can at least confidently say it is by far the most accessible sport. Right?


Why, then, does the seemingly most accessible sport require the largest concentration of common-sense rules and advisories to be posted everywhere? If bowling is truly as simple as throwing a ball toward some pins and hoping to knock them down, and anyone of any age can do it, why do people need to be told to remove their wet shoes, avoid stepping past the foul line and resist the overwhelming urge to put their dishes in the garbage?

When you’re a twice-a-year bowler who walks into a bowling center, you are probably doing so with the intent to have fun rather than the intent to be told you’re not allowed to do anything at all.

I’ve never been on a hockey rink with a sign posted in the trapezoid area behind the net informing players “Please Do Not Touch the Puck in This Area if You Are a Goaltender.” Nor have I seen “Please Do Not Step Past the Line of Scrimmage” on any football field.

The answer, as usual in bowling: it’s complicated. If you’ve ever tried to explain to a novice the many nuances of high-level bowling, you know how difficult it is. Something you take for granted (for example, breaking down the oil on the lanes), cannot be explained to the beginner unless you first convince him there is, in fact, oil on the lanes.

Please do not wear bowling shoes outside. Please do not wear street shoes inside. Please do not leave bowling equipment on lockers. Please do not place hands inside ball return. Please do not throw away pizza trays. Please do not sit on the grill. Please do not place tobacco products in urinals. Please do not continue this increasingly ridiculous but completely accurate (except this one) list.

How many people actually sat on that grill before somebody had to post a sign? How much tobacco had to be scraped out of the urinals to warrant an instructive piece of paper above said urinals?

It would be nice if society as a whole understood or respected the concept of not throwing away dishes and silverware. Or not shoving limbs into moving mechanical parts (haven’t people seen Kingpin?). Or not leaving a mess of bowling equipment out in the open.

Instead, due to sheer idiocy and/or opportunistic lawsuits, bowling centers have to protect themselves from these things, thereby transforming the world’s most accessible sport into the world’s most intricately regulated activity. And, of course, this absurd dichotomy is perfect for bowling. Poetic, even.

So, next time you go bowling, get something to eat (but please do not take food into the bowlers’ area). Enjoy some time with friends (but please do not participate in horse play). Put on your bowling shoes (but please do not wear them outside). Bowl an entire game (but please contact the control desk to start the next game). Most of all, have fun (but please do not have fun).