When I lived in Salt Lake over the summer, I went bowling with a few friends one evening. We had a great time throwing that ball down the lane, celebrating each time it wasn’t a gutter ball. A rare spare or (heaven forbid) a strike practically qualified us for a moment of silence and a national holiday dedicated to our names.
This whole time we were bowling, however, I kept getting distracted by the guy one lane over. The score board showed his name, “Bill.” There was nothing special about his appearance. He was playing by himself and was probably in his early 20’s. He was kind of stocky, kind of hunched, wore glasses, and seemed maybe a little shy, but man this kid could bowl.
Nearly every time he rolled, it was a strike. His score board showed more X’s and /’s than numbers. When he’d roll a nine, he’d shake his head in disgust before picking off that last pin with a direct shot straight towards it. After four or five turns, he surpassed my high score.
After watching him for a few games, I couldn’t take it any longer. I challenged him.
“Hey, Bill,” I said.
He looked over a little confused, “Yeah?”
“You’re really good! Do you come here a lot?” I soon found out he was on a bowling league for his school and came to practice as often as he could. His high score is a 300.
Yes, a perfect score.
These were just minute details, however, for what was about to be the ultimate showdown. Bill didn’t know what he had coming for him. “Alright Bill, I challenge you to a duel,” I said with my best sneer.
He looked at my current score of 64, raised an eyebrow and replied with an, “okay?” You could practically taste the fear in his voice.
No real challenge ever goes without its specific regulations though, so I set a few minor ones, “You give me 150 points for free, and I’ll take you on.” I sounded really tough, I promise.
“Wait, so like I give you a 150-point handicap?”
“Uh, yeah.” Okay so it sounded less and less cool every second.
He wrinkled his brow and then, “Okay, let’s go,” said Bill.
And so, our battle commenced. After some initial stretches and trash talking, we were ready to go. I think by this point my friends were probably slapping their foreheads wondering why on Earth they let me come with them. But it was game time.
We rolled the first ball. Bill got a strike. I got a gutter ball. I was warming up.
We took our second turn. Bill got a strike. I got a three. See?
As the game went on, I could tell Bill was starting to sweat. My fours and fives were adding up quickly. Besides, he got a few nines and eights that were practically pointing and laughing at him. How embarrassing. Just when he thought he had it in the bag, bam! A seven. Take that, Bill.
Bill was getting nervous. His little laughs and head-shakings were just his way of faking me out. It didn’t work.
Finally, we were down to our last roll. Bill had just ended his game. His total? 235.
I could totally take that, right? My score was a whoppin’ 79. All I needed to do was roll a seven.
I picked up that ball, took a deep breath and give it a little air kiss for good luck. I held my breath in anticipation as I let it slip through my fingers and watched that ball float down the lane to the pins. I could barely take the suspense. Some crashed down, some didn’t. I looked up in desperate hope, and practically cried. Five.
I lost…?
I lost.
Oh no I lost! By two points! Oh, my life was over. Over! 150 free points and I still lost! Well, I suppose bowling is just not my calling in life. Bill was a gallant winner though. He didn’t even rub it in my face that he just destroyed me.
A few months later, I went back to that bowling alley, with the same friends in fact. Who should be behind the counter handing me an old pair of ugly size 7 shoes, but Bill himself. “Hey, Bill!” I said, “Remember me?” He raised that eyebrow again. “Remember when I challenged you and you totally crushed me even with a 150-point handicap?”
And then, his face cracked into a smile. “Oh yeah. Hey.” Well, if I can’t have a sworn enemy, at least I have a friend.
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