The Roots

He stands at midcourt, waiting for me to come up to him.  Dribbling the basketball between his legs and doing some of his “trademark” tricks, I keep my eyes on the ball at all times and remain undaunted as I approach him. 

“Quit playing, and let’s go already!” his teammate yells at him.

The scattered spectators along the court have already begun to leave.  The coach sits on the sidelines and tosses his clipboard down onto the side, crossing his arms, yawning.  On the sidelines for two hours already, he is bored out of his mind, but the current commotions on the court draw his attention back into the game.  Seeing his star point guard unsuccessfully harassing me, he picks up the clipboard and scrambles to find my name and picture.

Unwavering from his task, the guard picks up his speed of his dribbles and he prepares to attack.  He jogs up to me and crosses over, and that’s when I make my move.

My fingers nip the smooth surface of the ball as it passes by me.  It hangs in the air for a split second, but by then he has already moved away too far to maintain his handle.  He lets out a silent gasp, and I grab the ball and sprint down the other end of the court, all alone for a wide open layup. 

I gently tap the ball against the glass, banking it.  It whirls around the rim, and to my disappointment and everyone else’s surprise, it rolls out.  The coach chuckles to himself and puts down his clipboard again.  The game continues but it doesn’t really have any impact on him whatsoever.  I vow to myself never to play basketball again.

              

                                                     ***

“Dude, come on, it‘ll be fun!”

“Yeah, man, what do you got to lose?”

“Imagine how cool you would be if you got on.  ‘Hi, I’m Simon Man.  I’m on the bowling team!’”

I had to find another sport.  I want to be one of those athletic guys who make the headlines in the school newspaper every other week for their life-defining accomplishments, not because they missed an open layup at the JUNIOR varsity basketball tryouts.  With my friends badgering me about the upcoming tryouts in two weeks, I play around with the idea.  I know I’m going to go.  It was just the matter of the reason of why I would go.  Should I try out just for the fun of it?  Or should I really brush up and prepare for some intense competition at the tryouts?

“Oh, by the way, we’re heading to the alley this weekend.  There’s a tournament for $500.  $1 buy-in.  How about it?  You can brush up on your skills.”

Now I know what I’m going to do.

Tryouts, Part 1

I am showered with darkness as I take my first steps into Stuy’s home bowling alley.  The familiar sound of pins shattering and balls thudding on the lanes greets me as the DJ blasts and mixes some pop tunes.  I head toward the recognizable crowd of high school students.  The bowling coach, just as stern-looking as the basketball one, takes down our names and spreads us out.  I wind up on the same lane as some of the returning members.

BAM.  Strike.  BAM.  Another strike.  They keep on coming, and my feeble spares cannot keep up with the scores of the pros.  I try to focus in more on the target and not listen to the conversations that buzz behind me.  I walk into my routine and start on my backswing.  Suddenly the bowler in the next lane sprints up from behind me and slides into his shot, bringing all ten pins down and a roar of cheers in the background.  I force myself to stop midway through my routine and start over.  Glancing quickly at the crowd of spectators as I head back to the beginning of the lane, I notice the coach watching my every move. 

My hands freeze and become icy cold but sweaty.  The house ball I am holding becomes very heavy and uncomfortable, and my fingers jam in the holes.  I take quick, deep breaths and try to calm myself. 

“Come on, already!” people start to yell and jeer.

I run into my routine and swing furiously.  The ball rumbles off course down the lane and smacks two pins down, sending the crowd into a fury of snickers.  Trying to keep a poker face on, I walk back to the start and prepare myself for a good spare shot.  “OK, I have to make this spare.  This will show the coach that I can control my emotions.  I can do this.” 

The ball comes thundering back from the return machine and slams into my finger, which isn’t supposed to be there.  I flinch in pain, killing the straight face and causing me to wince.  Pretending nothing happened, I focus on my target of the third arrow from the right and, with deep breaths, I march on forward and launch a decent swing.

The ball rolls smoothly down the lane this time, and promptly creams the remaining eight pins, silencing all my doubters.  I head back to my seat with a triumphant look on my face, even though it isn’t much of a big deal.  The coach comes over and asks, “What’s your name, son?”

“Simon Man.”

“Alright, Simon, I’ll see you tomorrow during the second cut.”

Tryouts, Part 2

The rampage of strikes and spares continues.  The guys who made the second cut are decent and have some experience of some type bowling in a competitive situation.  They know how to drown out background noises, distractions, and make even the worst circumstances to bowl doable.  With focused game faces and steady hands,  these guys put on a show.

Nevertheless, I continue my string of spares.  Just as undaunted as from facing the point guard from the basketball tryouts, I keep my head up and focus on making the pins I don’t make the first time.  That’s what is good about bowling.  You get a second chance.  There would be no such thing as redoing that missed layup.  A miss is a miss.  Here, you get two shots to nail ten pins.

Simplifying the sport makes it easier for me.  I finish with a 184 and a 167, higher than many other people who just struck a few times and didn’t finish their job on the rest.  The coach comes over to me and asks the same question in a different way.  “Simon, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“See you at tomorrow’s practice.”

First Match Jitters

The words HARLEM LANES shine big and bright as we approach.  My first match of my high school career and my first bowling match of my life is going to be an away game.  Facing one of the more decent teams in the division, we had two practices that week before heading uptown.

Quiet as an abandoned house, this bowling alley had no noise whatsoever.  There is no DJ; high school kids are not to be found; and no one is bowling.  Only the soft whirring noises of the ball return could be faintly heard. 

Our opponents are already there, and they’re sitting silently scattered across the four lanes.  The A team is all huddled up, as the captain is making some speech trying to pump them up.  The B team, however, is completely unemotional; their faces are as blank as a piece of clean paper.

Our captain brings us all together.  “Alright, guys, this is our first match.  For some of us, it was nice to take a break.   Now is the time to get back to business.  For the rest of us, this is a new beginning.  This is your new chance to shine and show everyone what you’re made of.  But listen.  We’re undefeated for the past three years.  That means we’re going to have to play extra hard to keep that going for four seasons.  Alright?  Let’s bring it in, bros.  Stuyvesant on three!  One, two, three!

“STUYVESANT!” we bellow.

                The match consists of A, B, and C games.  The A and the B of one school play the two from the other, and it is best out of 3 games.  Expecting that I would sit out the first match and play with the other rookies on the C team, I am quite surprised to hear my coach’s voice.  “Simon!  Get up there!   You’re on the B team!  Let’s do this!”

                Wow, B team?  Is he crazy?  Putting a rookie on the main team?  Once again undaunted, I step up to the lane and prepare to do what I always do.  Hands shaking and knees seeming to lose control, I grip the ball as tightly as possible as if someone is about to rob me of it.  I look ahead, and everything just seems strange.  The pins seem further away than usual, and the abnormally glossy lanes shine back at me.  The approach appears to be closing in on me, and I am just helplessly gripping a bowling ball. 

                My pin count in my first ever shot in my high school career: 6.   A heavy hit, it misses the 1-3 pocket by several inches and collapses the right side.  Now I can focus on the left.  Seeing the third arrow as a viable target, I set my feet onto the right board and take my aim.  Walking into my swing, I launch the ball slightly too hard, causing it to float down the lane as opposed to rolling it.  It never turns left, and I don’t get my spare.

                A few more missed spares, and the captain comes over.  He signals me to follow him and when we get the point of privacy, he lets me know.  “Simon, I know that you can do this, alright?  We’ve been through this many times in practice.  Now concentrate and don’t let this environment ruin your game.  This is your time!  Now take advantage and help us beat these guys.”

                After massaging my shoulders for a few seconds, he heads back to the A team bench, cheering and high-fiving the other members of his squad.  Becoming more motivated than before, I sit back down and think about ways to improve my approach.

              A few more misses, and the other team is falling apart.  Now is my first chance to shine.  Breathe.  Hold the ball with control, but not too tightly.  The second arrow from the right.  The 18^th board also from the right.  Plant my feet firmly on that board.  Left foot in front, four steps.  Last step slide with the left.  And BAM.

Strike in 8^th, 9^th, and 10^th frames, and I finish with a 160, redeeming myself from a horrendous start, and I spark our B team to victory, 550-532.  The A team finish off their end, and we take the match easily 2-0, marking my first ever match sweet.

Strength & Balance at the Line

Manhattan Individuals Tournament

                There are several different kinds of pressure.  There is a kind where you have to do well in order to get what you want, to lead your team to victory.  Then there is the kind of pressure that you feel when you know the circumstances favor you, and you have to do well.  Anything less would be a disappointment.

Just a handful of the city’s best bowlers come together during this one match.  Every man for himself.  But it’s Manhattan, not Staten Island.  The standards to qualify aren’t that hard.  Top three bowlers in the tournament with the highest scores qualify to play in the city’s biggest individual tournament of the year.

My average misses the qualifying mark by a few pins, but Coach pulls some strings along with the fact that there aren’t enough participants to make up a tournament.  I stand among the worst bowlers in the competition.  The pressure to do exceptionally well is higher than ever watching all those gutter balls go down the drain.

My first two games I finish with 170 and 168, putting me into 5^th place in the match.  If there was one place I didn’t want to finish, I didn’t want to finish 4^th and just miss the cutoff to go for the biggest event of my athletic life. 

A couple of throws in, I’m heading for around the same score.  I step away from the lanes area and head into the bathroom, trying to calm my nerves down.  Splashing cold water onto my face, I keep telling myself, “Come on, dude, this is your chance!  Take it!”  After staring at myself fiercely for a good minute, I head back out, slightly more motivated than before.  I become more methodical with my approach.  I make sure I take the correct amount of steps, and slide with the perfect timing and strength.  Striking out from the 8^th frame, I finish strong with a 194, stealing 3^rd place in the borough of Manhattan by five pins and earning my first bowling medal ever.

My Moment

The bright party lights at the Leisure Time Bowl glare down at me.  Dance music booms in the background, as non competitive bowlers take in some fun out of this leisure sport.  Little kids running around back and forth make some of the highest pitched noise in the alley.

624-630.  Stuy is down by six pins in the last ball, and it’s all up to me.  We have been undefeated in the regular season for the past four years, and the continuation of that trend is all up to me.

I am standing at the rack, waiting for the ball to return.  Sparing the last ball gives me a third shot in the 10^th frame, and it’s six or die here for this final throw.   My teammates are whispering in the back, too scared to take bets this time.  Coach is staring at the screen, too dazed out to even glance at me and see what is running through my mind. 

One thing about being captain and being a team leader in general is that you have to be the trend setter, to lead by example.  I have always preached about coming through in the clutch, because as my favorite athlete Dwyane Wade once said, “If you can make a shot in practice, why can’t you make that same shot when you really need it?”  But now, it’s time to walk the walk.  There isn’t going to be any more preaching from me unless I make this shot.

The pinsetters finish their job as a clean rack of ten pins face me.  I pick up my ball and prepare myself for the routine.  Finding my spot on the boards and the arrows, I brace myself. 

But I stop.  I realize that this is never going to happen to me again.  Never will a team need me as much as it does right now.  I will never have to make such a crucial bowling shot in my whole life again.  I HAVE to make at least six pins. 

Breathe.  Hold the ball with control, but not too tightly.  The second arrow from the right.  The 18^th board also from the right.  Plant my feet firmly on that board.  Left foot in front, four steps.  Last step slide with the left.

I let go of that once-in-a-lifetime shot with my hardest throw.  The blur of red and blue rolls down the lane, and I can’t believe that all my hard work boils down to a few moments in this hot, sweaty alley. 

Captain is captain, as one of my teammates says.  And it’s true.  That blur of color barrels through the pins as everyone hears one of the best sounding strikes in a long time.  Undefeated in my captain season.  Undefeated for five seasons straight.