Michigan is known for being the bowling capital of the world.
"...the number of bowlers and alleys per capita in Michigan has always been among the highest in the U.S., due, in part, to the proliferation of auto company leagues, a phenomenon that stretched out into other workplaces."
-Mark Martin, the association manager of the Metro Detroit U.S. Bowling Congress, from the Detroit Free Press 5/9/15
Bowling Alleys were a part of my upbringing. My parents met at a dance at Continental Lanes in Roseville. Adults around me all seemed to belong to bowling leagues. Elementary school field trips were often to bowl.
Yesterday we bowled ourselves silly at Bellaire Lanes and Games. Recently remodeled and reopened by new owners, without a trace of cigarettes from its previous life.
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I typically bowl double digits--even with bumpers.
But, my ball matches my shirt!
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BY REGAN
HUFF
Alice's
first strike gets a pat on the back,
her second a
cheer from Betty Woszinski
who's just
back from knee surgery. Her
third—
"A
turkey!" Molly calls out—raises everyone's eyes.
They clap. Teresa looks up from the
bar.
At the
fourth the girls stop seeing their own pins wobble.
They watch
the little X's fill the row on Alice's screen—
That's
five. That's six. There's a holy space
around her
like a saint come down to bowl
with the
Tuesday Ladies in Thorp, Wisconsin.
Teresa runs
to get Al, and Fran calls Billy
at the
Exxon. The bar crowds with
silent men.
No one's
cheering. No one's bowling
now
except
Alice's team, rolling their balls
to advance
the screen around to Alice, who's stopped
even her
nervous laugh, her face blank and smooth
with
concentration. It can't go
on
and then it
does go on, the white bar
reading
"Silver Dollar Chicken" lowering and clearing
nothing,
then lowering and clearing nothing again.
Poem copyright ©2008 by Regan Huff
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