It is perhaps the loneliest sixty feet in existence. That
is, the distance from the end of a bowler’s sliding foot and shining porcelain
curvature of the number 1 pin in a standard bowling lane. The pin stares at you
with an inviting glare, begging you to topple it backwards, and send its nine
compatriots scurrying into the dark alley pits below.
Tonight, those sixty feet of varnished American oak will be
your test, the cost of admission into a greater existence. To accept this
challenge is to accept life. And as you wind back, the flex of your forearm
tightening your once delicate grip, you are making a pact with the universe to
send this majestic rock home. It does not belong to you, no. For you are merely
a vessel, returning it to its rightful place.
And once you have fulfilled your destiny and cleared the
lane, you will find peace. Because, as Ernie “Big Ern” McCracken once mused, “You're
on a gravy train with biscuit wheels.”
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