Notes on the Patented Reverse Spin

There is rampant speculation as to the origins of the spin but no one can say for certain how or when it came to be. Recollections of the chief rollers have proven to be both hazy and unreliable – most likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol consumed during a typical night at the lanes. Most agree, however, that the birth of the patented reverse spin occurred in the early days at Cedarvale Lanes when it was discovered that bowler Try (since renamed Fat) had a unique style of throwing.

Late one contest, or early depending on whose version of events you prefer, one of the other rollers, whose identity is still much in dispute, called out “Your ball is spinning in the wrong direction, dude!” and, in fact, it was. (for the non-bowling casual readers of this blog, it should be explained that typically when a right-hander rolls, the ball will spin in a manner which will cause it to cross the lane from right to left. Many pro bowlers in fact develop a style of purposely spinning the ball in this way. They will send the ball rolling down the right side of the lane, perilously close to falling into the gutter, only to see it spin across the lane for a masterful strike.)

When Try would send his balls down the lanes, however, a curious thing would happen. The rock would spin in the opposite, or reverse, direction. It would start out straight and then slowly move left to right across the lane. At first it was a mere curiosity, something to joke about. But soon, it became apparent that try as Try might try, he could not prevent his balls from spinning in this reverse manner. It remains lost in the fog of rolling lore which bowler decided the reverse spin was patented, but the name has since stuck.

A detailed physical and statistical analysis of Try’s rolling style has yet to yield any explanation as to what causes the spin. Try, who has since become Fat, has attempted to utilize the patented reverse spin to his advantage. He has adjusted his aim, his throwing style, he meticulously plans his outfit; he bowls with his cell phone in the opposite pocket. Thus far, however, the patented reverse spin has yet to bring Fat either of the coveted bowling trophies he has so desperately sought all these many years.

And that, my friends, is the saga of the patented reverse spin. Patent pending.

It's scary out there.

When the lady leaves the house this weekend to hobnob with pals and set the town ablaze with her dazzle, you may want to send her out with an extra can of mase. Or a taser. Why these drastic measures? Well, this man, the infamous toe-sucker, is back on the prowl. He was released earlier this week having served a couple of months in jail after being convicted of assualt and robbery. The story goes something like this: man demands woman's wallet, removes her sandal, and then sucks on her toes. This man should be considered tongued and dangerous. If your gals aren't comfortable carrying a bean bag gun or shank in their cluth, be sure they at least put on the tall boots on their way out the door on Saturday.

Bowling bunny.

I had a dream last night that I went bowling at Cedarvale Lanes. Everyone was there: Andy Hanson, Mike Staloch, Andy Leuer. It was a lot of fun. The beer was flowing freely and even the help seemed courteous and pleasant. I was on top of my game, too. Rolling one turkey after another until I reached the penultimate frame--the ninth. Working on a strike, my eighth in a row, I suddenly realized that all the balls had turned to bunnies. Fluffy bunnies. They were hopping all over the place--off the ball racks, down and across the lanes, on the bar, in our jackets, on top of the video games, and even in the bathrooms. It was fluffy bunnies everywhere. Actually, the scene was rather beautiful. Anyway, there I was in the ninth with a perfect game going and a rabbit squirming in my hands. I looked around to see how other people were bowling these cuddly beasts. It didn't seem promising. Not only do bunnies not roll like a ball, they don't roll at all. I noticed that the best way to throw them was to chuck them back down so they'd skid into the pins. Sadly, if your bunny made it all the way to the pins and remained there long enough to be swept up by the pin clearing arm, it didn't make it back alive. The automatic return ripped them to shreds. So it was a good idea to have a couple of bunnies at your disposal, especially if you had a hot hand. So here goes nothing. Ninth frame. Perfect game. I grab a bunny off the floor. He was scampering by just looking for a piece of grass or something to stuff his maw with, I'd imagine. I grabbed him by the scruff and took my position on the arrows. I peered down at the pins and said outloud, to myself, "I'm going to knock you motherfuckers down." I went into my windup, bringing the bunny back, back, back, taking small steps towards the line. I planted my left foot, swung the right around the back and released the fluffy bunny. Time slowed here. The rabbit twisted in mid air like a cat readying itself to land on all fours. Behind me, Andy Leuer was being quiet as a lamb. The rabbit hit the lane just as I had wanted, on his back, and went rocketing towards the pins. And then I woke up.

Slow start.

This blog is like the fire you've tried to get going out in the wind and cold up north, huddled around with nothing more than your late-summer sweatshirts and beer in your gut to keep you warm. Not to worry, friends. Soon, this baby will be blazing and white-hot. We'll throw our bottles of beer into it and watch them melt before our eyes, shifting shapes and changing colors. But anyway, yeah, that bowling event was a real dandy. Tons of fun. I thought I had Ted for a moment but before I could get a handle on my game, the booze got a handle on me. I remember squinting down there at the ol' pins and willing them to stop moving. It was strange. Nelson kept taking pictures. Yet in this retarded drunken stupor I still clung to the belief that I could win. Well, I didn't. In fact, I think I only had the third best score that not. But fuck if it wasn't fun as hell. I haven't been bowling since, I'm sad to say. Which brings me to this: lets bowl you bastards. As soon as possible. I'm talking a big outing, without trophies or with, very soon. Lets get this together. Word.

Where were you when we needed you? Lanes.

December 20, 2007.  People will ask what happened.  

Some will suggest that true talent rose to the surface. 

Without hesitation, I suggest the lanes held the game back.

Bah.

more to come.

The Booty:

The Arena:

The Players:

and