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04 March 2009 @ 08:52 am
I can't think of God-damned anything but tonight's extreme bowling bonanza. What makes a man, Mr. Lebowski? Is it feeling the trecherous fear of an impending battle on the greasy lanes for what is ostensibly all the marbles, yet maintaining the courage to puff out your chest, look that fear right in its cold, black eyes, and be unequivocally certain that you will, under no circumstances, fail to reach the goal that is your charge?

With my bloated average ensconced in the 150s, I can't fail to do what I pretty much did last week - 40 some-odd pins over that. No let downs. Get out there, get on top of those pins early, and let the magic happen!

I'm on a team who, quite frankly, can't seem to rise to the occasion when the pressure is at its maximum. So, I've got to lead by example. I've got to give the rest of my team the confidence it needs to relax and bowl the way they're capable of bowling. And since I'm the first bowler in the rotation, I've got to do this off the bat.

My first ball has to be a strike or a 9-spare. It's got to be on target and balanced, in the groove, crashing into the pocket. I've got to exude quiet intensity, saving the drama for your proverbial mama.

I've really never been so psyched or amped up for anything like this. I've been involved in for-fun sporting events, sure. I've even had a major hand in outcomes like this, as many a backyard baseball game could attest to. But, this is for a little something more. Sure, I'm a part of a team, but it's only a 4-person team; any flag football operation I've been part of, I've never amounted nearly to a quarter of the production. Plus, this is for money. Maybe the cash prize isn't all that impressive, but shit man, I'm PAYING for this. Every week, $13, for 30 some-odd weeks! That's a lot of cabbage and if I want my money's worth, I have to take advantage of any opportunity that's going to place my team in the final four.

But really, I just want the glory. I want the respect of my bowling peers. Because, with the exception of a select few, I absolutely can't STAND my bowling peers. Most of them are a bunch of assholes who take this thing WAY too fucking seriously. And this week we play the team who reinstated the foul line, because apparently the last time we played them my toe slipped one too many times. Forget the fact that I've rolled dominantly since, and forget that they were severely underperforming. I. Hate. This. Team. And I'd do anything to stick it to their cock-filled faces.

Losing isn't on the table any more, my friends. My friends, winning is our only solution. And let me say this about that: when we win, my friends, the revelry will pour out into the streets of Tacoma. For Bowlshit will have come home to roost, perched alongside the Mt. Rushmore of the Wednesday Nighters for 2008/2009. And the last quarter will all be cake, snowballing the momentum on the way to the final championship weeks at the end.