Chapter Two: Going Spare

Five years ago I started working at Pizza Hut and was obliged to attend a team building day at our nearest bowling alley. Two games later, I emerged as the clear loser of a fifty-strong group, and was rewarded with a certificate and a lacklustre round of applause. I haven't bowled since, but with the combination of overpriced snacks, ugly shoes and middle-aged men in polyester trousers, that has hardly been a handicap. Memories of a coachful of people better than me still lingered though, so when I was invited to spend a few hours learning how to bowl I jumped at the chance to gain a skill I had for so long avoided.
I arrived in Lewisham ready for my lesson, and met Ashley Collins (right, with his trusted, weighted ball), a 20 year old who had worked as a manager at the local alley for just over a year. The end of the summer holidays meant that I was the only customer in the underground venue except for a team of pensioners practicing for a league match, so after a quick introduction, we got started. Ashley thought it best to start me off with the bumpers up, and as he observed my technique (when I say technique, I mean missing every pin despite the barriers that blocked most of the gutter) I didn't even want to acknowledge how bad I was. I was clearly in the right hands though; Ashley had been bowling for years and, luckily for me, didn't take the sport as seriously as some of the senile enthusiasts a few lanes over. After watching me 'bowl' for a while, we paused to rectify some problems (how to actually hold a bowling ball, for example) , discussed the logistics of the sport, and the difference between an aggressive and a non-aggressive ball; I, unsurprisingly, was not ready for aggression, and stuck with my 10 pounder. As the bumpers came down at the insistence of a spirited old man who had been watching from behind the ball-rack, Ashley and I made a breakthrough; the little brown spots that make lines on the run-up actually mean something, indicating prime points from which to start the steps. Bowling, it appears, is all about what feels natural, and while there are of course measures to improve, getting better is about finding the best starting point and series of steps for you. After a couple of gutter balls it became clear that I tend to draw too far to the left, and so bowling from the left side meant a more central path and, therefore, a more accurate shot. Before I knew it I was bowling like a, well, not a pro, but certainly a normal Pizza Hut employee, and as I perfected the 'right foot, left foot, ball back, sink on the right foot, let go at the centre, keep your arm straight' technique (also known as 'just throw the damn ball') I was getting frequent spares and even a few strikes. Embarrassment at failing at perhaps the most poorly rated sport in the world was fading, and while I was clearly nowhere near the level of those whose names adorned honorary 300 point plaques, it was nice to have noticed a marked improvement.
Becoming a better bowler, however, came at a definite price. The constant lunging, throwing and heavy lifting (I was born the same weight as my ball; my poor mother) was surprisingly exhausting after an hour and a half, and even as I type now my middle and ring finger are aching. I even have a thumb blister, which I think counts as my first sports injury. My school P.E. teacher would be proud. Sort of. So despite a shaky start and the shadow of my previous failure hanging over me, I discovered a new ability to bowl in a basement in Lewisham. Even the shoes are growing on me.