WHEN SURVEYING THE TROPHY CASE in our home, people often say: “Tell us about
your bowling trophy,” frequently just after asking, “So, what’s this archery trophy all
about?”
The archery trophy is easy. My lovely and talented wife took second place in a bare
bow archery competition — an impressive feat — unless you consider that there were
only two contestants in her division. The trophy could easily say: “Last Place.”
But in our household any hardware for any accomplishment, including just filling out an
entry form, is worthy of prominent display. For example, my wife also has a Phi Beta
Kappa key which she displays in her office — it doesn’t even open anything.
Meanwhile, back at an award truly worthy of note, My Bowling Trophy memorializes
perhaps my greatest moment in sport: when my team representing the Howard W.
Odum Institute for Research in Social Science won the University of North Carolina
Faculty, Staff and Graduate Student Intramural League Bowling Championship 10
years ago or so.
I can’t remember all of my team mates, but George McCarthy was one, along with his
cute little wife. She rolled the ball approximately three miles an hour. Sometimes she
got strikes. Noel Field was another. He knocked holes out the back wall of the alley
with his fireballs — often leaving 7-10 splits. I think that Walter Davis was on the team
— if that was before he blew his knee out playing basketball.
David Sheaves was definitely on the team. David is from Ohio where bowling is not a
sport; it’s a religion. He could actually bowl. He was so good he had his own ball —
and shoes. He was so good didn’t even put his fingers in the holes. That good.
I, on the other hand, am a formally trained bowler, having taken bowling in P.E. as a
Lifetime Sport in college.
Like fellow UNC alumnus and world-class athlete Antawn Jamison, who after getting all
the academic credits he needed to complete his academic degree, in three years, still
could not graduate because he had not passed the swimming test, I almost received a
“Certificate of Attendance” from Furman University — in my case because of bowling.
For the entire semester, I faithfully attended Bowling 101, which was comprised
primarily of, you guessed it, bowling. I consistently bowled about 136 per game,
although I do remember one day bowling strikes and spares galore including a career
high game of 186. I was bowling so well that when my right arm got tired, I switched to
my left and I was still making strikes and spares. That was a bizarre aberration.
Passing the bowling test was required for passing P.E. — regardless of how high your
scores were on the rigorous written test on foot faults and scoring a spare. In the first
week of class, I had bowled a three-game series of 408, an average of 136. Good
enough to pass the class (with 400 being the necessary minimum) — but it didn’t count.
Only after rigorous instruction, expert training and dedicated practice were we allowed
to be officially tested. At semester’s end, I took the test — and failed. One terrifying re-
take was allowed — and P.E. was required for graduation. I passed with an average of
about 136.
I could speed up the whole story of the league championship trophy by saying that I
bowled great, rolling new career highs in each of the three games, leading the team to
victory while garnering the Most Valuable Bowler Trophy — but I won’t, because I
didn’t. I bowled like I almost always do.
I bowled, as I remember it, 136 for the first game. The only remarkable thing was that
my first game of 136 was higher than Dave Sheaves’ score. This was not good.
The team fell behind by fifty pins. The next game I bowled a 135. Dave bowled better
but barely up to his usual. The team was still behind substantially. For my final game I
bowled, you guessed it, a 136. We were still significantly behind with only one lane left
to finish.
Dave was still rolling and had been doing better but with a single frame to go, we still
lagged. Statistical consultant that I was, I quickly calculated that we could win — but
only if Dave “struck out” — which in bowling, unlike softball, is good. In the last frame,
if you roll a strike with your first ball, you get to roll two more. “Striking out” is bowling
a strike with each of last three balls. Championship MVP Dave struck out — and so our
team won.
So, to answer your question, I got a trophy for being on Dave’s team.
Gary D. Gaddy has exchanged bowling mediocrity while being on championship teams
for tennis mediocrity while being on championship teams.
A version of this story was published in the Chapel Hill Herald on Thursday October 9,
2008.
Copyright 2008 Gary D. Gaddy
garygaddy.com 