| SpongeOsophy Essay "LOVE OF THE GAME" Is bowling a sport or a game? |
Most professionals cringe when we hear our sport referred to as a “game.” After
all, we want to be taken seriously as professional athletes. We want our skills to
be appreciated. We would like to have the million dollar prize funds akin to
professional golf. So when you are talking to a professional and he cringes at the
word “game” please be patient.
To me, however, this sport of mine is still a game. It is a game I fell in love with
when I was four years old. It was a game I could play with my parents. When they
allowed me to join a league at age 4, it became like a game I played at recess.
Not only was it something we played to win, it was something we played to
socialize.
I remember at age 4 watching bowling on television and being amazed at how
easy the late Dick Weber made this game look. I remember being amazed at the
thought of these men getting PAID to have fun! Way back then, I dreamed of
doing the same thing, playing this game for money.
When I got the bad news from the doctor in 1996, I decided to chase that
childhood dream before time ran out for me. I must admit that it no longer was a
game to me, but a sport if not an obsession. It became not just about a dream,
but about proving doctors wrong. It became about showing the disabled that if
you want something bad enough, adapt and dedicate your life to it, you can do
wonderful things. Seven years of work went into qualifying for the PBA Regional
Tour. I remember the elation I felt when I threw that last ball to qualify.
I am realistic about my abilities as a professional bowler. I will probably never win
a dime. To me though, getting there was, and is enough.
The occasions when I am healthy enough to enter a tournament, I go in there
hungry to do well. I fully intend to do my best and bring home that first paycheck.
I walk in the door looking to beat the competition to a pulp in our wonderful sport.
I put on my shoes, prep my thumb, etc., getting that mental intensity I need to
shred the pocket and score my best. I walk to the bowling area and place my
balls on the return and wait for practice to start. We throw our warm up balls and
I get what my caddie calls “the mean and hungry look” and throw strike after strike.
Then something strange happens. The score keeper lights up and it is for real. I
suddenly remember being told I would never work again. I remember how hard it
was to learn to walk again. I remember how I had to rebuild my arms by at first
lifting soup cans. I remember being told that time was running out, make myself
comfortable and enjoy what was left. Then I look to my left and right and see that
I am bowling beside the greats of today’s game, like D’Entremont, Himmler, and
others. Once again I am 4 years old, playing a game with my friends. The
hungry sportsman is gone. I am just happy that I was feeling good enough today
to step on the approach. Childhood dreams do come true, if we only believe in
them enough.
As I hold my ball on the approach and try to focus through tears, I remember
something from long ago.
I do so love this game.
Be well,
Sponge
11/21/2005
all, we want to be taken seriously as professional athletes. We want our skills to
be appreciated. We would like to have the million dollar prize funds akin to
professional golf. So when you are talking to a professional and he cringes at the
word “game” please be patient.
To me, however, this sport of mine is still a game. It is a game I fell in love with
when I was four years old. It was a game I could play with my parents. When they
allowed me to join a league at age 4, it became like a game I played at recess.
Not only was it something we played to win, it was something we played to
socialize.
I remember at age 4 watching bowling on television and being amazed at how
easy the late Dick Weber made this game look. I remember being amazed at the
thought of these men getting PAID to have fun! Way back then, I dreamed of
doing the same thing, playing this game for money.
When I got the bad news from the doctor in 1996, I decided to chase that
childhood dream before time ran out for me. I must admit that it no longer was a
game to me, but a sport if not an obsession. It became not just about a dream,
but about proving doctors wrong. It became about showing the disabled that if
you want something bad enough, adapt and dedicate your life to it, you can do
wonderful things. Seven years of work went into qualifying for the PBA Regional
Tour. I remember the elation I felt when I threw that last ball to qualify.
I am realistic about my abilities as a professional bowler. I will probably never win
a dime. To me though, getting there was, and is enough.
The occasions when I am healthy enough to enter a tournament, I go in there
hungry to do well. I fully intend to do my best and bring home that first paycheck.
I walk in the door looking to beat the competition to a pulp in our wonderful sport.
I put on my shoes, prep my thumb, etc., getting that mental intensity I need to
shred the pocket and score my best. I walk to the bowling area and place my
balls on the return and wait for practice to start. We throw our warm up balls and
I get what my caddie calls “the mean and hungry look” and throw strike after strike.
Then something strange happens. The score keeper lights up and it is for real. I
suddenly remember being told I would never work again. I remember how hard it
was to learn to walk again. I remember how I had to rebuild my arms by at first
lifting soup cans. I remember being told that time was running out, make myself
comfortable and enjoy what was left. Then I look to my left and right and see that
I am bowling beside the greats of today’s game, like D’Entremont, Himmler, and
others. Once again I am 4 years old, playing a game with my friends. The
hungry sportsman is gone. I am just happy that I was feeling good enough today
to step on the approach. Childhood dreams do come true, if we only believe in
them enough.
As I hold my ball on the approach and try to focus through tears, I remember
something from long ago.
I do so love this game.
Be well,
Sponge
11/21/2005
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