The Journey of the Gutterball King

A few years after graduating from college, a former classmates of mine convinced me to join a bowling league.

I was not really excited about this, at first, for three very good reasons.

1) I am a terrible bowler
2) I am a terrible bowler
3) I am terrible bowler

And did I mention that I am a terrible bowler?

My buddy convinced me that despite my lack of 5-pin proficiency, it would be a fun evening to hang out with the boys.

I felt a little better when I found out we were the youngest team in the league, and most of our opponents were well into their 70s and 80s.

Bowling night came, and I went head-to-head with an old Italian man who was hard of hearing, suffering from some vision loss and seemed to struggle with the weight of the small ball.
He walked up to the lane, dropped the ball and it slowly made its way down the center of the lane.

BANG!!!

The old men celebrated as their teammate scored a strike.

I stood dead center, arched my arm slightly back, then forward, and then I released the ball.

It rolled down the lane dead center but then shifted to the right.

Gutterball.

The next old man limped over to grab their bowling ball.

He walked up to line, dropped the ball and it slowly made its way down the center of the lane.

STRIKE!!!

The sound of old men celebrating was starting to work my nerves.

I stood dead center, arched my arm slightly back, then forward, and then I released the ball.

It rolled down rhe center of the lane, but then shifted to the right.

Gutterball.

In the next lane, an older gentleman who still had all of his original hair and perhaps all of his own teeth approached.

Unlike his teammates, he stood dead center, arched my arm slightly back, then forward and then he released the ball.

STRIKE!!!!!

You have got to be kidding me.

My buddy approaches me and tries to coach me on my form.

I now stand slightly to the left of the center.

I arch my arm slightly back, then foward and then I release the ball.

It’s heading down the center.

YES!!!!

But now it shifting to the right.

NO!!!

It bumps the corner pin and I am finally on the scoreboard.

My teammates pat me on my back, and try to encourage me after my rough start.

I’d like to say my game improveda s the night went on, but that would be a lie.

I’d like to say my game improved tremendously over the season.

Again, that would be a lie.

And even with all my hours of practice, I’d like to say my game improved greatly over the next couple years.

Again, that would be a lie.

As I said earlier, I am a terrible bowler.

Now, don’t get me wrong, even the worst bowler gets a lucky throw that makes its way down the middle, knocks down all the pins, and hears the cheers of his teammates.

I have had that honor on more than one occasion.

I didn’t bowl for those handful of seasons in hopes of becoming the next bowling prodigy.

It could never happen.

I lacked discipline.
I lacked the hand-eye coordination.

I lacked the desire to be a better player.

I was there to hang out with the guys and have fun.

And I did.

Not all of us are meant to be elite bowlers.

We need to work on what we are passionate about and pursue things that we can be great at.

If it’s not for you, don’t sweat it.

Chances are, your greatness is meant for something else.