book- bowling

(Place on page 11, after para 6)

I looked forward to our Sunday nights at the alleys. Dad would always buy my a box of salty Bachman pretzels and a Coke before the match started. Uncle Frannie would often sit with me at a little table to watch the action. He was the cheerleader of the team, calling out encouragement, often repeating his phrases."Let's go! Let's go!" he would yell above the crashing of pins, bowling balls hitting the wood and the murmur of chatter up and down the alleys.

He had a distinct way of bowling. After he released the ball, he would creeping softly away from the line, like a cat on a hot summer pavement, clenching his fist until he saw his custom black bowling ball crashing into the left pocket, scattering pins everywhere. Bowlers had a lingo all their own, and Uncle Frannie knew the jargon. "Whoa! Whoa! It's going Jersey!" (the ball crossed over the 1 pin); "Get two!" he would instruct a teammate going for a spare: or the famous " "oh, brother!" which could be both good or bad, depending on the result.

Every fall into spring  we chased the dream of a championship season, just like our Phillies. Every year we came up short ( just like our Phillies). And after Dad passed on, I never went to the alleys again. It just would'nt be the same without him. Some 40 years later we found three of his bowling balls and a box full of his dusty trophies in the basement. Those relics of days gone by may have gathered dust over time, but my memories of all the exciting moments at the alleys with my father and my uncle would live forever.