In Good Company: The Bowling Bag
...When bowling ladies don’t turn up for matches or if they are late they are ‘scratched.’ ‘Does it hurt, mum?’ our small daughter once asked. It certainly does, and nearly happened to a friend and me recently...
In this column, first published a number of years ago, Enid Blackburn tells of the frustrations of being a lady bowler.
Most Sunday afternoons when sensible wives are snoozing under a newspaper I can be seen pointing my bowling bag in the direction of yet another competition. With husband’s advice, ‘Don’t be short,’ meaning aim far enough, ringing through my hairspray – I throw my first wood. It screams off the green and into the gutter and the fight for supremacy has begun. End after end I trail – jaws exhausted with gum chewing – voice croaky with cursing. All too soon I’m smashing my woods back into their nest ready to proceed to the ‘if only’ stage.
If only she hadn’t done this, if only I had thought, if only the sky would fall – if only I could bowl.
Naturally husband has to take his share. If only he hadn’t been so insulting. If only he didn’t prophesy exactly how far away from winning each bowl would be – before it leaves my hand. If only he could be wrong for once. If only he would shut up. Then there was that match when he kept his mouth shut and I lost 21-2.
I am convinced that there is some vital ingredient hitherto undiscovered by me, which produces winners. We see it every year at Wimbledon, but what is it? Tracey Austin believes in talking to herself. ‘I had to keep talking to myself,’ she confessed, after beating Billy-Jean, ‘Telling myself to stay under control and forget BJ had won almost everything there was to win.’
Jimmy Connors had mom accompanied by his coach who was reprimanded for coaching from the sidelines. His advice? ‘Take your time, don’t get careless.’ American College football coach Woody Hayes always insists his players keep straight faces. ‘You just don’t laugh your way to victory,’ he warns. Words we should have carved on our bowling bags.
‘You chat around in groups instead of shouting each other to victory,’ nags my husband. ‘But that’s all they go for, dad, a natter and a laugh, winning is just a bonus,’ grins son.
When one sees the bitchiness that overzealousness can produce – happiness seems the lesser evil. I once saw a Monty Python sketch where John Cleese and mate walked into a strange house and proceeded to insult the hostess. When she protested, he threw her into a chair saying ‘Sit down, it’s only a bit of fun.’
This remark bubbles on my lips whenever I am confronted by autocratic females. Petty officialdom pollutes many English sports. Martina Navratilova was reunited with her mum who came all those miles only to be refused entry to Wimbledon because she hadn’t a ticket.
When bowling ladies don’t turn up for matches or if they are late they are ‘scratched.’ ‘Does it hurt, mum?’ our small daughter once asked. It certainly does, and nearly happened to a friend and me recently.
Our smiles were not returned as we ‘signed in’ and we were heavily told off for not anticipating six bowlers would not turn up, making our games earlier. Several pairs of eyes shot venom–we ought to be scratched. In case there was still a glimmer of joy left in us, we were told, ‘This is no laughing matter.’
A sun-tanned lady wearing dark glasses whined on about having to sit in the sun with nothing to do but wait. I felt my claws begin to bristle, then we were finally forgiven and allowed to play. But no doubt about it – we were in the ‘sin bin’ for a while and lost the game as well.
