Professional Bowlers Association

**Disclaimer:  The following blog is about the second part of my road trip across most of the western United States.   If you were anxiously awaiting the follow-up to Road Trip, please accept my apologies.  If you have no idea what I’m referring to (it’s ok, I won’t be offended if you don’t - well, maybe just a little), my name is Andrew, this is my Angle, and here’s a link to Part One!  End disclaimer**

And I thought Southern Nevada was desolate...

Following my finish in the Masters, I opted not to head home.  Instead, I loaded up my trusty workhorse of a vehicle and headed across the blanket of empty desert that plagues Northern Nevada.

Plagues?

While I thought things couldn’t be worse than the Vegas-Reno jaunt, I stood corrected as I discovered I-80 east of Reno.  Much like the last kid picked in a kickball game, this stretch of land got left out.  Dirt, an oddball hill or two, and the occasional cactus were the only scenery surrounding blacktop that aimlessly snaked through the blank Earth.  At least it wasn’t completely flat..

After passing Winnemucca and Elko (if you have to ask, Winne-what?, I can attest that Google Maps will point you right to it!), the Utah border pops up right over the horizon.  That’s when the Bonneville Salt Flats appear, and yes, they are really, really, really flat.  If Columbus had been able to sail inland in 1492, he may have changed his mind about this “Earth is round” nonsense.  The Flats were extremely cool, however, and being a big car buff, I certainly appreciate the history attached to this landspeed record site.  I stopped in Salt Lake City for the night, having reached the halfway point to Denver and the Don and Paula Carter Mixed Doubles.

As a stark contrast to the previous day, driving through the mountains east of SLC was breathtaking.  Something about snow-capped mountains is rejuvenating, and then you hit the Utah Olympic Park.  I went from rejuvenated to inspired in less than one hour.  When bowling becomes your job, it’s easy to get trapped in the “grind” mentality and lose the awe and wonderment you felt while watching the pros as a kid.  Seeing the bobsled track and ski jumps brought me into the very moment when history was made at the 2002 Olympics.  It’s that moment when every ounce of effort you’ve ever put into excelling at your chosen sport feels worth it.  Forget about money or notoriety - all you feel is the innate human desire to excel at something.

With that thought in mind and a little fresh mountain air in my lungs, I resumed my trek toward Colorado.  Before arriving there, however, I had to pass through part of Wyoming (and no, unfortunately it wasn’t the Yellowstone part!).  This part of Wyoming could have posed as a stunt double for Nevada if necessary.  Since my dad was born in Wyoming, and because, well, he’s a large part of the reason that I am alive and breathing, I won’t pick on it anymore.

A miraculous turn of events happened in Cheyenne...

I turned south.  Not as exciting as you may have hoped, but after traveling around 800 miles due east, south, or any other direction for that matter, feels pretty awesome.  I arrived late Monday night, giving me a full day to practice and prepare for Wednesday’s TQR.  Tick tock...

Flash forward to Wednesday.  As the TQR began, I started out with a C System 2.5 and never looked back.  TQRs are extremely nerve-wracking because you only get seven games to determine the difference between feast and famine.  For those at home who bowl three games of league once a week, just imagine having a little more than two of those league sessions determine your paycheck for the week.  If that’s not enough perspective, how about having your entire 9-5, 40 hour a week job whittled down to only what you accomplish for the first five hours on a Monday morning?  As I started with games of 238, 275, 223, 234, and 237, I found myself in a very comfortable position with two games remaining.  How comfortable?  Let’s say it was enough for me to shoot 166 and 195, and still qualify fourth...seriously, how often does that happen??

Now for the main event.  Unlike most weeks where the field is cut from 64 to 32, the Mixed Doubles had a brutal slashing to only 16 qualifiers.  When I only bowled +79 the first seven games, I decided it was time to step it up if I wanted to have any chance to participate on Friday.  Fortunately, the night block didn’t play too differently from the morning block, which helped me get out of the gate strong and finish +177 for the evening.

Pros of the night block being similar?  I could do the same thing as I did in the morning

Cons of the night block being similar?  So could everyone else...

But the day ended positively, as a clutch 245 in game 14 propelled me up a few spots and netted me an extra few hundred bucks.  I know, it doesn’t seem like a big deal since I still failed to make the cut, right?  What if I told you that the extra money covered my U.S. Open entry, or that finishing on a good note made the doldrums of snow just that much more tolerable?  For the kids reading this (or even adults...yes, that means you too!), what I just told you was a prime example of why you should always try until the very end.  Trust me, I’ve learned the hard way.  Although it seems fashionable to throw in the towel or walk away, it doesn’t put extra money in your pocket or add to your sanity.

If you’re nodding your head in agreement, congratulations!  If you’re still skeptical, ask Michael Haugen, Jr. about his perseverance in the 2008 Tournament of Champions, despite a gazillion-pin deficit in the 6th frame...I’m sure he’ll tell you that the trophy looks pretty nice on his shelf.

As for me, I took my slightly larger check and prepared for the U.S. Open, an event in which I have perennially struggled.  Tucking my truck snugly into the powdery tundra of Denver’s enormous economy parking lot, I eagerly boarded my flight (flight:  translation?  no thousand-mile drive across more unforgiving terrain!) for the midwest.  Goodbye Denver...hello Indianapolis.

Road trips.  Often regarded as one of the true staples of American freedom, they are also the backbone of those who choose to pursue the bowling dream.

I am one of those people.

Fortunately, however, I’m not entirely married to my car nor the prospect of living out of it.  The ridiculous amount of air miles I have racked up is a testament to my occasional aversion to the steering wheel.  But, while the extra costs of flying (three 16-lb balls always “amazingly” put the “adjusted” airline scales a tick over 50-lbs) may compensate for the inefficiency of driving thousands of miles, sometimes having your own car in the parking lot is the closest semblance of home and normalcy we get for weeks on end.

As I set out for Reno and the USBC Masters, I had only planned on going for one tournament and then driving back home.  Let’s start with the first leg of the adventure: the road to Reno.  Going to Vegas is a quick 4-5 hour jaunt from Phoenix, but continuing on to Reno involves an additional 500 miles of required stamina through some seriously barren earth (I think passing through the outskirts of Death Valley qualifies!).  Each time I make this trip, I swear I will never do it again.

My current tally stands at four.

Luckily, I have never had to make this trek alone.  Enter Stuart Williams, my roommate and the lost half of the English monarchy.  Some of you may even remember his exploits with the “Seven Pound (the weight, not the money) Cake” from Detroit.  Along with thanking him for helping me share the driving duty, I’m going to throw him under the bus and let everyone know that he is the sole reason why the Colts lost the Super Bowl. More...

Injuries suck.

There’s really no way to sugar coat an injury or take it light-heartedly, especially when it prevents you from performing your job (well, maybe getting a little sympathy is a plus, but it sure wears off quickly!). If you read last week’s Angle, you may remember I severely (that isn’t entirely accurate, but it sure felt severe when it occurred!) injured my back while bowling the TQR at the Earl Anthony Memorial. After conservative treatments of ice, heat, ibuprofen, massage, and chiropractic adjustments proved to do little but temporarily lessen the agony, I received some relief at the hands of a doctor and his “facet joint injections.”

I can’t really explain what those are, except that medicine is injected into the joint through a large needle. Oh, and the feeling accompanying the injection is akin to someone trying to push a golf ball through your skin.

Think about it...

As the pain and muscle spasms started to subside, I began mentally preparing myself to start bowling again. Over the two weeks I had at home and after the golf ball beating, I began easing myself back into light workouts, but avoided bowling because I was scared to touch a ball. More...

I wrote a lot of articles last season about struggle. To me, struggle is a very negative word; it implies trying, wrestling, jockeying, and even fighting to overcome some obstacle that has planted itself very firmly in front of you - no matter how you try to position yourself or your attitude, you’re always on the outside looking in. You always “fight the good fight,” but can’t seem to ever quite win the war.

With struggle, uphill battles are a recurring theme and understanding failure is the name of the game. I finally came to the realization that this understanding was the missing component for me all along, even through the World Series in Detroit.

Sure, I’ve heard the following comments plenty of times before: “keep your head up,” “don’t give up,” and my all-time favorite, “stay positive” (<--- isn’t that profound? It’s like saying “stay dry” as someone heads out into a downpour. Please excuse my sarcasm...I’ve been away for a few months!). But what do they really mean?

Over the past year, I’ve had swing issues, mental-game breakdowns, and angst about leaving behind my wonderful family and home for another week in one of America’s finest two-star hotels. Telling someone you’re struggling usually elicits one of the above cliched responses, as though your fight is a noble gesture or some honorable act of chivalry. The truth? It isn’t noble or honorable, it just is (how profound is that?). No, really! You struggle because, honestly, what other choice do you have?

Ok, so hopefully I haven’t made you depressed or off-put so much that you’ve quit reading. Here’s the good part...the understanding of failure, of why we put up with struggle, is rooted in the challenge. Challenge is simply the positive twin brother of struggle. To struggle is to fight not to lose, but accepting a challenge embraces a committment to learning how to win. Don’t believe me? Go watch Rocky and then tell me you don’t agree (except for Rocky V...what was Stallone thinking??). Moreover, you find meaning in struggle by making sense of the challenge - the process (struggle) helps you decipher the goal (challenge).

Think of it like a book with, say, 40 chapters, and you dive in and read Chapter 40. It probably makes very little sense, and you certainly can’t appreciate the plot. Now go read 1-39, and boom! - it all becomes clear. *steps off soapbox*

At the Earl Anthony Memorial stop last week, I failed to make it out of the TQR. Not the first cut I’ve ever missed, but it was a turning point. How can missing a cut be a turning point?

Well first of all, I shot 130-something the first game (sidenote: the real struggle at that point was deciding if I should actually pull all of my hair out or if I should leave some for later, just in case). Being in next-to-last gave me outstanding odds for moving up the leaderboard in game two. Over the next four games I managed to steadily outpace the field and climb up to 19th place, a mere 10 pins out of the money, and only 50 out of the cut with two games to go. *applause!*

I was feeling good, was matched up well, started game six with an early double, and then got stabbed in the back (pause for effect).

Obviously I wasn’t really stabbed, although the excruciating pain led me to believe I just got shanked mid-backswing. My first worry was getting the ball off my hand, followed ever-so-closely by hoping that it didn’t land on my head or take me down the lane. I’ve had pain before; cuts, sprains, spasms, cramps...but nothing like this.

Stretching provided little relief, but I couldn’t quit - I couldn’t let my hard work fade because of pain that may only be temporary (if you’re a doctor or concerned mother, please feel free to shake your head and call me stubborn and stupid!). It certainly hurt badly enough to withdraw, but there was no way I was going to stop at the doorstep of success.

So I labored on...Knowing I could have made that cut, minus the injury, is what made me upset. I didn’t feel sorrow or pity for myself, but just anger. Boiling, seething, face-flushing anger...or at least as much of it as I could muster without wincing. It’s hard to shake off missing a cut when you have control of the situation, but this was just inexcusable and unfathomable. I did everything I could to put myself in the hunt, and this injury severely inconvenienced me! (<---ahem...more sarcasm)

Agonizing over the situation only made me more frustrated, so I resolved to leave the issue alone until I got home the next morning.

Wednesday was the true focus of my turning point. I couldn’t lift a bag higher than my knees and had trouble looking behind me to back out of a parking space. What did I do to my back? Or more realistically, what did it do to me? I didn’t care about the bowling or the tournament anymore. I cared about the extent of the injury.

You may ask, “what’s his point?” My point is that it’s hard to understand and accept failure at the hands of an evil stone-9 or a merciless 7-10. Injury? That’s a more pressing issue, and somehow easier to swallow. I couldn’t have controlled what happened, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I was ok with it. No whining or agonizing over my struggles (unless you ask my wife, in which case she will undoubtedly confirm that I whined about my back quite a bit...but it did get me out of some chores), just focus on getting healthier and rebounding.

I had set my sights high for 2010, and had hoped to start it off well with a shining performance in the House that Earl Built. As a lefty, it’s like a badge of honor to bowl well in a tournament honoring the Greatest Player in PBA History. But it wasn’t meant to be.

However, I think I may have learned a more valuable lesson...I learned how to understand - to accept the challenge, and not give a second thought to the struggle.

Andrew Cain compiled a weekly blog during his 5-week stay in Detroit for the World Series of Bowling. Here is the complete archive of his interesting journey:

ANDREW'S ANGLE: WSOB Prologue - 8/7/2009

ANDREW'S ANGLE: Missed Cuts and 7-lb Cakes - 8/13/2009

ANDREW'S ANGLE: The Hardest Part - 8/21/2009

ANDREW'S ANGLE: Over the Hump - 8/27/2009

ANDREW'S ANGLE: Pitstop, The Pete - 9/6/2009

Also, don't miss Xtra Frame's WSOB Feature on Andrew and his roomates Michael Haugen Jr., Stuart Williams, Martin Larsen, Paul Moor and "Ralphie". It's kind of like MTV's Real World, except with bowlers. Click here to subscribe to Xtra Frame and watch today!