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.
During the brief time Stu spent behind the wheel, Drew Brees managed to make Indy look like a Pop Warner team. I took over, the Colts scored. Stu took over, and the only thing Peyton saw were the bench and the ground. Who knows? If I’d piloted the last few minutes of the game, Mr. Manning may have thrown a TD pass to himself...
When we finally arrived in Reno, it felt good. No fancy adjectives here - just good, a subtle mix of relief and renewed focus on the job I came here to do. I’ve had tons of success at the National Bowling Stadium, and hearing the crashing pins as I ascend the four-story escalator always makes me think of Kingpin, minus the disco tracks and hot dogs, of course. It was time to do some damage at the Masters!
Here’s the quick run-down of my qualifying rounds: My worst game was my first game, 173. After that I never looked back, shooting consistent five-game blocks of +61, +84, and +91. I played smart, didn’t hesitate, and got slightly better in each round. That’s the best formula for a balanced mind on tour - recognize your mistakes and always try to make each outing a little better than the last. Now, if that sounds like I’m cutting lofty goals off at the knees, consider this: you lead, and once pins are dropped heading into matchplay, there is the slightest bit of pressure that enters your psyche telling you that the stellar performance must continue. Despite bowling phenomenally, the smallest hint of failure can derail your mental security. Conversely, if you bowl a big block to sneak into the cut, it’s easy to let the thought that you were “destined” to succeed dominate your thoughts. Sometimes you do truly triumph under those two circumstances, but the odds are often stacked against you. Steady improvement is the true ticket to overall confidence and high odds of success; bowling is not a sprint or contested in the short-term (well, most times anyway), but rather it’s a grind, a test of grit, mettle, and endurance.
Following the qualifying games at the Masters is a new tournament all its own: double-elimination, 3-game total pinfall matchplay. Stay in the winners bracket, and you only have to win a few matches to make the show...lose one early, and you’ll be bowling 3-game matches for eternity. My first opponent was Steve Harman, who I beat 703-639. I was hoping that, as a power player, Steve would struggle with just enough of a lack of transition to toss a few questionable shots in our match. On the left side, I’m accustomed to a lack of transition, and figured my strategy would allow me to take control of the match early. Steve beat me narrowly in game 1, but I tossed a big 250+ in game 2 which gave me an advantage through the rest of the match.
Knowing the long road Steve now faced, I resolved to keep chugging along and continue winning matches to avoid the losers bracket. It was then I found out my next opponent was some guy named Parker Bohn III. You may know him. He owns a few titles, has done a few commercials, and, rumor has it, is one of the most recognizable ambassadors in the sport. Yeah, that Parker Bohn. No problem, right? If I could narrowly lose to Walter Ray on TV, then this could be close! Ha! Everything started well, as I opened with the front 4. I knew the key to this match would not be simple strategy or a reliance on forcing a bad shot out of my opponent. I went in with one goal in mind: bowl HUGE. Unfortunately, the slug in my Siege (which I had a problem with in qualifying, and thought had been fixed) started to come loose, leading to two bad shots followed by a few beads of sweat as I struggled to hit 190 while Parker blasted over 240.
Sigh. Ball change.
Going to a newly drilled C System 2.5, I managed to line up quite well and barrel toward what I hoped would be a massive second game. Parker kept pace, affording me no chance to make up any pins, and putting me in an even bigger deficit. If there’s one thing I can attest to, it’s that Hall-of-Famers don’t make bad shots. Ever. In game 3, I put up a Hail Mary effort, but just couldn’t close the gap.
My third and final match was to be contested against Dan Bock. Thankfully I didn’t draw another gazillion-time titleist, although Dan has a rather extensive record when it comes to clutch shots in the Megabuck tournaments. We were both tired, beaten up after a long day, and played our 3-game set on adrenaline and thoughts of attrition. I chased away too many opportunities, and Dan could not get lined up on both lanes at any given time.
10th Frame, Game 3.
All I needed to do was mark, and not even with high count, to win the match. Five-count washout...but miraculously, if I convert and strike, the best Dan can do is lose the match by a pin. I hit four pins. If you recall that I wrote, “my third and final match,” I think you know what happened next: X X X. Now I can use the fancy adjectives to describe how I felt: defeated, seething, apoplectic, crushed, and downright miserable; those pretty well sum it all up. I completely identified with Charlie Sheen’s “Wild Thing” character in Major League II...I reached back, and it just wasn’t there; I forgot how to throw heat (or in my case, slow down, since I did wash-out)!
So many “what-ifs” and “could-have-been’s” strangled my brain. I couldn’t decide whether to continue on to Denver, or chalk up the experience, head home, and toss a bowling ball over the Hoover Dam. Masters week was positive for the most part, and I was certainly happy that my back didn’t cause me much anguish. However, I choked against Dan, and in a situation where I’ve often been successful. How did I decide what to do next? Did I recover from my self-imposed mental jail? Tune in to the next Andrew’s Angle to find out.
