People who do not know the sport well
probably can't tell you what perfection is.
Bowling is one of those games that
even making mistakes can allow perfection.
Missing a spot or misreading a pattern;
just a couple examples of what can go wrong.
But when you contend with gravity as well,
a whole mess of possibilities arise
allowing for the same precise shot
to provide different results.  A bowler
can practice all his life, learning to throw
the exact spin with force and accuracy.
Still, it all can be luck of the fall.
So far...my luck is absent.  289 at 16.
The highest sanctioned game of mine.
Almost 12 years ago, I was near perfect.
Since then countless 279 games
and a practice 296 that my heart
would not allow perfection in practice.
Twelfth shot was not in earnest.
So as another season approaches,
I look back to promises made to myself
and to my parents, of shooting that 300,
the monkey on my own back.  When 21
was to be the oldest I would have to wait,
and even that is nearly 7 years passed,
while my eagerness of competition
still lives inside through bowling,
I do hope I reach perfection, if only once,
before the drive is gone, and I can say
I was perfect for one day, one game.

07/26/2007

Author's Note: Poem number 300 on pathetic. Figured it would be about something I have been trying to do since I started bowling at 5 years old.

Posted on 07/26/2007
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