I got an email from Craig last week. His son's basketball team drew the Monday night practice assignment. Coach Craig was out until February. Tim sent his regrets today. A head cold kept him away. Kurt's back hurt. He was iffy before I sent news via email of our reduced ranks. Plus we were on the schedule against the first place team. I made calls, sent email, tried to round up the usual suspects for substitute action without luck.
Then regulars Jay and Tyler heard the call and hustled in. Kurt gave it a try on his sore back, more vertical, less muscled, with good results, best of the season. Those guys stepped it up in the clutch and anchor Brent bowled his best series of the year, 600+ pins. I recovered from last week's season low 84 to post a 205 and a 510 series. We bowled our best team series of the year, 1180. It didn't matter that we lost three of four. Cue the trumpets - we happy few, we band of brothers, we came together.
He that bowled this day, and sees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Bowling night:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on league night.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember in Ernst
What strikes he rolled that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Big Pants Pete, Edgar Winter FrankenMullet,
Westhoff and Jones, Baker and Rollins,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son.
Then regulars Jay and Tyler heard the call and hustled in. Kurt gave it a try on his sore back, more vertical, less muscled, with good results, best of the season. Those guys stepped it up in the clutch and anchor Brent bowled his best series of the year, 600+ pins. I recovered from last week's season low 84 to post a 205 and a 510 series. We bowled our best team series of the year, 1180. It didn't matter that we lost three of four. Cue the trumpets - we happy few, we band of brothers, we came together.
He that bowled this day, and sees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Bowling night:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on league night.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember in Ernst
What strikes he rolled that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Big Pants Pete, Edgar Winter FrankenMullet,
Westhoff and Jones, Baker and Rollins,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son.
No comments:
Post a Comment