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We Were Bowlers Once |
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| The traps were
mine. My memories of
the game are filled mainly with cursing, goose-stepping krauts who
refused to believe that we could keep tripping them up, frame after
frame. Cuke remembers one incident. "Just as Jeurgen,
or one of them krauts, was getting ready to bowl, I tore a big sheet of
cloth I used to clean my ball. The poor goose-stepping lad thought
his pants had ripped. It was a riot!".
And it was a riot. Every bit of artillery that could be pulled into battle was used. Every trick in the book and then some were pulled out of our hats. By the time the 10th frame rolled around, we were still knotted at 0 to 0. Both teams huddled before the frame. But, despite our careful planning, the frame began just as the others had. Cuke picked up her ball only to find that one of the krauts had jammed bubble gum into the finger holes. She did her best but again, no score. As Hans approached, I carefully aimed a rubber dart at his bald head and scored a direct hit. The sound of his teammates laughing at him caused him to throw two gutter balls. Finally, the game came down to Mrs. Olsen and I. The score: 0 to 0. Being the gentleman, I insisted that she bowl first. While I was busy insisting, Pins was secretly spiking her Hills Brothers coffee with a fast acting drug that was sure to make her wobbly. She made her first approach and as she goose-stepped forward, her ankles buckled. She could barely hold up her left hand in the Hitler salute and we all laughed and applauded as the ball hit the gutter within one foot of her release. Her next approach looked just as bad, but somehow, to our horror, she released the ball in the right direction. Slowly, ever so slowly, it drifted back and forth down the lane. First right, then left, like when a goddam five year old girl tries to bowl. At the last moment, the ball struck the ten pin. They had scored a pin! Now, it was my turn. The chips were down. This was it. I had to score at least two pins to win it all. But I knew the enemy was going to pull out all the stops now. As I made the approach on my first roll, I failed to see the carefully camouflaged banana peel they had laid out. One missed shot. The ball came back and went into whatever those things are called that hold all the waiting bowling balls. I was too busy discussing strategy with Sgt. Limely to notice that one of the krauts was pouring crazy glue into the finger holes of my ball. I picked it up and was surprised at the lack of hijinks as I approached. It wasn't until I gave the ball a furious release that I realized the predicament I was in. Stuck to the ball, I thought it was all over.
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But I slipped and fell and the force of the ball carried me down the alley. I could hear my teammates shouting as it looked like I was going to give it a perfect hook and come in between the one and three pins. But no, the lanes were too oily and I found myself sliding at the last second towards the gutter. Now it was the krauts turn to yell. But everlasting fate was on my side and at the last moment, just when it looked like the ball and I would slide into that gutter, we made the most fateful hook in the history of bowling. We angled back and hit the three pin head on. All of the pins obediently fell. We had won the game! At the awards ceremony, I was cautious. Mrs. Olsen had been acting just a little bit too easy-going about losing this life-or-death game. When she stepped forward to hand me the trophy cup, her well-rehearsed plan was put into play. Instead of handing it to me, she angled it back and brought it towards me, mouth first. I saw liquid coming out of the cup and ducked faster than she had reasoned possible for me to do. The acid inside splashed past my head and onto the bald heads of the kraut losers who stood behind me. "To the bar", I yelled over the screams as I grabbed the cup out of Mrs. Olsen's clutching fingers. Our unit fought our way in to the bar and I ordered a round of Lucky Strike beer for the house. Meanwhile, I radioed our Van Drivers and told them to get us the hell out of there and quick. Later that night, my team gathered around me in the bar at our local bowling alley. We were returning heroes and were given a heroes welcome by all the standard people who frequent these types of fine establishments. Overcome by emotion, I hugged each one of my teammates. I told them all what a great job they had done for the U.S. Can Bowl squad. And I meant it. The loyalty and love I saw in their eyes has stayed with me through all these many years. I'll let my teammates finish the story, because I have to go blow my nose. Cuke Skingraft: "Colonel Warmheart's crocodile tears moved me about as much as a cockfight." Al Limely: "What a dickhead Colonel Warmheart was and still is. He thought we loved him. What he doesn't know is that our eyes were tearing up because of the bad case of gas he was letting us have it with." Pins Capelli: "If I feel that man's body near mine again, I swear I'm going to puke all over him" Joey Capelli: "When he came to hug me, I thought he was going to try to kick my ass. So I kneed him in the balls before he could make his move."
Go to Warmheart's Weekly Tales Go to "the inspiration for this wonderful and magical
tale"
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