Rocking and Bowling Don't Mix

I know I'm about to pour steak sauce on someone's sacred cow, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to officially declare the practice of  "Rock-N-Bowl" an abomination.   I go bowling to have a few drinks with the guys while hurling large, heavy balls at a target 62 feet away.  I am not looking to get all glittered-up while dropping ecstasy in some glow-in-the-dark environment.

Above: A bowling alley. Not pictured: Bowling.

Never in my childhood dreams did I think I would have taken the good, old fashioned bowling alley for granted.  These alleys were the ultimate in male escapism.  The walls are drab and dingy from years of cigarette smoke.  The whole place smells like a mixture of foot deodorizer and stale nachos.  If women were present, they were only brought along to open beers bottles with their teeth.   This is exactly the place where you might hear yourself say: "Sure.  Go ahead and scratch your nuts and ass at the same type.  You don't have to ask.  By the way, your nose-hair is growing in nicely.  It contrasts well with your mustache."

I went to one of those classic bowling alleys the other night.  Everything was good.  I didn't care about how I was dressed or if my hair looked as if I woke up under a bridge.  Then 11pm struck and the whole alley went dark save for the black lights and dance club decorations.  The sound of pins violently erupting was muffled by a heavy techno beat.  I was so upset, I took off my left bowling shoe and puked into it.  I then took off the right shoe and poured half the contents of the left shoe into it in order to maintain proper balance on my approach.   But my game was still thrown by the patterns being projected onto the lanes.   That and the group of guys waving glow sticks playfully a few lanes down.  It's a bowling alley, dammit!   Not Studio 54.

Left: Bowling - Right: "Rock-N-Bowling"

By the way, many people might be confused by my description of techo music in an event labeled as "ROCK and Bowl".  I don't get it either.  Last time I checked, no one except messy drunk chicks would dance to rock.  Why don't we just start calling a sousaphone rendition of the Star Spangled Banner "rock" while it at it?

I would have to say that for "Rock-N-Bowl" to effectively live up to it's name, the following changes need to be implemented:  When you bowl three strikes in a row, an unwashed, long-haired rocker jumps in from out of thin air and plays a 10-minute guitar solo while dry-humping your lady from three feet away.  When he's "good and done", he will violently hurl the guitar across the alley before proceeding to beat you senseless with a dead llama carcass.  Once you're on the floor, bloodied and broken, he'll alert the waitress to bring over a complimentary beer in a cracked mug decorated with the logo of a long-defunct brewer.  He will then jump on his bike and ride over to your mom's house and water her plants.  Yeah, rock is unpredictable - just like bowling.

Sadly, we need to accept that times are tough for the bowling industry.  "Teching" the place up with hipster decorations, strobe lights and dance music seems to be the only way to stay afloat in a world awash with alternate group activities.  Smelly drunks with their cheap cigars have been cast aside for families and upwardly mobile young adults who have the disposable income to pay for the overpriced fancy drinks and gourmet nachos.  But I'm sure somewhere, there's that one bowling alley that has stood firm in the face of progress and caters to people like me who try to see if they can belch loud enough to echo across the alley - and the manager gives you a free game for being able to do so successfully.