Essay: Tales From a High School Varsity Bowler

Am I athletic? No. Have I competed in athletics? Yes.

For three years, I played on Grand Rapids Christian High School’s girl’s varsity bowling team, dressed in a white and blue collared bowling shirt more often than not.

My senior year, I secured an invitation to compete at the state level in Michigan after placing eighth at regionals.

I’ll admit, I felt a little ridiculous requesting time off from school so I could travel to Canton, MI to compete against girls who took bowling much more seriously than I did. As they switched between three balls — each designed for specific pin setups — I took my singular ball and threw it as hard as I could in a straight line down the lane.

But life is only fun when you embrace the absurdness of it all.

After being convinced to join the team by my bowler friend, I had a custom ball drilled to fit my finger span, bought my own bowling shoes and carried everything around in a school-issued bright green and purple suitcase built to fit three bowling balls.

My bowling experience is my favorite introductory fun fact — and it’s a perfect conversation starter. Most people don’t follow the Professional Bowlers Association, so I immediately become a person of interest, fielding questions ranging from bowling lane oil patterns to my highest score. 

Matches and tournaments were always organized using either the phantom or Allen oil patterns. The latter is unique to Michigan high school bowling, developed in 2015 and named after former Michigan High School Athletic Association Assistant Director Randy Allen, according to the MHSAA.

The house pattern — laid by alleys for the average, playing-for-fun bowler — allocates more oil in the middle of the lane, guiding bowlers’ balls toward the center for a higher chance of a strike. Allen patterns are aggressively inverted, with dry insides and excessive oil by the gutters, providing little forgiveness when it comes to hooking balls lest they slip off the lane. 

“I usually play at a higher difficulty than the house pattern you’re used to,” I like to brag.

My good-natured competitors obviously find me very impressive — not insufferable in the slightest.

The best part about playing a sport typically associated with Saturday night outings instead of professional tournaments is that my performance becomes even more extraordinary in its unexpectedness.

It’s normal for one person to be better than the others when playing a friendly game of basketball or soccer. But in bowling, the playing field is supposed to be equal — until I step onto the lane.

I keep the secrets of the trade close to my heart — how to approach the alley, how to flick your wrist for the best spin and how to count the floorboards on the lane. 

This is one throne I refuse to be usurped from. 

I plan to return to Loyola with my bowling ball and shoes after Thanksgiving Break. My next goal is to convince my friends to put up with my unbearable bowling swagger long enough to complete a game.

At the end of the day, I love leaning into the sport’s silliness, but when it comes to competition, there’s nothing more serious than hitting a strike.