Harry Funk’s bowling game and score-keeping would make Fred Flintstone proud
If fictional characters can be role models, I’ll admit to bearing a bit of a resemblance to Ralph Kramden and his animated alter ego, Fred Flintstone.
We’re kind of loud and known to be opinionated. We share a certain body type, and all of us have wives who pretty much are the complete opposite shape. And they’re too good-looking for us, kind of like Kevin James with Leah Remini.
When Wilma and Alice allow them, Fred and Ralph love to bowl. So did I.
Back in those days before video games, two friendly neighborhood alleys were within walking distance of my house. That’s what we did for amusement, especially in the winter, when the weather precluded our other diversion of smacking around a baseball.
As a bowler, I was good. And just as likely, bad.
On the first day of a college bowling class, for example, I rolled nearly 700 for a three-game set, prompting suitably impressed observers to ask if I was going to turn pro. I answered them the following week by barely cracking a 300 series.
Later, the responsibilities of family and work allowed less time for bowling, and eventually my only opportunities came when my oldest son developed an interest in the game. That lasted approximately until he started high school – and that was back in the ’90s.
For my this-millennium debut, I decided to go old school and see if I still could keep score the way Ralph and Fred do, with a pencil and paper. Well, I guess Fred uses a hammer and chisel. But, you know what I mean.
General manager John Pitcavage, one of the good folks at AMF Mt. Lebanon Lanes, provided me with a score sheet and pair of size-14 shoes and I was ready. Well, almost. It took me a while to find a ball that fit my fat fingers.
I made my way to the assigned lane, ready to sit at the table to keep score. Oh, yeah – this is the 21st century. Instead of a table and chairs, there’s a column with gizmos where you can enter your name and let the machines do the math.
In order for the pinsetter and everything to actually work, I typed in “Harry” and promised not to look at the computer screen until the end of the game, to see if my scribbled calculations were accurate.
My first roll in nearly two decades knocked down six pins. Yay! The next one landed squarely in the gutter. Time to try another ball.
The “Xtra Large” sphere worked much better for the second frame: Strike! I ended up with three of those, which reminded me of my usual stint in the batter’s box. I made up for that with four gutter balls, one of which ruined my only spare.
I had plenty of fun, though, with my laid-back, middle-aged self bearing no resemblance to the hotheaded kid who’d rage at failing to mow down each and every pin. And I wasn’t even tempted to do like Napoleon in “Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure” and sneak in a “1” to tack a hundred points onto my score.
On my final roll, I knocked down eight pins, entered “108” on the sheet and turned to look at the final tally on the big screen.
Computer says: 108!
Fred and Ralph would be proud, if only they knew what a computer is.