My First 200 Game

I bowled in leagues weekly for years starting in Middle School and then periodically into my adulthood. But through all that time, the 200 game eluded me. Until today. And it was the most unlikely of 200 games, scaring the hell out of me until the final seconds.

I have to credit the RedShed Crossfit Center for making it even possible. If you've never heard of Crossfit, it's not about building vanity biceps. It's about forging real strength, in the muscles and cardio system. RedShed owners and coaches Pat and Janine Neill have patiently guided me toward the best fitness of my life. I'm used to throwing a 20 pound medicine ball at a ten foot ceiling fifty times. So throwing a bowling ball is sure a bit easier now.

The day had begun with me wishing one of my former students, Kyle, happy birthday via Facebook. Kyle and another student, Adham, were bowlers at my school. And I had always relished their frame-by-frame of any 200 game they threw, so much I longed to ever do so myself. I told Kyle I'd be bowling later that day. And as I told him that, I thought about how I'd love my first 200 game to be on his birthday.

I arrived this morning at the Funland Bowling Center at Piata Unirii in Bucharest, Romania. I'd already bowled here twice since our arrival on July 9. In my first outing, I had bowled two games in the 180 range, which convinced me I was due to finally have that two hundred game. But last week, after doing major back work at our gym here, I pulled something and every time I went to throw the ball, something hurt terribly. My highest game that day was a 157.

First Game of the Day.

Frame 1: 8/

Frame 2: 8/

Frame 3: 62 - Current Score 42

You know this doesn't really look like the makings of a 200 game, does it? I sure didn't believe this was the one.

Frame 4: 9/

Frame 5: 8/

Well, I've certainly proven my ability to make spares, haven't I? I do recall looking up at the screen and thinking to myself, "If this is going to be a 200 game, I need a whole bunch of strikes in a row right now."

Frame 6: Strike

Frame 7: Strike - Now, I have to admit, I did not deserve this particular strike. I barely hit the head pin and a mess ensued in which random pins still stood and then slowly dropped until finally all of them had dropped. Well, I guess this makes up for all the times I thought I hit the pocket perfectly and felt robbed.

Frame 8: Strike

Frame 9: Strike

Tenth Frame. Oh, I was very aware that I had snatched a potential 200 game out of the jaws of mediocrity. And at this point I was just trying not to think too much about it. I knew, in fact, that a strike right now would make my first 200 game a likelihood.

I roll the ball. My heart soars as it lands cleanly, perfectly, exactly into the pocket--the strike zone.

An explosion of pins follows, after which, inexplicably, the seven pin still defiantly stands, as if mocking me.

  

Look, I can't do long division, so I certainly can't calculate my own bowling score. And the news arrived on the screen. My current score is 198. I can take it from there. I know that it's now come down to this. If I pick up this pin, my score is 199. And then, if I now down so much as one more pin, I have finally achieved my long held dream of a 200 game. 

Damn. Despite what you saw in the first five frames, I don't consider myself good at spares. If I were, I probably wouldn't be 46 years old and dreaming of my first 200 game. 

I roll the ball. It's kind of heading the right direction. Oh no, it's not going to hit the pin. Or is it? Oh my Sweet Jesus, will it possibly touch that pin?

It barely kisses the pin. Maybe it so much as blows in the ear of that pin as it passes. The pin swoons and then falls over.

The electronic screen shows me the new stark reality. I have 199 and one ball to throw. (My Orthodox name is Andrew, and I'm known as Andrei in Romania, hence the name in the pic.)

If you think I'm happy and relaxed, you're quite wrong. I am perfectly capable of throwing a gutter ball. I hadn't thrown one yet that day, but I had thrown two just one week earlier on this exact same lane. 

I pick up the ball. I walk up the lane. I am not trying to throw a strike right now. I am merely trying to not throw a gutter ball. My dear late mother was a terrific bowler. And as I got ready to release the ball, I heard advice she had given me many times over the years, "Shake hands with the head pin."

Off it goes. It's not going to be a gutter ball. In the end, six pins fall. Final score--205.

I let out a shout that probably scared the Romanian bowling lane attendants. 

I just stood there basking in the sweet sense of finally achieving this long held dream.

Here I am, on the lane where I bowled my first 200 game. 

I would bowl two more games, but my heart was not really in them because, after all, I had finally bowled a 200 game. I would bowl a 138, followed by a 105. And then I decided I was done for the day. 

I left Piata Unirii with the plan of walking north where my wife Adriana and I would catch a movie together three hours later. On my way, I stopped in at this little Church, where I kissed all the icons, thanked God for this day, and also prayed that my former student Adham be protected. This fine young man is currently in Lebanon visiting family and I pray that no war break out and spill upon him there. (By the way, the Communists purposely built buildings around churches, trying to hide them and kill religion. That's why this thing seems like it's deep in an alley. The Communists failed, the Churches in Romania are full every Sunday.)

With time to kill and still basking in this long held dream, I relaxed at one of my favorite spots, Restaurantul Pescarul, where I ordered a half carafe of red wine, calamari, and cucumber salad. A perfect end to a wonderful day.

Communism, Civility, and Dog Crap

I saw the most astounding thing last night here in Bucharest. (I summer here with my Romanian-American wife.)

I saw a woman walking a dog. And she picked up after her dog after he (it was a he) took a crap.

Now, if you're an American reader, you may be wondering what the big deal is. That's what dog owners do, right? 

Well, the fact is, I'm old enough (I'm 46) to remember a time when it was not always so. 

And it certainly isn't so here in Romania. Walking any simple sidewalk is like traversing a mine field of dog crap. And most of it is from the strays that they inexplicably tolerate here. They actually go to the trouble of tagging strays for who knows what reason. But this year I'm seeing a strikingly higher number of pet owners in this country. This is accompanied by pet food stores all over the place.

Anyway, back to the point. What's ultimately most surprising is that America became a country that picks up its dog crap. I mean, picking up dog crap can't be fun (I'm a cat person, they make it easier). But yet we somehow in America created a new ethic wherein you just wouldn't dare have anyone see you walk your dog and leave the crap where the dog set it.

When I brought up this issue at the social event to which we were headed when I spied this miraculum, I was met with the tired explanation Romanians have for every imperfection in their society.

"It's because we lived under Communism."

You know, if anything, living under a Totalitarian Regime should have produced a Romanian society that was a model of civility.

As an American, I am baffled daily in this country at the lack of the most basic of courtesies.

And I am officially calling you all out. How many centuries from now do you intend to excuse rank rudeness in this country because of Communism? 

I'm going to state a thesis. I grant that people here had to reinvent themselves and their society in 1989. But the ruder elements of any society are intimidating. And the brighter lights shrunk into the shadows. And, in fact, emigrated. Communism didn't do this. Rather, the post-Communist malaise has created the perfect storm for rudeness to rule.

Anyway, back to America. Why are we a country that picks up our dog crap and quit smoking?

Look, I know we aren't perfect. But we are a country where, if you smile and say 'Good Morning', no one wonders what's wrong with you. And in my travels I've observed that's not the norm.

A Latin Origin for the Romanian Word DA (YES)

A few years ago I published an academic article in which I demonstrated a possible Latin origin for the assumed Slavic borrowing into Romanian of DA (YES).

To read the original article, click here.

To see the argument in a nutshell in a more accessible video form, enjoy the following:

c/Communist? C/communism? What's Right?

My adventure-espionage novel A Place of Brightness describes a secret Communist group that organized an underground insurgency to attack the newly democratic Romania. The twin sons of a woman who once fought in an underground anti-communist insurgency are pulled into the action and help a Romanian agent in her attempt to foil the communist plans.

But in the course of writing this novel, I had to familiarize myself with the confusing rules governing capitalization of the words communist and communism.

To help future writers and researchers, I will summarize the rules here and show you examples of each case using quotes from my book. There are a number of somewhat varying and competing systems out there, so don't be surprised if you see minor disagreements within the style sheets of specific organizations.

1) (A) The noun communism is not capitalized (except, of course, (B) at the beginning of a sentence). This makes sense because, even in the height of Soviet power, communism was an idea, not a single unified political entity.

Example (A): “The day you were born Grandma told us about her premonition. She said that one of your sons would end communism once and for all.”

Example (B): Suddenly she opened her eyes wide. “Petre,” she gasped. “Communism will fall.”

2) The adjective communist is capitalized when it describes (A) individuals as a substantive or (B) attributive adjective, as well as when applied to (C) governments or formal groups.

Example (A): “We’re only fifteen,” Stefan stammered. “What good can we be against all those Communists?”

Example (B): “What do you make of this?” Victor asked. “Is she just crazy? She looks like she could be my grandmother. A secret Communist spy? Really?”

Example (C): “In the last months, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and East Germany have peacefully overthrown the Communist governments there. Romania is the first to do so in a bloody revolution.”

 3) The adjective communist is not capitalized when it describes (A) communist ideology as applied to abstract concepts apart from individuals, governments, or formal groups It is also not capitalized when used as a (B) predicate adjective.

Example (A): She looked up at the men seriously, brushing dyed-red hair from her eyes. “The long term plan is the restoration of communist rule in Eastern Europe.”

Example (A): “Smart thinking, not giving your personal cell number, in case this is a communist plot,” Andrew said.

Example (B): “I don't know what else I can say to convince you that SRI isn't Securitate and that I'm personally not a communist.”

4) Finally, the adjective communist is not capitalized when used in conjunction with prefixes, such as pro- and anti-.

Example: “This is precisely what I didn’t want to see, two American anti-communist vigilantes interfering with an important investigation.”

I hope this helps clear up the considerable confusion with these words.