I am assuming my husband was chosen as team captain because he has some sporting ability.
And it's not as though my-captain, oh-my-captain needed my support as he hurled his ten-pin bowl down the alley. But it's not every day that I get to be married to a leader so I felt I had to step up in true behind-every-good-man tradition.
I couldn't bring any sporting ability to the alley (his was the highest and mine was the lowest score), but I could bring soft toys and a war cry.
And so it was that the blue dog from the grandchildren's bedroom made its way to the bowling alley, there to symbolise the humble beginnings of the blue team. And so too, did one of our members reach deep into her repertoire of war cries (teachers know these things) and create a simple yet effective cry of valour. In the interests of not being too annoying, we chose to only yell out our cry every time one of our team members got a strike or a hit.
And I am not too shy to say that my voice was hoarse at the evening's end.
I did notice a trend though. The cry was usually quite voluble for the two players before me, then a little quiet after my own personal bowl. It became a bit of a habit for one of the members to call my name at the end of the cry, not only to encourage me to get that 10, but also to simply hurry up and bowl. Perhaps I was taking the fact that we were playing a sport a little too lightly.
Our mascot danced his little plush ears off, much to the chagrin of the red team who (jealously I believe) threw our treasured fluffball out into the bleachers somewhere whenever they could get their hands on him.
In a fit of inspiration I threw him over my shoulder at the end, wondering which of the bowls bridesmaids might catch him to keep. But it was a red team member with a crazed look in the eye and waving some imaginary scissors who caught him on the fly. I felt afraid for him so I took him back.
Now with our mascot washed (the bleacher area was a little seedy), we are ready to bowl again, even if a little blue made the red team see red.
- Linda Muller