Love and bowling

In one of my first columns last year, I wrote about how I spent the summer as a sports director at a summer camp, where I beat the hell out of five-year-olds in kickball. While last summer was thoroughly enjoyable and my self-esteem skyrocketed as a result of my athletic acomplishments, by the dog days of August, I still felt unfulfilled. I knew I needed something more this summer... so I found myself a girlfriend. I'm not sure what possessed her to date a frail, washed-up, former high school athlete like me, but I have learned that it's better not to question miracles. So I'm sure you are wondering why this is material for a sports column. Well, to be honest, I can make anything material for a sports column. But seriously, my relationship with Haley is directly tied to sports _ I think she may date me because, for the most part, she can beat the hell out of me in sports.



Bowling:

On one of our first dates we decided to go bowling. It seemed like a good decision at the time. I would beat her and she would be in awe of me. Sadly, it didn't work out quite like that. On that horrid night that will live in infamy, Haley, her friend Anita, and I headed to the local Davis Square bowling alley for what I assumed would be a little fun.

After my first couple of rolls, I realized I was screwed _ my shots weren't dropping and Haley had come to play (Anita and I were neck and neck). After Haley hit a strike in the third frame, I realized that I was done. To make a long story short, we ended up playing two games and Haley trounced me two times. I tried to get her to play a third game (okay, I begged her), but she politely reminded me that the bowling alley had actually closed five minutes earlier and that the attendant had already done us a favor by allowing us to finish our second game. I made her swear that we would go back to the alley for a rematch. Eventually, we did return to alley of my darkest hour, and after winning three games I felt redeemed. Days later, however, when I was lying in my bed, replaying the sweet victory in my mind, I realized that she had rolled and inordinate number of gutter balls. Like the Chicago Black Sox in the 1919 World Series, Haley had thrown the game. I almost felt sorry for myself but then I turned to an old mantra for guidance: a win is a win. Winner: um, me.



>Wiffle ball:

One time in the street outside of her house, we played wiffle ball. Before I actually give you the play by play, let me make you aware that she played this game with what appeared to be a distinct disadvantage _ a badly bruised bone in her elbow that the doctor thought may have been chipped. While it sucked that she was hurt, for the sake of the competition I figured it would be great _ advantage Fowler. The "One Armed Wonder" agreed to pitch first and I stepped up to the plate, a stick in the middle of the street, thinking that I would make like Babe Ruth and slug a few shots to the next block. Ten pitches, seven misses.

"I'm just swinging too hard," I informed her. "Don't worry. Just let me get a few more."

Ten more pitches, five more misses. Making matters worse was the fact that the majority of the pitches I actually made contact on were weak grounders back to the mound (another stick in the road). I made Haley give me five or six "last swings" before I finally gave her a turn to hit. Note that on my really last swing, I did hit a majestic drive to the next block. It was now her turn. Ten pitches, eight hits, and she was using only one arm.

"I'm going to start throwing a little harder now," I said. "Maybe I should throw one at her," I thought.

Ten more pitches, ten more hits.

"How was this disabled girl beating me?" I wondered.

Instead of risking further embarrassment and taking another turn at bat, I suggested that we go inside so as not to put her at risk of further injury. She wanted to hit some more but I insisted that we cease play.

"You shouldn't be playing sports in a sling," I said. Winner: Haley



>Indoor tennis:

One day, Haley and I decided to play tennis _ of course it was too hot to leave the house _ so we had no choice but to set up a court in her hallway. Masking tape served as the net and we played with two plastic rackets, which were meant to be used by three-year-olds with a spongy ball.

After setting up the court we immediately got into a fight. She wanted us to be the Williams sisters but I refused to pretend to be a girl unless she agreed to be Anna Kournikova. Apparently, Haley isn't as big a fan of Anna's as I am so we had to devise a new plan. We decided to be Sampras and Agassi _ she had to be Agassi though, because she is in love with him. Whatever. Everybody knows that Agassi is no match for Sampras (see 2002 US Open) and, not surprisingly, Sampras (me) dominated the match. I won 6-0, 6-0, but the match deteriorated in the second game when she would physically attack me with her racket mid-point or before odd games when we switched sides of the hallway. To teach her a lesson about sportsmanship I was forced to spike a few balls at her while simultaneously releasing a primal scream. After winning the last point, I raised my racket to the heavens _ I was a champion again. Winner: Me

Over the summer we also competed in mini golf, hitting up all the best courses in Cape Cod and White Plains (I mean the one ghetto course in White Plains), and a derivation of the game "Horse" called either "Fowler" or "Haley Jo," which is played on a crumbling basketball hoop in the entrance hall of a house. However, I feel that I have already embarrassed myself enough for one week, and the humiliation of revealing the outcomes of either of the aforementioned competitions would simply be too much to bear. Therefore, I ask you, my faithful reader, to tune in some other time for more athletic adventures with Dan and Haley