The dark hanging outside my office window covered only slightly more than a western panorama. Across the street, under the lights in the lot at the Grind Out Lanes, Lounge and Bar-B-Q, I could see the guys and dolls from the second shift of the evening walking out with their heads down and faces sullen. One walked across the street and toward my building. Three minutes later, the door shuddered under an assault only slightly less violent than Pearl Harbor. Alphonse Stonawich finally figured out the door was open. I knew that was his name because he announced it as he came in and every twenty seconds thereafter, only slightly less frequently than he threw f-bombs all over the office. He was having trouble with the Grind Out Lanes, suggesting that they were dressed with sawdust instead of oil. He was so angry that he wanted to get revenge, and he asked if I could see if one could hit Grind Out with a Barrage. Fearing for my sanity and to get him out of my office, I took the job -- it was either that or shoot him, and that would have required too much effort to explain to Lt. Sludge.
The Barrage was the color of that blue frozen cool-aid they sell behind the counter at Grind Out. That blue cover was supposed to be as mild as a shot of Captain Morgan in pint of diet cola. I drilled up a 15 lb sample with the pin under the ring and the cg kicked to the left and took it to Grind Out after their early leagues to find out if it would make me feel as good as the gin gimlet I took with me to the lanes. It wouldn't, but then, what would? I left the cover in box condition, because I liked the shine.
1. Length. This one skated across oil like Nancy Kerrigan before Tonya's buddies took a tire iron to her leg. On lighter or shorter oil -- or spotty conditions, it got through the heads and the midlane cleaner than Janet Leigh before Norman Bates showed up. Surprisingly, it did not overskid if there was dry, preferring to begin its move sooner but smoother than I expected from something that was supposedly so mild. This proved to be a bonus. If there was medium or more oil, this one continued skating until it nestled itself comfortably in the 3-6 or 6-10 pocket. If you see the Mobil truck headed to the lanes, don't even think of taking this rock with you.
2. How did it move? Like a gin gimlet made with Beefeater, this one went smoothly and, like a double, harder than you think when you're having it. It moved in a clean, hard, smooth arc that reminded me of Uma Thurman's curves. Nothing flippy here. Kept clean, it bowled right over mild to medium-light carrydown. I put that in my notes for later reference.
3. How much did it move? Surprisingly, on dryish lanes, this one covered ground like Frank Shorter, covering a lot of ground steadily. I drank two more Gimlets each time I tested the ball just to make sure it was me and not some sobriety-induced illusion. On longer, heavier oil, it took its key from Torvill and Dean, skating right through the Bolero. On the right conditions, plenty of entry angle but controllable -- it just didn't roll out and didn't overhook.
4. How did it hit? As I saw this one punch the pins, I kept hearing Cosell's voice in my head: "Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!" Pins thrown around like a child abuser on a perp walk. Thrown light, the rack collapsed like the model buildings in Earthquake. Solid to high flush it was the pit without the pendulum, knocking down the four like the Gabor sisters knock off marriages. Superior carry on a light oil ball -- far better than I thought it would be when I first examined the core.
5. What kind of control did it give me? Absolutely predictable and precise, like an accountant lining up dimes. You could miss some left and some right, triangulating like Clinton in pre-election mode. It was a little ticklish to changes in speed, but solid and stolid as an unbought judge in response to slight changes in rev direction and rev rate.
6. What is the overall report of the investigation? This was a Barrage the guy could probably throw on lanes treated with salt. Predictable, strong in the dry, skates in the fronts on initial oil and then when it slows in the mids and back taking a leisurely move that hits right on the mark like Sharon Stone's slow crossing and uncrossing legs. A superior dryish lanes ball. And the price was so good, well, I picked up two and charged em to the client as research -- and it was less than my booze and meals. At these prices, the things should be sold at KMart -- except they'd be embarrassed to be near that cheap Martha Stewart stuff. Everyone can use one of these. For most, they can replace urethane for drying or light wet-dries. For the heavier handed, maybe even useful on medium light oil, though I wouldn't bet my blackjack stake on it. I just don't know of anything currently available that's comparable in move and control -- maybe AMF's Kick or a Flame -- but nothing in its category hits the same for me.
I told Al to hit Grind Out with a Barrage. He hasn't been holding his head down when he wanders out after his shift since.
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"I don't mind if you don't like my manners. I don't like them myself. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them on long winter evenings."
