It's been about five years since I've thrown a plastic ball. I once could throw straight at spares just by taking off my wrist brace and throwing bare-wristed. But as I ditched my wrist brace and strengthened my wrist, I found I could no longer do that consistently.

I had a Visionary Slate Blue Gargoyle drilled three or four years ago to combat dry lanes. It's 14 pounds (I usually use 15 or 16), so I can sling it. But even though it's a polished urethane, that ball will hook and move on the backend.

I bid on a couple of Lane #1 crystal diamonds and XXXL Starbursts on eBay, but couldn't win for what I thought was a fair price.

And then I remembered the old bowling ball at my Mom's house. When I was 8, my dad and I had gone to a Kmart in south Alabama and bought bowling balls. He bought me an 8-pound Brunswick Black Beauty. He chose a silver Galaxie 300. For some reason, he let the guy sell him a 10-pound ball, probably because he feared for his bad back, which was injured sometime around the end of his service in World War II.

When I started bowling seriously as a teen, the Black Beauty no longer fit me, so naturally, the next ball I picked up was the closest thing available, Dad's old 10-pounder. I didn't realize until a couple of nights ago just how shoddily it was drilled. Finger hole pitches were all over the place, and the span was woefully short.

But at the time, it was a free ball and I did OK with it. I booked a big, fat 111 my first year in league as a teenager. (g) I very soon made the move up to 12-pound equipment, then to 16, and left the old Galaxie 300 in a box in a cabinet at my parents' house.

My Dad died in 2005. He had lived quite a life, nearly dying as a child from some horrible illness during the Great Depression. He then went off to World War II and served in Midway with Marine VMSB 343 dive-bomber squadron as an ordinance officer and tailgunner on SBD and SB2C craft.

I don't think he got to use that old Galaxie more than a half-dozen times before his health got to the point he couldn't bowl any more. My Dad was a good bit older than me (49 when I was born), so we never got to bowl much together before his back gave completely out.

I went back to Mom's house Sunday night and found the old ball in the box just where I left it. I had forgotten how beaten up it had become from those years of bowling at old Monroe Lanes, a 10-lane center in southwest Alabama that still has above-ground ball returns, unconverted Brunswick A-1 machines and a bug sprayer for an oiling device. The juke box is still allowed to play during leagues and there are Manhattan Rubber house balls on the rack, among other things.

The ball had gone from being a Blue Dot-esque silver to a scratched, matted gray. The engraving "F NICH" (Kmart apparently couldn't engrave Dad's entire name) was still faintly visible just below the thumb hole.

I plugged the whole thing and redrilled the thumb back in the original hole so as not to wipe out the engraving. I then resurfaced it to 4000 Abralon plus polish and it shone like a crystal ball at a fortune-teller's hut.

Tonight, I took it out for a test drive. In practice, I found it amazing the difference in timing needed to throw a 10-pound ball correctly compared to a 16-pound ball. But after a few errant shots, I got the hang of it.

I still used my 16-pound reactive equipment for strikes, but I shot all spares (except for double wood) with Dad's old Kmart special. I was 6-for-6 on spares including three split pickups (3-10, 3-10 and 3-6-7-10). I missed nothing.

I know this silly story may not mean much to anyone here but me, but for a few hours, I didn't miss my Dad so much.

And his old ball didn't miss a single spare.

Thanks, Dad, for introducing me to this sport.

Jess

Edited on 5/20/2008 11:41 PM