Bowling in Brockton

Sticking with last week’s Boston theme, this week let’s go bowling in Brockton. 

Brockton, MA is a hard-scrabble, rough and tumble, blue-collar town on Boston’s south shore.  Or it was, I should say, back in the mid to late ‘80’s when we experienced it.  It’s sometimes referred to as the ‘City of Champions’ because it’s the hometown of two successful boxers of whom you may have heard: Rocky Marciano and Marvin Hagler (put a pin in that for a sec).

Ernie was a sales manager for Consolidated Freightways at the time, located in Brockton.  One of his customers, Anne, lived and worked there.

Part of Ernie’s job was to entertain his customers.  And so, one night we were out at a Red Sox game with Anne.  Anne had strawberry blond hair, blue eyes, freckles, and a certain heft and solidness to her.  If you came across Anne in an alleyway and she demanded your purse, you’d give it to her without hesitation.

Anne was a ton of fun.  Loud, extroverted, and funny, we always had a good time when we were out with her.

That night Anne says to us, “You guys should join our summer bowling league in Brockton. It’s starting up soon.”

Bowling? Me? Nah.  Don’t think so.  I mean, I bowled occasionally.  I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love it and I was terrible at it.  I think my average score was a 65.

So I said, “Thanks Anne, but will have to pass on that one.  I am terrible at bowling.  No one would want me on their team.”

Anne replied, “Oh, that’s no problem! It’s a summer league. It’s not competitive at all. It’s just to have fun, really.  And if you are that bad, they will give you a handicap.”

I looked over at Ernie who hadn’t said anything yet, but was giving me a look.  Anyone who is married or has been with someone for a number of years, knows how to read your partner’s looks.  There’s a whole non-verbal language that two people can share, sometimes even bordering on mind reading.

This look was imploring me to say yes, that this was part of his job, that he needed to foster this relationship with his customer, that it would only be for the summer, and how bad could it be?

I could not say no to that look.  As to how bad could it be? That remained to be seen.

“Ok, Anne,” I said.  “We’re in.  Who else will be on the team?”

Anne answered, “My boyfriend, Boulder.”

Her boyfriend, Boulder.  I know I shouldn’t have been surprised that her boyfriend’s name, nickname to be more specific, was Boulder.  Boulder from Brockton.

“Oh my,” I thought to myself.  “This is going to be interesting.” 

I couldn’t help but conjure up a picture of Boulder in my head.  The real Boulder was a pretty good match for my imagined Boulder.  And if you all reading this are imagining a large, hefty, solid guy with a good amount of both facial hair and hair on his head, with tattoos, who liked to drink beer, you imagined correctly. 

He was almost a male version of Anne, except his hair color was sandy blonde instead of strawberry blonde.  He also had her personality.  Two very loud, outgoing, life of the party individuals, who knew how to have a good time.

However, if you met both Anne and Boulder in an alleyway and they asked you for your purse, you would not only give it to them without hesitation, but ask them if there’s anything else they would like or that you could do for them.  Our first-born child? Keys to our house? Whatever you want, just name it.

Both the start of the summer bowling league and my birthday were approaching.  I eagerly opened my gifts from Ernie.  He had no trouble reading my look when I opened up a pair of bowling shoes.  If in fact, looks could kill, he’d have died there on the spot.

“What,” he says?  “I thought you’d like it! Now you won’t have to wear the gross rental shoes all summer!”

While he did have a point there, bowling shoes were not what I wanted for my birthday.

Opening night finally arrived.  I showed up after work repeating Anne’s words in my head like a mantra, “it’s a summer fun league. Not competitive.” Breathe in. Breathe out.

Well, Anne either lied or her definition of not competitive is not the same as mine and the rest of the universe.  Because if that summer bowling league was not competitive, I’d hate to see what the regular bowling league was like.

People were rolling strikes like nobody’s business.  And if they weren’t strikes, they were spares.  All while drinking beer.  And mind you, possibly some cocaine.  It was the ‘80’s after all.  Anne and Boulder frequently had some traces of white powder around the edges of their noses that I can only attribute to that.

Needless to say, I was given a handicap.  I don’t recall how many points.  But it was likely a lot, lol.  I was barely squeaking out more than 65 or 70 points a game.  80 would be a highlight for sure.

One time, I even committed a foot fault.  I didn’t even know what that was.  I knew you weren’t supposed to go over the line, but didn’t know that when you did red flashing lights and sirens would blare like it was the Blitzkrieg of London during WWII.  And then very quickly the bowling police show up issuing you a warrant and disqualifying you and/or your score.  A fun, summer, non-competitive league? Seriously?

But the lasting highlight of this experience had to be the repartee between Anne and Boulder.  And I say lasting, because one instance has become a running joke between me and Ernie all of these years hence.

It went like this:

Anne:  Hey, Boulder, wanna make a bet?

Boulder:  Sure Anne, what do you wanna bet?

Anne: Positions! Whichever one of us scores a turkey gets to pick the position tonight!

Ernie and I looked at each other like, whaaaaat????!!!!  It was a look to make sure we both heard right because never in any situation we had ever been in to date had we experienced anything like that.  His look had a bit of excitement to it.  Mine had a bit of appalment.

Well, we heard right.

Boulder’s response:  Hell yeah, baby, let’s do it!

Neither of us can recall who won that bet, and we had to work hard to remove the image of Anne and Boulder and their bedroom gymnastics from our minds.  And now you do too, my apologies, lol.

But to this day, Ernie will say to me about anything that might arise that would lend itself to making a bet, “Do you want to bet, Boulder? ” 

He says it only half jokingly I believe and half hopes, even after all these years, that one of these days, my answer will be, sure.  My answer to date is a roll of the eyes, a chuckle, and a hearty, don’t think so! To which Ernie replies, “Are you telling me there’s a chance?” channeling his best Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber.

The piéce de resistance however was yet to come.

It was the end of the very competitive, not fun, summer bowling league.  We decided to meet up before the game at one of the local bars in Brockton for a little pre-gaming. 

Ernie, Anne, and Boulder were already at the bar when I arrived.  I was hurrying in and was about to open the door, when it suddenly opened and this handsome, well-dressed man was about to exit.  I almost ran into him.  “Oh,” I said.  “Please excuse me.  I am so sorry.”   He smiled and said, “No problem.  Here you go,” as he stepped aside, holding the door, to let me in.

“Thank you, “ I said.  And all the while I was thinking that he looked familiar to me.  It wasn’t until the door closed behind me and he was gone that I knew who it was.

I saw Ernie, Anne and Boulder at the bar, walked over, and said to them, “Oh my gosh, that was Marvin Hagler wasn’t it?”

“Yup,” they said. “It sure was.”

Bowling in Brockton.  If only to have had a 36 year-long running joke and still counting,  plus a chance encounter with the Marvelous Marvin Hagler. It was well worth it.  Any one wanna bet?