A 1972 vintage, perhaps?

I’m up for pizza pretty much whenever, but what pulled me into Olde Line in Lincoln City, Oregon, wasn’t just that it seemed like a good idea for lunch.

It was the sign that said “vintage bowling.”

As a child of the upstate New York bowling culture of the 1980s, I had to see what that meant. Were there manual scorecards, or if they wanted to go really old-school, human pinsetters?

Suzi just wondered if the vintage bowling also made me vintage, and joked that if I was, maybe it would make me popular with the hipsters.

Continue reading “A 1972 vintage, perhaps?”

What exactly are you trying to sell me?

As my wife and I headed through various western Massachusetts towns on the way to Easter dinner, we passed a bowling alley.

I hope it was real bowling and not that fake candlepin stuff they peddle in the rest of the state, but what was of greater interest was something on the sign intended to be a selling point …

… “automatic scoring.”

Continue reading “What exactly are you trying to sell me?”

The game is the same

The bowling alleys of my youth were — not dingy, that implies lack of cleanliness — but they were plain.

The colors were muted, the lighting basic. The pins were white, except during promotions where a blue pin was mixed in. Get a strike with a blue headpin, you win a free game.

Basically, they were someplace you went to … bowl.

Continue reading “The game is the same”