And you know what, I wouldn't trade them for anything........!!!!
--The old dude who has memorized the schedule about 6 weeks in advance, and tells you what lanes he is on when he is standing in front of you as you are handing out the lane assignments for the night.
--The guy who, at the end of the night, gives you the entire blow-by-blow account of every shot he threw of every frame. The series amounts to 512 (which we re-named our team "512" 5 years ago--the guy still has no idea that it's a playful rib at him) or something in that ballpark.
--The drunk team and stoner team. Best nights are when they play each other. It's like a substance-abuse fest. Nothing but empty beer bottles and bags of Cool Ranch Doritos laying around.
--The team that refuses to move. These are the guys still using the BUD II, or on the other end of the spectrum, Angular One's, and will be damned if they move even 1/4 of a board to the left as they whiff the head pin time and time again. Their saving grace is the crossover light mixer strike, which convinces them that they are lined in.
--The Human Rain Delay team. We have a guy who picks up his ball, curls it to his bicep, closes his eyes to visualize his shot, hyperextends his bowling arm to hold the ball dead straight out, and only then begins his approach. If he ever won a PBA telecast, he would take home about $45.00. This team has the obligatory old dude that stands there pondering his 6-pin conversion, only to throw a shot that would convert the 7-pin.
--The No Business Using That team. You know this team. The four guys collectively averaging 660, but all using Total NV's, and absolutely abusing the head pin by bashing it in the face all night. See also: Refuse To Move Team (above)
--The 100-mph Team. The team of Plastic Fireballers whizzing the ball at the head pin at Mach 3, hitting the 1-3 and not understanding why they aren't carrying, and becoming more furious by the minute.
--The Team That Announces Everything. "Congratulations to XXXXX, with a 203 game."
--The Scoreboard Creepers. These guys become more prevalent as the season winds down. They hawk the back of your pair to see how you are doing against your opponents. They are usually rosin bag target practice for us. Playfully, of course.
--The Team with the Kiddy. They have so many rules and fines, that Stephen Hawking is the only other guy that could possibly understand how much you or your teammates pay on a turkey, or an open, or a beer frame, or a washout conversion, or not getting the wood on a split, or not quacking and flapping your arms on a double, etc. Their pair usually sounds like a generous slot machine in Atlantic City.
--The Owner's Team. Usually stacked, with the absolute biggest cake shot ever on that pair for the night.
And because of these guys is the reason why I've been in this league for 1/3 of my entire life.
