Thursday, August 20, 2009

On Lawnbowling

You know a girl's got it bad when watching someone else lawnbowl qualifies as a real treat. A night out.

Moving right along, here are some things I noticed while posing as a lawnbowling groupie.

--Hubby is WAY more competitive about the sport than he would like to let on. I counted four times when he asked the skip to move the mark six inches to the left, or the right, and once he just went commando (sort of) and made up his own mark in his own mind. I am of mixed feelings about this. One the one hand: yay honey! You're filled with integrity and athleticism and a healthy sense of sportsmanship! On the other hand: DUDE, IT'S LAWNBOWLING (with apologies to Heather Armstrong, QUEEN OF ALL CAPS).

--I noticed a man with a French pedicure. It kind of freaked me out. Why? Because if he had that kind of time, you think he might have, oh I don't know, combed his hair or checked one last time to see if the plaid pork-pie hat was dorky. On the plus side, he was a very nice person who offered to get me a beer on his way over to the cooler.

Here's one of his feet:

You totally cannot see the pedicure, but all the girls at the green noticed it. I believe it sapped the strength of this gentleman's team; they certainly seemed surprised by the trouncing handed to them. And if his mom knew about it, she'd have something to say.

--Lawnbowling might be the only activity in this city that unites mid-40s new media faux slackers, earringed attornies, grandmothers with flappy upper arms, 20-year-old stoners, men with French tips on their feet (as mentioned:), older men who resemble Colonel Tigh from Battlestar Galactica, and random French people hauled off the street to serve as subs for absent people. Thank God they eventually repealed the Act of 1541, which forbids artificers, labourers, apprentices, husbandmen, servants or serving-men, and other "low-born" people from participating in the game of bowls, except at Christmas in their master's grounds and in his presence.

--The bowls themselves look a lot like malted Whoppers to spectators who haven't yet had their dinner because SOMEBODY forgot something at home and had to go back for it and there was no time to eat before the first jack was hucked or whatever it is they do to jacks.

--Everyone who doesn't lawnbowl treats lawnbowling as a joke, but I am assured by all who play that it is a game of raw courage, Machiavelian strategy, and physical grace. Much like motherhood in that respect, except no one stocks a huge cooler of free beer at the front door of THIS place.

1 comment:

  1. I am trying to imagine the stealth maneuver it took to get the photo of his foot.

    eleacti: rare, stretchy, succulent plant used by ancient people to hold their knickers up.