by Randy Ooney
My Nickel’s Worth by Randy Ooney
My Nickel’s Worth by Randy Ooney
Anyone who has followed this column over the years can make no mistake that I assume the role of a grumpy old man like my pseudonym predecessor Andy Rooney. I get a little riled up over car insurance ads, prescription drug ads, and law firm ads promising to sue drug companies. I dislike those who make left turns into right lanes and right turns into left lanes, and those who turn without signaling. I am not too fond of a baseball team losing over 90 games for two years in a row, and think that an All Star Game at Target Field will forgive them. Then there’s our Hall of Famer analyst who mispronounces Morneau, cannot pronounce Zobrist or Aubrey, and thinks the plural of first baseman is first basemans. His partner calls the count before and after every pitch even though there’s a little box on the screen with that info in it. And then there’s the playable radio guy whose home run call is simply “It’s Outta here”, but everything else is playable.
If I am Grumpy, those guys can be Sneezy, Sleepy, and Dopey. I bowl with Doc, and I have to admit that the heat of this arid summer has made minor irritations more noticeable. But soon we’ll be shoveling White Snow and complaining about that too. Some of the guys that meet to bowl every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday morning lived through the intense heat and drought of 1933, much worse than 2012. And they did it without air conditioning and other comforts that we have today. Even in the 50s and 60s as I was growing up, only the wealthy had air conditioning in their homes and cars. Cars had cranks to raise and lower the windows – that was air conditioning in those days. Golfers walked the country club course on the hot days, and I carried their bags. We didn’t know that it was hot because that’s the way it always was.
What’s really amazing is that we survived those 50 – 60 years without cell phones. I realize that the convenience and access made available by the mobile phone is helpful in business. But it still bothers me when I see people behind a wheel at a stoplight reading their email or texting; Not to mention those making a right turn into a left lane with a phone in their ear. Some have phones called General Lee that play “Dixie” for a ring tone. There are apps now that will furnish a map and tell you where to go. But if your phone rings while bowling, perhaps drock will tell you where to go and you won’t need the app.
But the pinnacle of technology hit me between the eyes last week at a league meeting. Not so long ago, the ABC/USBC published an annual rule book that few people read unless there was an argument. It was still tough to find the rule, but it gave you something to slap the other guy with that wouldn’t hurt too much. The middle section of the book contained awards that were offered for superior performances, and most people had a glance at those pages anyway. But this year, it appears that the only way to get a rule book is to scan the little one inch square that looks like a mini crossword grid to upload a rule book to your phone. Sigh, I’ll stay behind the foul line and reset the ten if the rack knocks it over, and let someone with a cell phone tell me if I’m doing anything wrong.
Have a great league bowling season – with or without the rules!!!