Bowl, Portland! Bowl!

Bowling leagues: The hobby of gray-haired women on a night off from bingo, junior high students with lack-luster social skills and Schlitz-drinking overweight men in rural Minnesota.

Is that what you think?

It's true, bowling leagues have historically had a tough time trying to knock their way into the cool kids club. But if Bowl Portland is any indication, the sport has rolled right into the hearts of Portland's beer drinking, trash talking, big ball spinning crowd.

The league formed just over a year ago, but was such a hit it filled to capacity for the '09 season. And it filled early. I thought about signing a team up back in July but thought, "Nah, games don't start until January! It's too early. I'll look over-anxious and besides, I'm too distracted by the hot weather and all this sun to think about winter occupations."

Hot weather - remember it?

By the time I got around to signing up, the league was already full. Damn.

But pure luck being what it is (in addition to whining about not being in the league in front of the right people) I managed to squeeze myself onto a team (much thanks Bubbles and Miss Beers).

Last night was Bowl Portland's opening night at Yankee Lanes (big ball, people. None of that candlepin nonsense). It was 26 lanes (nearly the entirety of the bowling alley) of bowlers. It was a sea of men and women in an array of colored team shirts, high fiving and woo-hooing in anticipation.

Bowlers got crafty with their team names: From Hyper-Bowl-E to Great Lost Spares to Alley-Gash Rollers to Three Fingered Willies to my team, The Incredi-bowls. And within each team, each bowler picked his/her official bowling name.

I went with Shank (Shannon + my middle initial = Shank) because I though the prison yard connotation would send opponents into a panic. I plan to enhance the effect by tucking a sharpened toothbrush into my shirt pocket and penciling in teardrops under my right eye (three…one for each of the bowlers I've offed in the past).

It seems there was a mix-up, however, and last night I ended up with a shirt donning the nickname Silver Fox. "Silver Fox" isn't quite as menacing as a prison stabbing, but I'll make it work until the Shank shirt comes in.

Beers were purchased in preparation - and done so easily thanks to the ingenious beer window opening into the alley bar (it was also conveniently placed 15 feet from our lane).



We each took a few practice rolls to perfect our form.

Here's an example from Boston of the "I'mma touch the sky" roll, also known as the Sistine Chapel.



Boobs McGee went with the "pat down" stance, but made it her own by only lifting her arms slightly.



I went with the "jazz hands" toss, not to be confused with the "big foot spotting" roll in which the bowler looks over his/her shoulder when releasing the ball.


And so we bowled. Our opponents, Derelict My Balls, were hearty competition. But the folks on my team were gifted rollers. I mean, a few of us broke 100. We were just that good. We took all five points in game one, though My Balls took points in game two. But the one point we won in the final game was enough to launch us into the winners circle.

That's right. We won. I think this Bowl Portland thing is going to be a fine way to spend these wintry Tuesday Nights.

And while the Bowl Portland league is full, that shouldn't stop you from forming your own dang team (with matching jerseys, perverted names and all) and heading over to Yankee Lanes for some back alley entertainment. The pitchers of PBR are cheap, the shoes are solid and the renovated Port City Sports Bar has enough flat screens to line Fore Street from Una to Rosie's.

Read Amy Martin's Bar Guide review of the sports bar

And did I mention the Friday night karaoke?