Games People Play
by Pho
"Pop? You home?" Peter bounded up the steps and into his father's rooms at typical breakneck speed.
Caine smiled at the familiar sight. Peter was never still, running all out seemed to be his only method of travel. Often it appeared to Caine that his son's enthusiasm for living could overcome any obstacle. Today, however, Peter appeared mildly troubled.
"Is something wrong, my son?"
"What? Oh. No. Eh, well, sort of. I mean, nothing's wrong job wise. I just wanted to ask you a favor. You don't have to, if you don't want to. I won't get upset."
"My son, if it is my power to do, I would be honored to assist you in anything you ask, but what is it you need?
Peter looked embarrassed, "Well, eh, Pop, have you ever been bowling?"
"No, my son. Never."
"Oh. OK. Never mind. That won't work then."
"Peter, what do you need?"
He sighed, "I've been substituting for a friend on his company's bowling league for a few weeks now. Chris is a new father of twins and he's staying home to help Kate as much as possible. Anyhow, his brother's on our team and called me today to see if I could get a sub for him tonight."
"A sub?"
"Sorry, Pop, a substitute. I was going to see if you would do it but if you've never bowled before..."
"My son, I would be glad to try, if you would like me to."
"Gee, thanks, Pop. I really didn't know what to do. Asking anyone else never even occurred to me. Uh, we need to leave now. The game starts at 6:00."
Twenty minutes later, Peter swung the Stealth into the bowling alley parking lot.
"Hey, Peter! You got a sub for Clark?"
"Yeah, my father. He's never bowled before. Is that OK?"
"Sure. Actually it's great. This is a handicap league so his ought to be good."
"Pop, this is Susan Wills. Susan, this is my father Kwai Chang Caine. Susan and her husband Bob are on my team. Katy Morris is the team captain. She's the little blond getting out of the Nissan. Her husband's name is Paul. He's on another team."
"They do not bowl on the same team?"
"No, Pop. Not the way they fight. I'd be investigating a homicide if they did."
"I see. Peter, what is a handicap league? These people do not appear to have any handicaps."
Laughing, Peter replied, "No, Pop. Handiicap is a way of letting bad bowlers have a chance bowling against really good bowlers. The worse you are, the bigger the handicap that gets added to your score."
"This is good?"
"Yes, very. Come on, Pop, we need to get you some shoes and a ball."
"I have shoes, my son."
"No, Pop. You can't bowl on the lanes in street shoes. You need special shoes. And I'm guessing you'll take a ten. Katy!"
"Yes, Peter?"
"My father's going to be substituting for Clark. See if you can find me a, uh, I guess a fourteen pound ball."
Shortly Peter was explaining the rules to his father. "No, Pop, You can't cross that line. It's the foul line. The score doesn't count if you cross it."
A scream of "Fall over damn you" rang down the lanes. Caine looked at Peter.
"Oh, that was Matt Hendricks. He gets a little intense and this is only the practice period."
The radio suddenly switched from news to Golden Oldies. Simultaneously, singing, of a sort, started from two lanes over. Three women, using beer bottles as microphones, had started an off-key sing-along. Caine looked at Peter again.
"That's Mary, Judy, and Debbie. Pat's not here yet or she'd be singing too."
"Does this continue all night?"
"Oh, Yeah." Peter grinned at his father's face. "Wait until the trivia game starts."
"I thought we were bowling?"
"We are, but those TV sets back there can pick up a national trivia game. Some of the bowlers are as rabid about it as they are bowling. OK, back to the rules. If you knock down all ten pins with the first shot, it's a strike and you sit back down. If you leave any pins standing, then you get to shoot again to try and knock the others down. If you do, then that's called a spare. If you still leave some standing, it's called an open frame. Don't worry about scoring, the computer will do that."
"So you are punished if you get them all down the first time?"
"No, no, the score's higher for a strike than a spare. Oh, and there is an exception to the sit-down on a strike rule. The tenth frame is the last in any game and you can bowl up to three times in that frame."
"You get to choose?"
"No, Pop. The first two shots are bowled regular and if you get all ten pins down in the first two shots, you get to bowl the third."
"I believe I understand now."
"Great, OK, Pop, you're up."
"My son, I am sitting."
Peter's grin widened, "Sorry, Pop, you see the arrows by your KCC on the screen? Well, they tell you when you need to get up to bowl and which lane to bowl on. We alternate lanes with each turn. Don't worry, I'll help you."
"Thank you, my son."
Caine picked up the ball his son had selected for him and moved to where Peter had told him to stand.
"Don't forget to follow through with your swing, Pop"
"Thank you, Peter." Caine then threw the ball down the lanes.
"Pop! You're supposed to release the ball closer to the foul lines."
"But..."
"Damn. Pop, never mind, you got a strike. Come and sit down."
Two hours and three games later, Peter returned his father's bowling shoes to the front desk. Numerous other bowlers bade them goodnight. Peter was much quieter than usual as they returned to the car. Unlocking the doors, he heaved his bowling bag into the back seat.
"My son, you are angry with me."
"No! I'm not." Peter's denial was a little too quick. Ignoring his father's disbelieving look, Peter flung himself into the Stealth. "You coming... or 'will you walk'?"
Caine silently climbed into his son's car and watched as Peter pushed the gear shift into reverse and squealed out of the parking lot. "Peter, my son, I am sorry, but I do not know what I did to anger you so."
Peter sighed, "I'm sorry, Pop. I shouldn't be angry. You didn't do anything wrong, but Pop, you're sure you've never been bowling before?"
"No, my son. Never. Why do you ask?"
"Because, Pop, not even the professional bowlers ever bowl three perfect games in a row."
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