Forecast: 85-Degrees, Sunny, and a Chance of Strikes

Editor's Note: For the first time ever on this blog.....video clips! They're a bit dark because I had to rely on whatever indoor light I had. Which wasn't much.

It’s the middle of July. It’s eight-five degrees and sunny. So what does a guy like BowlingJoe do on his day off? Why, drive to Secoma Lanes in Federal Way, WA and spend a few hours indoors at a bowling center watching some PBA Regional action, of course.

I headed south mainly to lend support to a couple of PBA friends from the Greater Snohomish County area who were trying to repeatedly send ten pins in the pit in hopes of finishing high on the leaderboard and cashing in on some prize money.

BowlingJoe dispenses valuable pre-game advice to Shawn (left) and Matt

One of the guys, Shawn Minnig, I had the pleasure of coaching during a stint I had a few years ago with the Marysville-Pilchuck High School team. Shawn has since become a great student of the sport, worked on both his physical and mental approach to it and, at the ripe age of 23, is now giving me advice on matching equipment up with lane conditions (and I’m happy to accept it). Smart kid. He has a calm and positive mindset, something that’s really useful during the ups and downs of a bowling tournament. It takes some of us (yeah, that would include me) many years to learn that, if in fact we ever do. I’ve always thought that if there’s any justice in the world, nice guys who are dedicated players would win bowling tournaments more often. And if that’s the case, it’ll be just a matter of time before Shawn cashes the giant cardboard check.

Shawn Minnig: A "brooklyn" strike but a strike nonetheless



The other individual is Matt Surina. Matt has been a PBA member for 30-something years and has a few national titles to his credit, and is still cashing checks regularly on the regional circuit. Back in the 1970’s, I’d never miss watching the Pro Bowler’s Tour on ABC-TV and I’d see Surina on the tube every now and then with Chris Schenkel and Nelson Burton Jr. calling the action. So I felt fortunate when he turned up at Evergreen Lanes in Everett a few years ago and bought the pro shop. He accurately and meticulously drills my bowling equipment these days. Matt is hopelessly devoted to bowling and also happens to have one of the best (and most cerebral) senses of humor in the sport. His wife, Joyce, was telling me about a time when he called a hotel desk to give him a “go to sleep call” at 9 pm (as opposed to a “wake up call”). And they did it. Stephen Wright could use some of this guy’s material.

Matt Surina: A strike and a pose



The tournament also had some national flavor. Walter Ray Williams Jr., arguably the greatest bowler of all time with 45 national titles, was there to bowl and conduct some clinics. Overall, he had a pretty decent tournament. I think he finished fourth but when I watched one of his games, he shot a paltry 165 and could not stay away from leaving splits on lane 29.

Walter Ray Williams Jr: Ouch, another split



As for my friends Shawn and Matt: The bowling gods didn’t shine on Shawn that afternoon and he missed the cut to sixteen bowlers. And in fairness, he's been battling a hip injury that he needs to overcome. Matt, bowling in the senior division, finished just out of the money. But the silver lining for them both is that, as long as one can stand on the approach with bowling ball in hand, there will be another tournament on another day in which all of the combatants start out with the same score.

The tournament, and a $4000 payday, was ultimately won by lefty (the right-hander's natural enemy) and fellow Boeing employee Erik Hohlbein. If Shawn or Matt couldn’t win, I guess I can feel good that someone who wears the Boeing Blue did.

Clash Of The Tartans

On a hot and sunny Saturday earlier in the month, BowlingWidow and I headed north to Mount Vernon to meet some friends, Jim, Stephanie and their toddler daughter Katie at the annual Scottish Highland Games Festival. Being that (a) I’ve never been to anything like that and (b) my last name of Clark is the fourteenth most common surname in Scotland, it was clearly time to make an appearance.

Stephanie, born a MacAlister, is an experienced veteran at these kinds of things so we followed her around as she basked in her ancestral glory and got her credit card out to shop for all things Scottish.

The first thing we did was to make our way to the tent to look up the Clark tartan. I like the blue pattern. It worked for me and I didn’t need to take it a step further to the MacPherson and Cameron clan tartans which are in some way related to the Clarks.

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The Clark Tartan: Looks Even Better After a McEwan's Ale

There was a lot of music going on at this place. Harps, fiddles and of course bagpipes. Lots of bagpipes. If you’re the kind of person who gets annoyed by just a couple of bagpipes you’d want to steer clear of the groups of twenty of them and go get a traditional Scottish meat pie. Which were quite good, by the way.

The “games” mentioned in the name of this event including piping, drumming, dancing and athletics. You’ve probably at some point seen pictures or videos of some muscle-bound Scot in a kilt tossing a large telephone pole-like object. That’s called the caber toss and they were doing that, too.

The highlight of the day for Katie was the inflatable wading pool filled with soapy water that one can use with a bubble wand to float some impressive bubbles. She elected to be a human bubble wand, however, requiring a complete change of clothes prior to exiting the grounds.

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Stephanie, Jim, and Katie at The Highland Games

As we walked back to the car, I realized that I never was able to answer the most important question of all: do they actually wear anything underneath those kilts?

Come to think of it, I’ll let the experts try and answer that one.

All Roads Lead To…..Tacoma???

In a previous blog, I wrote about my growing disdain for fireworks. Not all fireworks. Just the ones that produce extremely loud noises at the most inopportune times. Such as a series of M-80 dynamite sticks that detonate at 5 minute intervals from midnight to 3am at the school playground next to our house.

So we thought, “why fight it?” and decided to head to some nearby downtown area for a couple of days to sit it out and hope we wouldn’t return to a smoldering pile of ashes that was once our house. Going to Tacoma (or "Ta-Compton" as our son says) to avoid gunshot-like noise seems counter intuitive at first glance but we figured every city has something good to see and we’d never given Tacoma a fair shake despite living an hour and a half away.

We stayed at The Hotel Murano (Murano is a Venetian island that’s well known for its glass art). Tripadvisor.com rated it the number one hotel in Tacoma and we were able to get it for a good rate. It’s recently been remodeled and is adorned with glass sculptures. Glass art is everywhere in Tacoma, no doubt inspired by native son, the well known Dale Chihuly.

An artful glass canopy: sorta kinda like being undersea
Pacific Avenue, just west of the Tacoma Dome, is the happening place in town (at least for a couple of late 40-somethings anyhow). On a four block stretch, you'll find The Museum of Glass, Museum of Washington State History and Union Station. There are also some quaint coffeehouses, bookstores and restaurants including The Harmon Brewing Company. We hit the Harmon for lunch upon arrival and were disappointed that they were out of their India Pale Ale (IPA). Not to worry. Not only did they have a perfectly (and lightly) carbonated Extra Special Bitter (ESB), it was on sale for just $1 for a 10 ounce glass. Needless to say, we had more than one to wash down our lunches.

After checking out some sites and a rest at the hotel it was on to another brewpub for dinner, Engine House #9. This place has been around a long time and we remembered visiting 20 years ago before they were actually making their own brew. We ordered IPAs to go with dinner and were underwhelmed. They were average at best with a slightly grainy taste. The chicken soft taco I had, however, was exquisite.

The Harmon Brewing Company: best beer in Tacoma

The next day, July 4th, we headed north 15 miles to Auburn and Emerald Downs racetrack. Enough said here. The horses weren’t in a charitable mood (at least from my perspective anyway) and we ended up making a $50 “donation” to the track. The rest of the waning Independence Day hours were spent rounding up some fast food chow mein and watching a local fireworks display from the hotel room window.

And when we drove back home we were amazed to see our house. Just as we had left it and not burned to the ground.
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Mt. Rainier on a clear day from Emerald Downs