Onward and upward with the arts, and the 1990 Collect-A-Card Kingpins pro-bowling set, too. Let's get right to the action -- which is more than the PBA ever did:
A basic etiquette question crops up throughout the Kingpins set, namely: What’s an appropriate reaction for a bowler when he makes a nice shot?
The problem in bowling is there’s not a lot of athletic continuation going on to make a celebratory gesture look spontaneous yet not stupid.
Let me frame this question for you in the context of that other sport that dabbles in the pastel shades, golf. When a golfer makes a long putt, and s/he knows it’s going in the hole, s/he strides briskly towards the hole, simultaneously raising his or her hand to acknowledge the applause they know is coming as soon as the ball touches the bottom of the cup. That’s a natural continuation of the putt, and not the starting-a-two-cycle-weed-whacker gesture most golfers (and bowlers) resort to when a putt they had given up for dead takes an abrupt left turn and jumps in the cup.
(There’s also the drop-the-putter-and-serpentine-wildly move, but that doesn’t even merit consideration. When a golfer feels the need to imitate Alan Arkin in The In-Laws, it’s like he’s surprised at his accomplishment, and I have no use for tour golfers who aren’t 100 percent dead-solid sure they can sink it from anywhere – the water, the sand, the tee box, the rainforest canopy, the crab nebula. It’s like the legendary Yankee scout Paul Krichell used to say: “A kid who thinks along the lines that it’s too hard to make it couldn’t make it anyway.” So why act surprised?)
So what’s a bowler to do? The crowd expects something, even if that something is a severe questioning of their judgment for going to a bowling tournament and expecting it not to be a snoozefest with roller dogs. Cheerleaders are out, and so are jumbotrons, spotlights, pyrotechnics, sideline reporters, pep bands, Jerry Jones, that “Jump Around” song, and any other music that doesn’t come from a jukebox at 50 cents a track. The crowd’s needs are simple: they expect a bowler to knock down the all the pins and then bust a move, so as to point up the crowd’s aggregated inadequacy in both departments. A spectator may never come away from the King Louie Open saying, “Man, that Earl Anthony sure can pump his fist,” but that’s what he’s thinking. In so many words.
The unfortunately inevitable extension of this thinking is The Happy Dance of Skee Foremsky, which almost certainly was performed to the jukeboxed strains of “The Pennsylvania Polka,” by Frankie Yankovic and His Yanks. It’s a shame that the bowling crowd’s unslakable thirst for entertainment drove this Lone Star kegler over the edge. There’s no need for The Happy Dance of Skee Foremsky. Skee should be allowed to be Skee, whatever that means, away from the crushing peer pressure of the bowling crowd. And he should act like he’s been there before, which he most assuredly has, and he can sink it from anywhere, which is undoubtedly the case.
Skee, my man, you deserve better. But I’m not sure you deserve that much better.
First there was a Horse Whisperer. Then, if I have my whisperers straight, there was a Dog Whisperer, then a Cat Whisperer, and if I’m not mistaken they were followed by an Orchid Whisperer, a Tequila Whisperer, and a Chicken Whisperer. And I just got done reading about a Nanny Whisperer.
So what do you whisper to tequila? “You taste like Sterno filtered through bread”? I think the whole thing has blown its head gasket.
Still, in the spirit of things, behold the Bowling-Ball Whisperer. I’m guessing what he’s whispering to his ball is, “If you don’t knock all those pins down right now when we get home I’m filling you with concrete and dropping you off the end of Navy Pier,” which is where all bad bowling balls go to sleep with the fishes, especially when their former owners are from Des Plaines.
I’m astonished. I never knew that bowling alleys had wallpaper. I always thought their walls were finished in cigarette smoke, fryer grease, and four-by-eight sheets of fake knotty-pine paneling. Sometimes when the owners were ambitious they’d actually nail the fake knotty pine to the walls.
And then I’m astonished that bowling alleys had this wallpaper. I thought this pattern was exclusive to the gimmicky ice-cream parlors that flourished in the ‘70s and featured a 60-year-old guy in sleeve garters and a straw hat strolling from table to table, playing the banjo and singing “In The Good Old Summertime” until someone crowned him with the remnants of their 33-Scoop Gut-Buster Delight, which they invariably did.
This wallpaper does bring up the possibility that Bill Allen was bowling in his basement and not in a bowling alley, adding fuel to the debate that the PBA in the ‘90s did not really exist but was fabricated in a sound studio with not 90 different bowlers but three – a tall one, a short one, and a fat one – and lots of prop hair and glasses. And striped polo shirts.
This would explain Chris Schenkel, who appears to be not Chris Schenkel at all but a cardboard cutout of Chris Schenkel in broadcasting Neverland, waiting on the CGI. How easy would it have been to round up a cardboard Chris Schenkel and a nine-foot patch of hardwood-laminate floor, grab some old footage of strikes and spares and crowd shots, rig a ball return out of the back end of a Kawasaki 440LTD, and fake the whole darn Pro Bowlers’ Tour? The PBA was at its nadir. It was pre-NCAA, pre-chip hat, and pre-cool; it wasn’t like anyone was paying attention. And hey, it worked for the moon landing.
I think I’m done with the Kingpins set. It was fun while it lasted. Just be thankful I can’t find my PWBA set, featuring the deathless Tish Johnson. Now, if any readers have a set they want to share …
 Rumor has it that when Arnold Palmer was seriously injured in a car wreck in the ‘80s he had his shattered elbow set to acknowledge the applause of the gallery after sinking a long putt, only to reconsider when he realized he would have to stand on his head to get the ball out of the hole.
 Preferably a jukebox with “Old Time Rock ‘n’ Roll,” the Chicken Dance, “Proud Mary,” and everything ever recorded by Bobby Vinton.
 And which was unquestionably inspired by the cover of London 0 Hull 4 by the Housemartins, one of the gayest bands to come out of the mid-‘80s British indie-pop scene. Draw your own conclusions there.
 Because the crowds at these events never changed. You think it’s a new thing to digitally create crowds in movies and TV shows? The PBA started doing it at the 1972 Waukegan Open. I have proof.