VICTORY: I AM WORTHY
Memorial Day. Triple date. Bowling.
Mihlali and I arrived. Met her best friend, Daja. The sizing up began. Her man, Pete, joined. Skip the pleasantries.
“Do you bowl much?” He asked.
“Not really, you?”
“I bowl a little bit,” Pete continued, “What’s your highest score?”
My game testifies. I don’t need to. “I don’t know, what’s yours?”
He pounced on the bait, “I’ve bowled over 150 the last time, but we’ll see.”
“That’s very good,” I said excited to compete, “We will see how it goes.”
The main goal. Enjoy winning with Mihlali. To let joy lead the competition. Not pride.
The game began.
The first two rounds were easygoing. Each couple encouraged each other with fun.
Third round. I’m up. I grabbed my twelve-pound ball. Held it by the holes. Approached the lane. Took a deep breath. Marched three steps forward. Stretched the ball back. Released it forward with the right amount of spin. Strike.
Contempt rose with the competition. Pete's focus shifted to disrupting me. He struck. “The pressure is on!” He said as I approached the lane. My focus sharpened. I bowled a strike. “I love the pressure!”
The thicker the competition. The thinner his confidence. The trash talk intensified. I stopped engaging. He was winning. Before each round, Pete dug. “Catch up bro!” Sure thing.
The goal morphed. Win. I no longer cared about enjoying the time. Losing wasn’t the way.
Now, Pete and I were tied.
Round 7. He bowled 7 pins. I bowled 7 pins.
Round 8. He bowled 9 pins. I bowled 9 pins.
Round 9. He bowled 8 pins. I bowled 8 pins.
No more talking. Intensity shouted.
Round 10. I observed from my seat. Pete laid out 8 pins in the first attempt. The second, he left one.
“Ah, he left the door open!” I thought to myself.
My turn. Two options. Strike or Lose.
Ball in hand. Nerves tempted me to grab hold, “I can’t let him win. He has talked too much. If he wins, what does that…” Shhh. Silence.
I surrendered, “I’m built for this.” I stood facing the moment at peace. What would it reveal about me?
It’s time.
I approached the lane. Took a deep breath. Marched three steps forward. Stretched the ball back. Release it forward with the right amount of spin. Strike!
Game over.
Victory erupted, “LET’S GOOOOOO!” Mihlali and I embraced. Mission accomplished.
I walked towards Pete in the posture of triumph. My eyes focused on his. They never connected. “Good game,” I said while extending my hand for a firm grip.
“Good game,” He said.
Victory.
I sat simmering in the joy. The win felt good.
What the moment revealed about me felt better. I am worthy.
By CHRISTIAN JOHN BRADLEY
