Working your balls. And Winning!

Mr Woog has taken the kids out to run them ragged this afternoon after I took them this morning to compete in the Woog Cup.

What is the Woog Cup?

The Woog Cup is in it's 2nd year and it is a Ten Pin Bowling competition. The first one was won by my good self back in May 2011, so I was long overdue to defend my title.

We could not find any corporate sponsors for the World Cup, not helping at all by the fact that we did not seek any out, but if we were too, it would be the kind folk at Odour Eaters.

Because I was feeling generous, I told Mr Woog that he was not required to compete this year, instead I would be taking my good friend Mrs Finlayson and her offspring, my adorable god daughter.

Now Mrs Finlayson and my son Jack were both born with a keen competitive spirit and they went neck a neck to the finish.

I tied for last place with my God-daugher.

So all in all, that is a pretty dull story, don't you think?

Mrs Finlayson cuts a fine figure on the track. Or field, Or court. Or whatever the fuck you call it.

Yes, it probably would have been a very boring tale to tell, if it were not for this gentleman working the balls next to us.

In certain circles, this man might be considered a PRO BOWLER. He had the stance and standing of a serious soul, complete with downtrodden wife and what appeared to be an unenthusiastic grandchild. As he bowled, he would purse his thin lips and narrow his watery eyes. Then, with his tongue darting out said thin lips, he would effortlessly and seamlessly guide the gliding ball down the boards, wiping out those pins like it was nobodies business.

I think bowling is hard. Unless the aim of the game is to keep the balls in those handy trenches that run down the side of each lane. If the aim of the game was to keep the balls travelling down that particular path, I would be bowling in Vegas full time for a living.

It seemed I had lost my magic this year.

My god-daughter and I were not the best bowlers out there today, but SHE was the most dangerous.

Her first bowl. She struggled with the heavy ball and ran, like someone with one too many under their belt, towards the general area that one would normally release their missile. Release it she did!

Up, up, up into the air, travelling across the lane and into our serious man's ally, where it found it's way into the trench, the area that I favour, before limping pathetically across the finish. Collecting no pins.

Squeals of laughter erupted, before apologies were offered.

But it was not funny.

The man in the ally, whose game we had sabotaged, was furious. His wife looked like she wanted to run away when he demanded that Mrs Finlayson go and line up at the very long line to ask Donna at the desk, to electrically reset the game to declare my Goddaughters attempt at getting some action on the pro-circuit NULL AND VOID.

It all got a little awkward at this point.

He stormed off to see Donna himself and sorted the situation right, and spent the remainder of The Woog Cup staring at us with a look of distain, as we continued our attempt at bowling.

I could just tell what he was thinking. That we were bastardising his sport with our gleeful squeals as we bowled the ball between our legs, and danced to Gangman Style halfway down the ally.

My goddaughter continued to get bowling mixed up with Badminton.

Mrs Finlayson pipped Jack at the post with a well timed strike and I managed to complete an entire game without slipping over.

And that is what I really call WINNING!

Hey....... Sexy Lady...