Without a Miss

For all general purposes, Mr. William McGeorge of Kent, Ohio would serve as Mr. Average U. S. Bowler. He is 53, looks 40; has a Celtic thrust to his under jaw; is lean, lanky, straight; believes bowling is the best possible exercise. A white-collar man with an electrical firm, he has a wife and three big sons, lives in a simple house on College Street. He bowls Wednesday and Friday nights with the Portage County All Stars and in the Kent-Ravenna City League. When he bowls in important competition he wears a shiny satin bowling shirt with a regimental-striped tie. He has been bowling since 1906, one lucky night hit 256, in regular mid-season form averages 175.

Last week Bowler McGeorge and some of the boys decided to have a try at the slick alleys and new wood at the American Bowling Congress up in Cleveland. It was Bowler McGeorge's first A.B.C. appearance. When the crowd from Kent arrived, the A.B.C. was rumbling through its third week, and up to then nothing spectacular had happened. Nothing McGeorge and the Kent men did in the five-man play served to jog the tourney out of its doldrums. Mac, for example, rolled 175-153-214 for a 542 total. Next day in the doubles, with a fellow named Cox, he did a little better--190-184-187 for a total 561.

Before he started rolling for his singles score one of the fellows gave him a rabbit's foot. He hung it fob-like from his watch pocket, remarking: "I'll need two of these." One was enough. In the first frame Bowler McGeorge found the groove with a wide Dutch hook, curving into the 1-3 pocket from the extreme right side of the alley. The pins scattered like cats off an alley fence. Then, ten more times without a miss, Bowler McGeorge's pet two-finger ball socked sweetly into the 1-3. Intent on remembering the groove, Bowler McGeorge had not been watching the score. Like most bowlers, he was content to let his string of strikes run itself out before finding out where he stood. But watchful eyes among the 300 afternoon spectators in Cleveland's vast Lake Side Auditorium spotted what was going on, and the murmur and commotion aroused McGeorge to what he had worked up to. He had eleven strikes. One more meant a perfect game. In all the 39 years of the A.B.C. competition, only five bowlers had rolled 300.

Down the alley now the pins looked hazy. Bowler McGeorge felt a little sick at his stomach. His palms sweated so that he had to dry them. He dabbed his fingers with chalk, got a grip of sorts on himself, picked up the ball, sighted down the maple strip, and let fly. It was his only erratic shot. There was a gasp as it crossed over, broke toward the Brooklyn (left) side. But on the left side is the 1-2 pocket, which bowlers sometimes call Last Chance Gulch, and right in there Bowler McGeorge's last straying hook nudged its way. Obedient to the master, the pins vanished into the pit, every last one.

Mac might have fainted, but his teammates grabbed him, hoisted him to their shoulders, marched him triumphantly around the hall. "I don't know how I did it," he kept saying. "I never did it before, and I probably never will again. Blame it on luck." Then, back on his feet again, he rolled out his singles turn with 173-166 for a 639, 75 pins behind the leader, scarcely worth marking up.

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