Sweet Mother Mary, winter is here and it’s a righteous goddamn hassle. While apparently the milk-baggers out east in this fine country are enjoying the 20 degree weather we basked in for the month of October, November has come in angry with a sharp thumb to the anus of western Canada.

While all of last winter I may have shovelled snow half a dozen times at most, I’m already at thrice and it’s not even Remembrance Day. We’ve been caught in the frothing confluence of subzero temperatures and the tail end of an “atmospheric river” rolling in from the coast, bringing piles of useless white powder from the heavens. An atmospheric river being, of course, a newly created term necessary only because “heavy rain” doesn’t sound ominous enough for the many chicken littles shrieking frenzied doom through their local artisanal coffee shop wifi.

To add to this misery — ol’ Dicky is a little sicky today. That pitiful excuse plus shifting this barrage of frozen baby Jesus tears and along with a weekend visit by a lovely young lady means there hasn’t been much going on for me except staying in bed a lot and waking up sore as hell.

Now, since tonight is also league night I will miss the game and leave our first place standing imperilled. No spare bowler can be expected to roll with the Gutterfingers and keep up the same level of excellence we’ve put on the lanes every week so far. I may have to squeeze in a few games at the local 5 pin alley and report back on the nuances of that uniquely Canadian invention. Big Turk or Hawkins Cheezies? Only time will tell.

As mentioned, the ‘fingers went into last week’s contest still in first place and we were riding high, brimming with the kind of confidence that can only be supped from the husky teat of low-level mixed gender bowling league victories.

Our opponents were once again a pair of married couples and they, too, had one guy with a significantly better average than the rest. With the handicap system this doesn’t really matter but it seems to rub some of the better players against the fur when they lose to a bunch of liquor-swilling dummies playing their first league year.

Well, they were certainly friendly to start off with but after the first game the geniality vanished faster than a towel in the Texans’ massage room. We came out swinging and whalloped these nice folks by 130 points to set the table for the night. The good guys all rolled above average, my 132 sitting in the middle of the pack.

For the main course the coupled couples threw all they had at it and still came up short. Their 839 total score was a 72-point improvement but we still managed to best them by 25 points. Their top guy had a 161 but we pulled up our britches to hold them at bay, my 136 still just enough to be average.

They seemed to have had their fill after that but we still had dessert to serve up. With none of their crew topping 125 it was as soft and easy as a buffet prostitute. I rolled a 127 to end up with the second best score across the board and we put them out of their misery with an 838 total, good for a 54-point triumph. We took all three games and the overall and walked out of there with 7 points on the night, maintaining our pole position for the year.

I heard after the game that there was some griping from the other side about where we were standing while waiting to bowl. I was flummoxed as I know we stood well back while waiting for the lanes next to us to be done before throwing and did nothing different than all the other teams had done in our previous matches. Maybe some help from the BEB if he’s in the room? Are we expected to wait at our table until they’re done or is this just red-assed baboonery from the fresh whooping?