Bowling Diarrhea

In the mid 90’s, my entire personality came from the TBC arcade.  Prize tickets were my main currency. My fortune was tied up in temporary tattoos, Trolls, and alien keychains. When I ran out of coins, I spent hours watching Mortal Kombat 2 while it ran endless clips of human carnage. 

Raiden was my favorite character. His electric visage stretched vertically across the arcade cabinet. Like him, I coax the sky to strike me with two lightning bolts simultaneously. Just to energize myself. It’s a healthier option than coffee. 

Of all the clips the cabinet played, the best was a stage called, “The Pit”. A somber bridge like a demon’s tongue stretched over a featureless moonlit gorge. Fighting to the death are Scorpion and (Hollywood hotshot) Johnny Cage. Crouched, Scorpion throws his rope dart striking Jonny and pulling him to arm’s length. A swift uppercut sends Johnny falling to his death several stories below. It is a classic story of hubris. Pride before a fall. 

Aerosmith’s “Dude (Looks Like a Lady)” was always jamming on the juke. The female servers looked and sounded like Steven Tyler too. Marlboro Reds were the basic nutrient served at Saint Aneglo’s Restaurant  [fomrerly located inside TBC]. 

This was the era of black leather fanny packs and oversized neon windbreakers. The necessary gear required for surviving an evening of bar-league softball at neighboring Brighton Field. We came to TBC every Friday after my father’s games. His team was named, The Cobras. Without question, they were the best in the league. 

Most of his teammates were blue-collar workers from NT and Grand Island. They had mullets and big knuckles. It was 1994 and these men were making money. They had a pension. They celebrated their many victories. Saint Angelo’s was their weekly feast. 

Arriving here thirty years later I can’t help but feel like Johnny Cage. My Ray Bands and I are  smashed at the bottom of the pit, surrounded by a red pool. The parking lot is a busy puddle, the blood red sign TONAWANDA BOWLING CENTER wobbles and refeclts accross it. The arcade is gone, replaced by a giant brick oven. It sits in the corner like a dunce in time-out. 

Like the rest of us in 2024, TBC has trimmed the fat. It has kept the essentials and the blue collars happy. It’s Wednesday night, the lanes are full, and there’s action everywhere. Playing cards, 50/50 buckets, and pitchers at every table. Everyone is loud, but nobody seems to be arguing. Winter coats are draped over everything. Work-issued embroidered polo shirts are popular attire here. Potbellied men wearing signet rings dipping wings in blue cheese. 

A hairy guy in my neighboring lane is wearing aviator sunglasses as he polices a family pizza. His hairy arms and lavish fake jewelry gives me hope for the American dream. Perhaps he would like to purchase more jewelry with redemption tickets. Unfortunately, now, he must go to a place like Dave and Buster’s to redeem them.