Some people lead interesting lives. Most of us do not. (If you're wondering whether you're part of the 'some people' or part of the 'most of us,' you're part of the 'most of us.' I hate to be the one to break it to you.) Most of us go about our lives in a manner that nobody would consider very interesting. We go to work and try to earn a living. Then we come home and try to enjoy whatever free time we have. Then we go back to work and try to get through one more day along the road to a retirement that is bound to be far less intriguing than we had imagined.
Do you remember Al Bundy? He was the husband/father from the sitcom Married, With Children. Al was the stereotypical suburban douchebag. He hated his job, tolerated his wife, and held onto his memories of past glory (either real or imagined.)
Until tonight, I had never really taken the time to name the psychological phenomenon that I seem to observe among people of my age. (By "people of my age" I usually mean "myself.") Maybe I never really even noticed that this phenomenon existed. It exists though. And, as of tonight, it has a name - The Al Bundy Effect.
Al was always fond of recalling his glory days at Polk High. He was a star football player, as the sitcom story went, and every aspect of his pitiful suburban life was an opportunity to reflect on what he used to be. I can relate.
On the rare occasion that some unfortunate lass might find herself in my bedroom nowadays, I may be reminded of an evening, way back when, that I managed to bed two gorgeous Mexican girls on the same night. Not at the same time, mind you, as that would be truly worth discussing, but on the same night. Back to back homeruns, if you will. And... yeah... that was... almost twenty years ago.
On the occasion that a fella might find himself telling me about his latest recreational softball game, I may be reminded of the one time that I hit a double up the gap off of some guy who later wound up pitching in a few games for the Blue Jays. And... yeah... that was... almost twenty years ago.
On the occasion that someone might feel inclined to discuss a brush with the law or a situation where he made a lot of money without doing a lot of work, I might be reminded of the days when I knew certain people who might later be convicted of tax evasion and so forth. Lots of money to be had all 'round and lots of good times to be enjoyed. And... yeah... that was... almost twenty years ago.
In case you're slow with the reading comprehension, my life once was fairly interesting. But it hasn't been all that interesting since I was a teenager. In fact it has been quite dull. I fall squarely in the 'most of us' camp mentioned above. Hell, to be honest, most of us probably lead far more interesting lives than I do. I plug along though.
After I wrapped up yet another easy work shift tonight, amidst the 'great recovery' that our economy is clearly experiencing, I went to Novi Bowl with my brother. This seems to be our new Sunday tradition. I didn't bowl very well, although I didn't do too badly either. Somewhere in the high 180's was my average, I think.
My brother didn't bowl well at all, although posting a good score was not his objective on this night. He was trying to find a reliable groove. My brother is new to the nuances of bowling and is trying to learn the game. He recently ordered a ball online and expects to take delivery tomorrow. Prior to receiving his new ball and getting it drilled, his (absolutely brilliant) mentor had given him a few things to work on. So that's where his main focus was tonight.
After getting the kid sorted out and screwing around with a few approaches of my own, it was time for the two of us to get down to business and bowl. In light of last weekend's performance we suspected that a high number would be coming for one of us. We were wrong. My high game was 197 and his was much worse. We did drink plenty of beer along the way though. Six bucks for a pitcher is a pretty solid deal.
At some point during the evening, one of the bowling alley employees was walking around and putting away all of the house balls that had been left on the ball returns. He passed by our lane as I was pouring myself a cold one. "Any 290's tonight?" he asked. Of course the answer was no, but for that one moment... just that one moment... I felt the Al Bundy Effect. I was the big shot. However insignificant and common that 290 game last week might have been, I'm not the only one who remembered it. Now, as time goes on, I'll just need to figure out how to embellish the story and make the game sound more impressive than it was. (Any suggestions are welcome.) Then I'll have the Al Bundy approach figured out completely.
