onefrombills
11-15-2008, 07:18 PM
The neon-orange bowling ball seemed to hover in the air, at least four feet, quite possibly more, above the synthetic bowling lane (hardwood lanes are archaic) at Northside Lanes in Winston-Salem.
A plump woman in red, skintight stretch pants had inadvertently hurled her ball skyward during a problematic approach to her lane's foul line. The foul line is where the bowler usually stops and the ball ostensibly starts its speedy journey toward clobbering a triangle of 10 maple-and-plastic pins at lane's end.
The woman jumped up and jiggled down. She covered her face and plugged her ears as the ball violently crashed to the lane. She likely didn't see it weakly roll into the gutter -- as if needing a place to die. But she definitely noticed the jarred bowlers around her, all of whom had stopped bowling to grumble and glare at her as she giggled and loudly blamed the ball.
She was having fun. No need for bad vibes. It's just a game, right?
Not to Tom Baker, born in Buffalo, N.Y. -- bowling country. He settled in King five years ago, and he lives to bowl. It's his life. "People say I'm good," he said, shrugging, as he started walking to his lane, wheeled bowling-ball carrier in tow. "Me -- I think I can get better. I know I can get better."
Baker's sentiment is open to hopeful dispute among many of his contemporaries.
It was while bowling that Baker, 54, met his girlfriend, Donna, the daughter of the late Tommy Tuttle of King. Tuttle had been a champion professional bowler, and his daughter competed in regional pro tournaments. She now works for R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Co. and remains a top local-league bowler.
"I first met Donna early in life, but we went our separate ways. Years later, we got back in touch," Baker said. "And that's how I ended up in King."
They bowl together from time to time. "She's really good," Baker said. "And she's very competitive." Asked if he let her win, or she let him win, he slightly smiled, the side of his mouth turning up, eyes twinkling. No safe answer available. No answer coming.
Baker was bowling at the far end of the alley. He was wholly unaware of the ruckus at the opposite end. He was fixed, trancelike, on the pins standing 60 feet down the oiled lane. He was, as he said, "ready to knock down some pins."
He didn't really mean "some" pins. He meant all the pins, all the time.
Baker's stance, even the way he cradled the ball, set him apart from the other bowlers. He was relaxed, his body bent into a matrix of seemingly unnatural angles. He approached the foul line with intuitive grace. When he released the ball he turned his wrist, so subtle as to go unnoticed. There was nary a sound as ball hit lane and started to glide.
Maybe 25 feet from the pins, the ball started noticeably reacting to the oil on the lane and the wrist twist. It gradually moved right then, at the last second, it dramatically hooked to the left, perfectly hitting the pocket, the sweet spot between the pins that starts the intended domino effect.
All pins clattered down. Strike! Baker's reaction was slight. No biggie. It was supposed to happen.
None of the other bowlers in the alley noted that this was Baker's fifth consecutive strike. None saw him leave one corner pin wobbling on his next roll, or noticed that he retaliated with seven more consecutive strikes. It looked effortless, easy.
"Is that enough?" Baker politely asked. An answer was unneeded. It couldn't get more surreal.
But it did. It was later pointed out that Baker had missed bowling a perfect game (a score of 300, or 12 consecutive strikes) by one unsteady pin. Five strikes. A near miss. Seven strikes. Baker didn't seem to notice. "I don't keep score," he had said, before starting. "Here, it doesn't matter."
He has rolled perfect games --unheard of for most bowlers -- when it mattered. Forty-eight of them, to be exact. "There were more," he said. "I don't really count when I am just fooling around."
On this afternoon, he was just fooling around. He wore neither glove nor wrist brace as he bowled.
All that adorned his hand was a nice watch and a ring. The ring tells all.
Tom Baker is a lord of The Ring. It's how he rolls.
A lot of work, a little luck
"This is my … Professional Bowler's Hall Of Fame ring," he said, pointing to an inscribed ring that holds 32 diamonds. "There are only 10 of these (series of) rings in the world." His eyes sparkled. "That ring represents a lot of years and work, a lot of time." He paused. "And maybe a little luck."
The Professional Bowler's Hall of Fame was founded in 1975, and it has 81 members. Luck did not land them there.
Jack "Double J" Jurek is a fellow pro bowler. He has known "Bakes," as Baker is known on the pro tour, for 25 years. Jurek has one PBA Tour win, in 1995.
"I still always look forward to seeing ‘Bakes' bowl," Jurek said. "But I never look forward to having to square off against him. He's a great bowler. Fundamentally, his style is solid. But he can repeat a shot --roll a strike, again and again-- as good as anybody I've ever seen. When he hits that rhythm, look out."
Jurek added that Baker, in addition to winning tournaments and a World Championship, is also a multiple recipient of the Pro Tour's Sportsmanship Award.
"He is a great guy, one of the best out here," he said. "He represents everything positive about bowling. He's the kind of guy who a stranger sees bowl and thinks, ‘Hey, I bet I could do that, too."
Bowling is America's Everyman sport. Virtually anybody can bowl. Only a few can bowl great.
Baker, who maintains a 244 average -- that's high -- has been bowling since he was 8. He used to hang out at Voelker Lanes, right across from his house. His father bowled. His older brothers bowled. The family watched pro bowling on television. Everybody bowled. It was the neighborhood social activity.
Baker watched and learned. He had the touch. Buffalo locals called him a natural.
People still call him a natural.
"I've known Tom for 10 or more years, and he goes about life and bowling in a totally unassuming and natural manner," said Tracy Golding, since 2006 a co-owner of Northside Lanes, Winston-Salem's first integrated bowling alley. "He comes here to practice when he's not on tour, and when he comes in, he is working. This is his job."
Golding chuckled in appreciation. "You don't often walk into local alleys and see bowlers such as Tom. His concentration is amazing, and he is deadly, amazingly accurate. Still, most of the people don't know who he is. He will walk in wearing shorts and flip-flops. He doesn't flaunt who he is."
Golding said that Baker goes out of his way to work with young bowlers. "He gives them a lot of his time, bowling with them, encouraging them and teaching things he had to figure out on his own. I think it goes back to his youth as a bowler."
‘The kid' turns pro
By the time Baker was 13, he was Buffalo's prodigy bowler. Baker said that he was soon "bowling for action" at the local alleys. Regulars would tell visiting bowlers about "the kid" with a 186 average who could beat them without breaking a sweat. Invariably, a money match would emerge. Since Baker didn't initially have money, adults at the alley gladly would spot him for a cut of the action. Before long, Baker was spotting the money -- and putting some in the bank.
"I was making around $150, $200 a day, and I was bowling every day," Baker said. "When I became a scratch bowler (200 average) I started playing in local tournaments and making more money. I finished school, and in 1976, at 21, I made the pro tour." He laughed. "The money got better."
He shook his head. "I've never worked a regular job in my life."
A plump woman in red, skintight stretch pants had inadvertently hurled her ball skyward during a problematic approach to her lane's foul line. The foul line is where the bowler usually stops and the ball ostensibly starts its speedy journey toward clobbering a triangle of 10 maple-and-plastic pins at lane's end.
The woman jumped up and jiggled down. She covered her face and plugged her ears as the ball violently crashed to the lane. She likely didn't see it weakly roll into the gutter -- as if needing a place to die. But she definitely noticed the jarred bowlers around her, all of whom had stopped bowling to grumble and glare at her as she giggled and loudly blamed the ball.
She was having fun. No need for bad vibes. It's just a game, right?
Not to Tom Baker, born in Buffalo, N.Y. -- bowling country. He settled in King five years ago, and he lives to bowl. It's his life. "People say I'm good," he said, shrugging, as he started walking to his lane, wheeled bowling-ball carrier in tow. "Me -- I think I can get better. I know I can get better."
Baker's sentiment is open to hopeful dispute among many of his contemporaries.
It was while bowling that Baker, 54, met his girlfriend, Donna, the daughter of the late Tommy Tuttle of King. Tuttle had been a champion professional bowler, and his daughter competed in regional pro tournaments. She now works for R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Co. and remains a top local-league bowler.
"I first met Donna early in life, but we went our separate ways. Years later, we got back in touch," Baker said. "And that's how I ended up in King."
They bowl together from time to time. "She's really good," Baker said. "And she's very competitive." Asked if he let her win, or she let him win, he slightly smiled, the side of his mouth turning up, eyes twinkling. No safe answer available. No answer coming.
Baker was bowling at the far end of the alley. He was wholly unaware of the ruckus at the opposite end. He was fixed, trancelike, on the pins standing 60 feet down the oiled lane. He was, as he said, "ready to knock down some pins."
He didn't really mean "some" pins. He meant all the pins, all the time.
Baker's stance, even the way he cradled the ball, set him apart from the other bowlers. He was relaxed, his body bent into a matrix of seemingly unnatural angles. He approached the foul line with intuitive grace. When he released the ball he turned his wrist, so subtle as to go unnoticed. There was nary a sound as ball hit lane and started to glide.
Maybe 25 feet from the pins, the ball started noticeably reacting to the oil on the lane and the wrist twist. It gradually moved right then, at the last second, it dramatically hooked to the left, perfectly hitting the pocket, the sweet spot between the pins that starts the intended domino effect.
All pins clattered down. Strike! Baker's reaction was slight. No biggie. It was supposed to happen.
None of the other bowlers in the alley noted that this was Baker's fifth consecutive strike. None saw him leave one corner pin wobbling on his next roll, or noticed that he retaliated with seven more consecutive strikes. It looked effortless, easy.
"Is that enough?" Baker politely asked. An answer was unneeded. It couldn't get more surreal.
But it did. It was later pointed out that Baker had missed bowling a perfect game (a score of 300, or 12 consecutive strikes) by one unsteady pin. Five strikes. A near miss. Seven strikes. Baker didn't seem to notice. "I don't keep score," he had said, before starting. "Here, it doesn't matter."
He has rolled perfect games --unheard of for most bowlers -- when it mattered. Forty-eight of them, to be exact. "There were more," he said. "I don't really count when I am just fooling around."
On this afternoon, he was just fooling around. He wore neither glove nor wrist brace as he bowled.
All that adorned his hand was a nice watch and a ring. The ring tells all.
Tom Baker is a lord of The Ring. It's how he rolls.
A lot of work, a little luck
"This is my … Professional Bowler's Hall Of Fame ring," he said, pointing to an inscribed ring that holds 32 diamonds. "There are only 10 of these (series of) rings in the world." His eyes sparkled. "That ring represents a lot of years and work, a lot of time." He paused. "And maybe a little luck."
The Professional Bowler's Hall of Fame was founded in 1975, and it has 81 members. Luck did not land them there.
Jack "Double J" Jurek is a fellow pro bowler. He has known "Bakes," as Baker is known on the pro tour, for 25 years. Jurek has one PBA Tour win, in 1995.
"I still always look forward to seeing ‘Bakes' bowl," Jurek said. "But I never look forward to having to square off against him. He's a great bowler. Fundamentally, his style is solid. But he can repeat a shot --roll a strike, again and again-- as good as anybody I've ever seen. When he hits that rhythm, look out."
Jurek added that Baker, in addition to winning tournaments and a World Championship, is also a multiple recipient of the Pro Tour's Sportsmanship Award.
"He is a great guy, one of the best out here," he said. "He represents everything positive about bowling. He's the kind of guy who a stranger sees bowl and thinks, ‘Hey, I bet I could do that, too."
Bowling is America's Everyman sport. Virtually anybody can bowl. Only a few can bowl great.
Baker, who maintains a 244 average -- that's high -- has been bowling since he was 8. He used to hang out at Voelker Lanes, right across from his house. His father bowled. His older brothers bowled. The family watched pro bowling on television. Everybody bowled. It was the neighborhood social activity.
Baker watched and learned. He had the touch. Buffalo locals called him a natural.
People still call him a natural.
"I've known Tom for 10 or more years, and he goes about life and bowling in a totally unassuming and natural manner," said Tracy Golding, since 2006 a co-owner of Northside Lanes, Winston-Salem's first integrated bowling alley. "He comes here to practice when he's not on tour, and when he comes in, he is working. This is his job."
Golding chuckled in appreciation. "You don't often walk into local alleys and see bowlers such as Tom. His concentration is amazing, and he is deadly, amazingly accurate. Still, most of the people don't know who he is. He will walk in wearing shorts and flip-flops. He doesn't flaunt who he is."
Golding said that Baker goes out of his way to work with young bowlers. "He gives them a lot of his time, bowling with them, encouraging them and teaching things he had to figure out on his own. I think it goes back to his youth as a bowler."
‘The kid' turns pro
By the time Baker was 13, he was Buffalo's prodigy bowler. Baker said that he was soon "bowling for action" at the local alleys. Regulars would tell visiting bowlers about "the kid" with a 186 average who could beat them without breaking a sweat. Invariably, a money match would emerge. Since Baker didn't initially have money, adults at the alley gladly would spot him for a cut of the action. Before long, Baker was spotting the money -- and putting some in the bank.
"I was making around $150, $200 a day, and I was bowling every day," Baker said. "When I became a scratch bowler (200 average) I started playing in local tournaments and making more money. I finished school, and in 1976, at 21, I made the pro tour." He laughed. "The money got better."
He shook his head. "I've never worked a regular job in my life."