Bowling Bags, Serial Numbers, and Sanity

Bowling Bags, Serial Numbers, and Sanity

I thought I was losing my mind.

“Did you bring my headphones or draw my head?”

That sentence actually came out of my mouth as I was pacing the house, running final checks before Junior Gold. I was frantically searching for my headphones.

Spoiler alert: they were on my head.

Tournament week does something strange to the brain. The more prepared you are, the more your mind scrambles to find something wrong. Something to fix. Something to control.

That’s how the Purple Hammer saga began.

Just like last year, I told myself Bella wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. My job was to take every ounce of decision fatigue off her plate.

Balls? I got them.

Bags? Lined up.

Layouts? Logged.

Serial numbers?

Well… that’s where things got interesting.

“Is that one compliant?” I asked.

“It should be,” Bella replied.

I picked up the Purple Hammer like it was a sacred artifact. I found a serial number.

“It ends in a nine,” I said confidently. “We’re good.”

Then Barbi leaned in.

“It’s not the last number that matters—it’s the first.”

Right.

I’d just looked at the completely wrong end of the serial number and made a tournament decision like I was reading a fortune cookie.

We all burst out laughing. Bella looked at me like I was a lovable lunatic. Barbi shook her head, smiling.

And in that moment, the stress dissolved.

That was the whole point.

This year, like last year, my real job wasn’t packing bags or checking compliance codes.

It was creating mental space.

Simplicity.

Routine.

Flow.

I’d forgotten that peace of mind doesn’t come from doing everything perfectly—it comes from knowing someone else has your back.

Bella’s going to throw something special this year. Not because of the Purple Hammer, or the checklist, or the serial number drama.

But because her mind will be light.

Her heart will be free.

And her dad already carried the weight.

As for the Purple Hammer? We’ll see if it makes the cut… which it probably will, because it’s a solid staple in the bag.

As long as I read the number from the right end this time.

And speaking of Purple Hammers—Bella and I went bowling today.

She’s been coaching me, and my form is finally improving. My Purple Hammer is getting better and better.

Thanks to Bella’s tips, I’m learning how to pitch it with better consistency and a little more confidence.

I’m still nowhere near her level—but that’s okay.

We had a beautiful family day at the lanes—just us, some good food, and plenty of laughter.

Barbi even acted like an old man shuffling slowly across the bowling alley just to mimic how I walk after a long day.

She had us in stitches.

Then came the moment. I threw one of my best shots yet with the Purple Hammer. I turned around to celebrate, expecting applause or at least some proud eye contact—

But Bella and Barbi were both staring at their phones.

Naturally, I did what any attention-starved bowler would do:

I tossed my hat in their direction… and accidentally knocked over a water cup and a full container of ranch dressing. Ranch. Everywhere.

I headed to the counter and asked the owner, “Hey, where are the napkins?”

He said, “Behind the straws.”

As I walked off, still trying to be funny, I said, “Gotta go clean it up—it’s all over the parking lot.”

He looked at me like, Did he just say parking lot?

I couldn’t stop laughing.

Bowling bags, serial numbers, and sanity…

Sometimes, you just have to carry all three with grace—

and a towel for the ranch.