Perfect Game
January 20, 2023 – Linthicum, Maryland, USA
The windowless walls and fluorescent lights made it easy for Evan Rudenko to lose track of time. He moved a plastic NextRain box from the left side of his work bench to the right, connected probes, and began the calibration sequence. After some screw turning, he attached a sticker, and he was on to the next unit.
Evan had a rough idea about what the boxes did – something about measuring moisture on farms – but he was told to only worry about turning the screws until they matched the voltage targets. The NextRain people had promised him stock options and said he was a part of an exciting growth industry. Turning screws turned out to be way less exciting than his former job on a construction crew but being inside during the winter months made the boredom worthwhile. While he was not banking on those stock options making him rich, he was making good money and could deal with the mindless work at least until the weather warmed up.
A door swung open in back of the room and slammed against the cement wall. Evan turned to watch the company’s CEO, Stetson Clarke, bounding down an aisle between test benches. As always, Stetson wore a limp tie with the knot pulled away from his neck. He panted like he had called for a timeout during a basketball game.
“Anybody here a bowler?” Stetson called out.
Evan rarely spoke to the fifteen other workers in the room. They mostly seemed as blah as the NextRain boxes. He had no idea if they bowled.
“I need someone who’s pretty good,” Stetson continued. “You don’t have to be great, just better than average. It’s important for the acquisition.”
Even as a throw-away employee, Evan knew something about the acquisition. A Japanese conglomerate was interested in NextRain and their team was making an onsite inspection before offering to buy the company. The NextRain executives hoped to score truckloads of money and they were stressed out of their minds trying to impress the visitors.
Evan raised his hand.
“It’s uh . . . Ethan, right?” Stetson said, strolling to Evan’s table.
“Evan.”
“Oh right. So, you bowl?”
“Pretty well. I’m in a league. Above average, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“Just what I’m looking for,” Stetson said as he put a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “See, I found out Mr. Fujikawa, the guy in charge of the Japanese team, is really into bowling. We’re going to an alley to show him a good time and I need to make sure somebody from NextRain looks decent.”
“I’m usually okay.”
“Can you drive yourself over there?”
“You mean, right now?”
“Yeah. A bunch of people are already there.”
“Can I go home and get my ball?”
“No time. Just meet me there.”
“Am I getting paid?”
“Of course you’re getting paid.”
Evan knew the nearby bowling alley well, but it was the first time he had walked in as a professional bowler. The place was a mix of old and new. The shiny lanes had been around since Evan’s parents were kids; the restaurant and bar were recent add-ons. The familiar sounds of classic rock mixed with the crack of balls on pins. The smell of French fries from the grill blended with the wood polish on the floor.
Two years earlier, Evan set a goal to become a great bowler – the first serious goal of his life. As he told his high school friend one night at the alley’s bar, “All I want is to be really good at one thing. It would make up for being bad at everything else.”
Evan picked bowling because it did not require any particular athletic build or strength. It was all about technique. Just you and the ball. He took classes and joined a league. He practiced consistently and yet he never seemed to bowl consistently. His high game was 215, but he usually scored in the 170s. He was better than a casual bowler but not even good enough to reach the second-tier league at the alley.
Stetson stood at the shoe rental counter and waved for Evan to join him. The Japanese visitors all wore suits and the NextRain execs were in ties. Evan looked down at his jeans and felt underdressed. He grabbed a pair of Size 9 shoes and followed the others to two lanes in the middle of the alley. The visitors sat on the chairs on one side of the lanes. The NextRain people took the chairs on the other side. An interpreter stood in the middle.
“This is gonna be fun,” Stetson called. “I thought we could play your team versus our team. The lowest total score buys dinner.”
The interpreter got to work translating. Everyone stared at Mr. Fujikawa who nodded and looked pleased with the idea. He stood up to find a ball. Everyone else followed.
As Evan inspected the house balls on the racks behind the lanes, Stetson snuck up behind him and whispered, “We need to keep it close, but we can’t win.”
“Why not?” Evan whispered back.
“I’ve been reading up on Japanese psychology. It’s important for them as the acquiring company to appear dominant. That means they’re better than us. So if they aren’t knocking down a lot of pins, you need to totally tank.”
“No problem,” Evan replied. “I’m only above average to begin with.”
Evan pulled the ball from the racks which had the fewest number of dings on its surface. He shuffled back to the lanes and studied the floor and pins. No doubt he had bowled in that same spot many times during practice and league play.
Stetson entered the names for the NextRain team into the lane’s computer. The interpreter did the same for the Japanese. Evan and Mr. Fujikawa were entered last.
Evan only knew his teammates superficially. They included Stetson, some type of accountant, and an engineer. They all bowled like they only came to the alley for family nights and recreation, aiming straight down the middle of the lane and hoping for the best. The result of their first throws: open frame, spare, open.
The first three Japanese bowlers had more serious approaches, but their results were only slightly better. When Mr. Fujikawa took the floor, it was obvious he knew his way around a lane. With a smooth release, he sent his ball toward the pins in a gentle arc. Strike. He returned to his seat without emotion.
“Nice one!” shouted Stetson.
Evan stood and grasped his ball. Despite all the eyes on him, he felt warm and loose. After a deep breath, he followed his usual approach and spun his wrist on release. The ball hugged the edge of the lane before curving back toward the pins with a loud explosion. Strike. Evan swallowed his smile.
The next three frames followed the same pattern. Mr. Fujikawa and Evan continued to roll strikes. Evan had bowled a four-strike streak before but had inevitably lost his groove and fallen apart. As he pulled back his arm for his fifth roll, his mind was surprisingly serene. He did not think too far ahead. He was bowling for fun and getting paid. A perfect combination of lane, ball, and his stroke magically converged. CRASH. Another strike. He could not hide the smile as he wordlessly returned to his seat.
Mr. Fujikawa slipped up in the next few frames, leaving nasty splits which ended with open frames. Evan kept rolling. Six, seven, then eight strikes in a row. A dozen NextRain employees had come to the alley to watch. They gathered behind the lane with folded arms. So did the casual bowlers from other lanes who had never seen eight strikes in a row. Evan ignored the growing wall of people around him and focused on the wood floor and pins.
After a ninth strike, someone tapped Evan on the shoulder. It was a friend from his league who whispered, “You’re on fire. I don’t want to jinx it, but this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. You could get a ring.”
A cheer rose behind him as Evan grabbed the ball for his tenth frame. He took two deep breaths and blocked out the sound. Another strong curve and smashing strike. It felt automatic.
The pins reset and the ball returned. He had two more rolls for his last frame. He stared at his ball, then the floor. Three deep breaths. Approach. Automatic. Strike.
He was one strike away from a perfect game. They would put his name on the wall. He could buy a 300 ring like his friend had whispered. He had dreamed of a moment like this every time he practiced or played in a league game.
As Evan reached for his ball, he felt Stetson’s hand on his back and then heard him whisper, “Time to tank.”
Evan had not paid attention to the total scores but the screen above him showed that NextRain was only trailing the Japanese by five.
“Put it in the gutter and you’ll get ten times the stock options,” Stetson continued. “Otherwise . . .”
Evan paused with his hand over the little fan at the end of the ball return. Tank his game for some extra options? The idea sounded like a silly plot to a low budget movie, with Stetson as the bad guy. But Stetson was not necessarily a bad guy. Evan did not know him well enough to judge.
Evan picked up his ball and imagined himself as the company’s hero, submitting so the Japanese could win. He would get a lot more options. Stetson would owe him. Then he imagined his name on the bowling alley wall. He would be one of five, and that was for all the games ever bowled in the place. Money and options would come and go, but a 300 game was forever. Evan set his feet. He was determined to let the pins decide.
The final ball hugged the lane’s edge by a hair’s breadth. Midway to the pins, instead of tipping right, it flew left. The waiting pins instantly exploded.
It took two seconds for the cheer behind him to register in Evan’s ears. He dropped to his knees and raised his arms over his head. The lights in the alley went dark and a flashing alarm pulsed over the shoe counter.
When the lights turned back on, Evan avoided looking at Stetson. Mr. Fujikawa stood and took three steps forward. His stern face quivered like he was being lowered into ice water. He spoke softly to the interpreter.
“Mr. Fujikawa says he has never before seen a 300 game,” the interpreter said solemnly. “It is one of the great honors of his lifetime. He hopes you will be around the company for a long time so he can join you in a future match.”
“Tell Mr. Fujikawa not to worry,” Stetson called, stepping toward the interpreter and gesturing happily. “Evan is an important member of our team. He’ll be around a long, long time.”
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