A PARTICULARLY UNRULY DISPLAY of temperament a few years ago in Chicago’s Paddock Classic Traveling League prompted its Board of Directors to convene. The Board was alerted to what was being called “bowling rage,” and was concerned about evidence that implied there was something more pernicious behind this phenomenon.

Bowling rage probably has been with us since early mankind when “bowling balls” were made out of rocks. What most frequently prompts pro bowlers to rage is a sudden noise or voices during a delivery. Yet, in many other nations around the world, bowlers are cheered on the approach and throughout the actual execution of a shot.

In this regard, one of the most considerate gestures I ever saw was demonstrated by Malaysian spectators. The people of this wonderful country are so well-mannered that they felt it would be a breach of etiquette and hospitality to speak while the Americans bowled. Therefore, they maintained a diplomatic silence.

When I was touring with the pros as an instructor, I witnessed countless bowling rages. Many of these demonstrations involved the abuse of ball returns and the scoring tables. Others were of a more serious nature, such as punching a critic and swearing profusely in front of the fans. But when it comes to the crowning achievement for Tour rage, I would argue that Marshall Holman wins the award without contest.

One of the greatest bowlers of all time, I believe Holman could have been the very best ever if he had controlled his bowling rage. I could list many, many incidents of his susceptibility to this malady, but three in particular stand out.

The first was when he punched a brick wall in a state of fury during the Firestone Tournament of Champions, thereby breaking his hand.

Second, after leaving the bucket on a critical shot in the 10th frame for the national doubles championship, he kicked and smashed the foul lights on the lane in a fit of violence.

Third, he threw a bowling bag into the spectator stands during the ABC Masters. As the bag sailed upward toward the fans, a fellow scribe sitting next to me said, “God, I hope there’s no ball in that bag.” There wasn’t.

Bowling rage is often excused as a bowler’s ultimate will to win. In this light, it is viewed as admirable. But this is a dangerous concept if unchallenged. There is a fine line between what can be construed as acceptable and what is not. When stifled to an appreciable degree with irrational perception, bowling rage can take on a very sinister form. Instead of being directed inwardly in the form of self-disgust, self-flagellation or self-condemnation, it could begin to manifest itself externally, foisting its displeasure on teammates, competitors, spectators and the public-at-large.

As a long-tenured bowling proprietor, I have witnessed some horrible enactments attributable to bowling rage: a bowling ball hurled at a bartender for an innocent comment about a bowling score (fortunately missing its mark); a 16-lb. ball “whistled” through a crowded paddock (again, missing
its target); a ball hurled by an enraged bowler down a street into a busy intersection; ball, bag and shoes thrown out of a ninth-story hotel window, miraculously missing several pedestrians; and teammates fighting over whose fault it was for losing a critical match.

You can infer that bowling rage is natural to man. Failure induces a state of anxiety, and an over-zealous player can ease his frustration only with a display of violent behavior. This had a serious implication for our Paddock Classic Board. We met thinking that the progenitors of bowling rage were social inferiors who had never enjoyed the advantage of proper schooling in self-restraint and good sportsmanship. We adjourned thinking otherwise.

Our Board continued its research for many years. Regrettably, bowling rage still is with us — and stopping many bowlers from attaining their full potential.