The Super Bowler

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By Norman Chad
Monday, October 20, 2008

I woke up this morning with three simple goals for the day:

1. Convert at least one unsuspecting reader into a bowling-on-TV fan.

2. Introduce the Western world to the Bowler of Destiny.

3. Write an entire column without mentioning Brett Favre, Tony Romo or an ex-wife.

As the Professional Bowlers Association's 50th anniversary season begins this week -- hey, buddy, I see you putting down the sports page and reaching for the comics; get back over here!!! -- Couch Slouch is thrilled to anoint the first-ever Bowler of Destiny.

One day, his name could be on the short list of most recognizable American sporting monikers.

Babe Ruth. Tiger Woods. Rhino Page.

Yes, Rhino Page.

While I let those aromatic words sink in, let me briefly express my dismay that the International Bowling Museum and Hall of Fame is moving from St. Louis to Arlington, Tex. I'll be blunt here: This would be like moving the Vatican from Vatican City to Graceland. There, I said it -- now we can get back to more cheerful bowling tasks.

Speaking of which, how come more of you don't watch bowling? Bowlers are regular people, like you and me, except they bowl better. They seem more human than, you know, golfers or MMA fighters. Anyway, the PBA's easy to find every Sunday on ESPN -- certainly you've heard of ESPN.

Okay, I realize some of you might have skipped down this far in the column, because I was talking about bowling earlier, so you probably missed the key paragraph, which I'm going to repeat right here to catch you up:

Babe Ruth. Tiger Woods. Rhino Page.


CONTINUED     1           >

© 2008 The Washington Post Company

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