Sunday, April 01, 2007

Shanes are bridesmaids again

For the third year in a row, The Bowling Shanes made the Grand Final, in what is acknowledged by all as the toughest Tuesday Night Twilight Lawn Bowls comp in Southern Tasmania.

This year we faced Wrong Bias, in a 15-end, last-man-standing, all-male bloke-off. With typical panache and elan, the DCBC had wrong-footed everyone, managed to get the twilight bowlers out in the sunshine, and then thrown us with their suggestion we bowl non-stop for three hours. Why the final of a 12-end lawn bowls competition should be over 15 ends is anyone's guess.

However. It was a terrific match, played at a very high standard. Every end was long - even the short ends were long. Bowlers were hitting the mark, however, and many of the heads (tight clusters of bowls around the kitty) would have looked at home in an A Division match. Dean was busy chalking bowls that had touched the kitty. We all found it very amusing when he drew penises on our bowls last week, but in deference to the occasion he settled for a simple X today.

We started the better and had a 5-1 lead. Wrong Bias chipped away and after 8 ends it was 5-5, a very tight game. Going into what would normally be the last end, the 12th, it was 7-7. Wrong Bias steamrolled us in the last four ends. I got us off to a poor start each time, which put pressure on Dave and Hunter, and left Dean with an impossible position to score from. We conceded 1, then 2, then 2 more. Needing six to win on the last end, we took desperate measures to give ourselves a chance of a big score, but this tactic left huge gaps for Wrong Bias to pick up another 2.

It was very disappointing to fall away like that, after being right in it for most of the match. We were a bit wobbly at times this season, and Wrong Bias deserve the glory, accolades and huge sponsorship deals that always flow to the DCBC TNTLB Champions. They will be household names, as we were back in our glory year of 2005.

And so, as we put away the Grippo and the measuring tape for another winter, we turn our attention to indoor soccer with its shouting, its friction burns and its complete lack of clumsily-drawn genitalia.

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