Don’tsaybowlingdon’tsaybowling, Emma thought.
“Bowling!” Gordon said, coming back in the room with a 15-pound red ball held at arm’s length, which, annoyed as she was, Emma thought was kind of impressive. “We’ll let our competition in the sport of kings decide the matter.”
“First of all, bowling isn’t the sport of kings. That’s horse racing.”
“Okay, well, that seems impractical…”
“Second of all, bowling isn’t a sport.”
“How can you say bowling isn’t a sport? It takes training, concentration and physical ability. Also, you keep score.”
“I’ll give you that it’s a competition, but that’s about it. You hold the ball, take four steps and try to keep your wrist straight and try to knock down a bunch of stationary targets. Repeat nine to nineteen times. And you also keep score in hopscotch, so that’s a non-starter.”
“You don’t see hopscotch on ESPN,” Gordon said.
“My point is, I’m not going bowling. Any ‘sport’ you have to rent shoes that God knows how many other feet have been in is ridiculous.”
“Admit that you’re scared to lose, and I’ll let it go.”
“Maybe if you put some obstacles in the lane or something,” Emma said, “then it would be more interesting.”
“Well, then it would just be a game of miniature golf, only with bigger balls.”
They both snickered at that.