Last of these low rollers

By Ron Kantowski

Monday, July 27, 2009 | 2 a.m.

They — the people who tried to find a spot in the parking lot on Fireworks Night at Cashman Field — said it would never end. But it did. After 154 days and who knows how many finger blisters, The Big Lebowski II — aka the 106th United States Bowling Congress Open Championships at Cashman Center — finally came to an end.

They put it all to rest on Friday afternoon. The last hour of the tournament was sort of like arriving at Woodstock after Hendrix had left the stage. Sorry, dude, Janis and The Airplane played yesterday. They rocked. You should have been here.

The Scale Room was eerily quiet. Bowling Ball Express, where they’ll ship your ball to Singapore, if you have the proper postage, was eerily quiet. So were the information and registration booths. Nobody was checking a spare bowling ball, or a bowling ball with his favorite NFL team’s logo airbrushed onto it, into the rows and rows of lockers. The price of a polo shirt at the official USBC souvenir store had been slashed from $15 to the low, low price of $10.

In the upset of all upsets — think Miracle Mets over the Orioles in ’69, or Buster Douglas over Mike Tyson, or Lyle Lovett marrying Julia Roberts — even the bar was closed.

The buxom girl from Sapphire gentleman’s club, wearing the highest heels I’ve ever seen on a pair of bowling shoes, had wandered across the aisle of the sprawling midway to say goodbye to the guys who were packing up in the Storm bowling booth. Not a single dollar bill was exchanged, which was touching, in its own sort of way.

Thwip ... thwip ... thwip. The sound of cellophane tape sealing shut boxes of bowling stuff was everywhere.

But out on the lanes, you could still hear The Sound: The familiar cacophony of bowling ball striking hardwood, of bowling ball striking tenpins, of bowlers striking the palms of other bowlers after every one of the tenpins capitulated. The Sound almost becomes soothing after a while. Like the clackety-clack, clackety-clack a freight train makes over the rails, it can hypnotize and dull the senses — especially after 154 days.

At one end of the center, a group of bowlers from the Wyoming prairie was knocking ’em down just as quickly as the automatic pinsetters could set ’em back up. At the other end, in matching shirts with their country’s flag, four young women from Singapore were slinging strikes and spares. But mostly strikes. These women from Singapore had beautiful bowling form.

150 ... 175 ... 200 ... 225. Their scores continued to climb. It was July 24. It didn’t look and sound much different from Feb. 21, the day the Open started.

And then, at 2:14 p.m., a young man named Kiefer Sullivan from Madison, Wis., a good bowling town if there ever was one, was selected to roll the last frame of the tournament. He was selected because A) his team was the only one still bowling and B) because he had a cool name. One of the tournament officials had sort of confused Kiefer Sullivan the bowler with Kiefer Sutherland the actor, and who was I to correct him and deny Kiefer Sullivan of Madison, Wis., his moment in the bowling sun?

In a perfect bowling world, Kiefer Sullivan would have rolled a strike. He rolled an 8. Then he failed to cover the spare. I’m not saying the whole bowling world was watching, but there still were a couple of dozen eyes glued to Lane 2, and that’s a lot of pressure for a guy with a 164 average in the Thursday Night Mixed Doubles at Bowl-Mor Lanes.

“The tournament is officially closed,” Tournament Director Duane Hagen said into the microphone to a smattering of applause.

After more than five months, there would be no more bowling at Cashman Center.

Until 9 a.m. Tuesday. That’s when the 2009 World Tenpin Bowling Association World Women’s Championships begin.