Bolf

Guys need to gather every once in a while.

My wife and I have an agree- ment that, on occasion, she can have an all girls' night out and I can have an all guys' night out- just to escape reality, which some- times is necessary when you have a 3-year-old.

My turn for a night out came when it was much needed. I called up some friends and asked if they wanted to go out. Need- ing a break from their family life as well, two of my friends ea- gerly took up the offer.

We decided to go bowling. My bowling buddies for the night in- cluded Buttons and Seeds. Guys- especially guys of Italian descent- never keep their actual names. That's an unspoken rule.

Buttons got his name because he can't go five minutes without text messaging someone on his cellphone.

Seeds got his name because he eats more sunflower seeds in a night than the entire Major League Base- ball membership does during two seasons.

My friends named me No Weight. You can probably guess why from my picture.

Our night of bowling began with the lowest bowling scores any of us had ever achieved. Not that any of us were very skilled bowlers, but we were in extremely poor form on this particular evening.

Of my pitiful performance I said, "If we were playing golf, I'd be the winner of this game since I have the lowest score." That's when I got the idea for Bolf.

Bolf is basically Bowling meets Golf. The object of Bolf is to have the lowest possible score at the end of the game, just like in golf.

Each time you roll the bowling ball down the lane, you must hit at least one pin. If you don't hit a pin, it's the same as getting a strike- it's like knocking down all the pins. So if you throw gutter balls all night-or strikes for that matter, then your score will be awfully high and you'll most likely lose the game. If you knock down one pin each time you roll, your score will be very low and you'll most likely win the game.

Bolf isn't the first game my friends and I invented. During ev- ery Guys' Night Out, there are phone calls from the wives. My friends and I turned the phenom- enon into a competition to see who can get the fewest NOWC (Num- ber of Wife Calls) in an evening.

Seeds began the NOWC (pro- nounced now-ka) game that night at the bowling alley when he got a call from his wife. Like the "real men" that we are, Buttons and I gave Seeds a bad time, even though Buttons used the break in the game to text message his significant other-so she wouldn't call him and run up his NOWC score.

Just as I busted Buttons for text messaging his wife, I got a cellphone call from my wife.

"Everything is fine, sweetie," I said. "I love you, too."

My friends grunted and groaned, and made the accompany- ing hand gestures to imply that I was "wife whipped."

That type of slam stopped both- ering me a long time ago. I won't act macho in front of my wife just to please my friends. I have to live with my wife.

Needless to say, I left the bowl- ing alley that night having garnered the highest NOWC score of the evening. I had played several ter- rible games of Bolf, and I made myself sick to my stomach eating sunflower seeds. Phrased another way, I went home to a happy wife, having happily answered her calls.

E-mail Michael Picarella at pic@theacorn.com.