“Have you ever lawn bowled?”
Biff Connor listened to the question his good friend, Paige Turner asked him over the phone. “I’ve mowed lawns and bowled. Is that close?”
Paige responded to Biff’s usual arcane answer. “Not even close, Biff. I’m talking about lawn bowling. You know, that sport that so many Caniadians seem to play here at Wander In.”
Biff quickly recalled seeing many stoic-looking people rolling what looked like large meatballs across a grassy field. The sport, if that’s what they called it, didn’t look too inviting to Biff. It seemed to be more of a gathering of white-clad, uppercrust folks who didn’t want to sweat or otherwise exert too much energy while standing around talking. Biff prefered more industrious sports such as pickleball and ping pong.
“Why do you ask?” inquired Biff.
“Gloria Stoom asked me if I wanted a lesson. She says it’s lots of fun and very social.”
“I didn’t know Gloria was a canuck . . . I mean Canadian.”
“She’s not. She just plays the game. You don’t have to be Canadian to lawn bowl, just like you don’t need to be American to play pickleball.”
Biff thought back to the other day when Jerry Bomberra, that creeky bloke from Australia, humiliated him in pickleball. “I see your point, Paige. What the Hell, I’ll give lawn bowling a try. When and where?”
“Tomorrow at ten-thirty. Bring some sunscreen and a good attitude.” Paige said.
The following morning, Paige and Biff arrived at the green. They were both dressed casually; shorts and t-shirts. Biff wore an Arizona Cardinals ball cap. They both felt quite underdressed. Most of the regular lawn bowlers dressed in white and wore distinguised-looking hats. Biff felt a bit overwhelmed.
“I didn’t get the memo that I needed to dress like Mr. Clean.” he said to Paige.
Gloria walked up to Biff and Paige, along with her Canadian friend Albert. “Glad you could make it. You’ll have fun. Have you both met Albert?” she asked.
Albert stood at attention as Gloria introduced him. He looked more like the Good Humor Man than he did someone about to play a game in the sun. He was clad in white from head to toe. He wore a black bowler on his head; the type of hat Biff associated with Laurel and Hardy. Albert extened his hand toward Biff.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Albert said.
“You too.” Biff remarked as he shook Albert’s hand. “But don’t call me sir. I was enlisted.”
Albert motioned all to the green. “Let’s start out with some of the basic rules of lawn bowling. The object is to roll your bowls closest to the jack, this small white ball, after the jack has been thrown to the far end of the rink.”
“Who throws the jack?” Biff asked.
“The first player, which is decided via a draw.”
“And what happens if the jack goes out of bounds?”
“If the first player throws the jack off the rink, he or she loses his of her turn.” Albert responded.
Biff smirked. “You said jack off.”
“Biff!” Paige gasped. “Act your age.”
“I stopped doing that about fifty years ago.”
“I’m sorry, Albert.” Paige interjected. “Please excuse Biff’s poor attempt at humor and carry on.”
Paige shot a cold stare at Biff that could freeze water in the Sonoran desert. Biff sheepishly acknowled her look and mouthed “I’m sorry” to Paige.
“Now let us continue.” Albert said. “To roll bowls, one must stand upon a mat, take one step forward, and roll, not throw, the bowl down the rink whilst attempting to place the bowls closest to the jack.”
“What’s the mat called?” Biff asked.
“It’s called a mat. Any more questions?” Albert asked, looking somewhat annoyed.
“Yeah. I got one.” Biff replied. He pointed to a dead spot on the grass about the size of the mat that Albert held. “Why’s this grass here dead? All the other grass looks pretty good. It’s about the size of that mat you’re holding. I’m figuring that’s where you put your mat to start.”
Albert immediately stood more erect, removed his bowler, placed it over his heart and responded to Biff’s question. “This is where the late Sir William the Roller met his demise so many years ago. This is hallowed ground for lawn bowlers far and wide.”
“Who in tarnation is Sir William the Roller?”
“If you’ve never heard about the legend of Sir William the Roller here at Wander In, I shall surely tell you after our game. For now, let us bowl.”
Biff wanted to say something like “Okay, but don’t call me Shirley.”, but he kept his mouth shut.
Biff, Paige, Gloria, and Albert spent the next hour rolling bowls. Albert, of course won. Gloria came in second. Paige, who had never rolled a bowl (except for a few times in college in the 1960’s) did surprisingly well. Biff did not. He threw the jack out of bounds twice and costantly rolled his bowls into the ditch. When his bowls stayed in the rink, they went right when he wanted them to go left and left when he wanted them to go right.
Gloria, Paige, and Albert enjoyed the game. Biff – not so much. Afterwards, as what Albert claimed was tradition, the four sat at at table beside the green and had a snifter of Crown Royal Candian Whiskey, provided by Albert.
“Did you enjoy the game?” Albert asked. Gloria and Paige both exuberantly responded by smiling and nodding their heads.
“It was all right.” Biff said. Not enough action for me. I like more fast-paced sports. You know, American sports like football and rugby.”
“Lawn bowling is more a finese sport, something many Americans would know nothing about.” Albert added.
“So what about this William guy” You told us you’d tell us about him?”
“Oh yes.” Albert replied. “First, let me pour a little more whiskey into your glasses.”
Albert poured a shot of whiskey into the four glasses, capped the bottle, and raised his glass for a toast. The other three raised the glasses.
“Sir William the Roller is a legend in the lawn bowling world. He’s the Wayne Gretzkey, the Micheal Jordan, the Pele, of our sport. A Canadian by birth, he spent his last days here at Wander In. Here’s his story.”
Albert to a long slow swig from his glass, closed his eyes, and recounted the story of Sir William the Roller.
William the Roller was born in the mid-twentieth century, no one knows quite when, in Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada. Not much is known of his early upbringing, except that he became a child prodigy of lawn bowling at a very young age. As he grew into his teens and early twenties, William became the name behind Canadian lawn bowling. Bowlers came from near and far to beat William, but none could.
William became so accomplished at lawn bowling that no one wished to play against him. He was bannished from New Brunswick, but not before taking on the title of Sir William the Roller. He was not knighted, as was Lancelot, Galahad, or Elton. His title of nobility was graced upon him only in the lawn bowling world. He became known throughout Canada as Sir William the Roller, and by those who knew him, Sir Billy the Bowler.
William moved from province to province, beating the best of the best in Quebec and Ontario, across the plains of Manitoba and Saskatchewan, into the mountains of Alberta, and to the Pacific Ocean of British Columbia. By the time he retired in Victoria, he’s beaten all who tried to best him.
Retirement for Sir William was restless. He considered curling, but got cold feet. He tried playing Euchre and contract bridge, but those games weren’t in the cards for him. The long, cold Canadian winters almost drove him crazy. During a blizzard during the winter of 2015, Sir William decided to temproarily live in America. He ended up spending the cold months at Wander In, where he could dabble in lawn bowling with other Canadian snowbirds.
By this time, lawn bowling became a growing sport in America, mainly because of the large number of Canadians who wintered there. And though Sir William had officially retired from the sport, he couldn’t find anyone who could beat him. That is, until the Spring of 2017.
The U.S. Nationals of Lawn Bowling came to town. Specifically, they came to Wander In. Bowlers came from around the country and from Canada to compete. Of all those who attended, only one name caught William’s attention. His name was Jaques le Boulle. Since William’s retirement, Jaques was the bowler to beat.
Jaques was good – real good. So good, in fact, people started to forget about Sir William and his past greatness. This was sacrilege in William’s eyes. He decided to right this wrong by coming out of retirement and entering the competion.
As expected, the last two bowlers left standing were William and Jaques. One would win and own the title of the best of the best in lawn bowling. The other would get second place, and soon be forgotten, as nobody ever remembers who got second place. The last game between the two started shortly after four in the afternoon. Both bowled with exceptional accruacy, and the game ended in a tie. Normally, games could end in a tie, but not in a sactioned tournamant, and definelty not when so much was at stake.
William and Jaques switched ends and bowled on. Once again, they both bowled tremendously well, and after two rounds, they were still tied. They kept trading ends and bowling.
Clouds started rolling in around six. Winds picked up and the temperature dropped. At seven, the lights were illuminated and play continued. At nine, rain started and the winds became stronger. The tenth tie-breaker ended in a tie.
It was close to midnight when the lone official called William and Jaques to the judges table. The weather was downright horrid. Lightning flashed in the distance and the winds were stronger. The official declared that the next round would be the last.
He spoke. “Each player gets one bowl. I’ll throw the jack. A flip of a looney will determine who bowls first. The closest bowl to the jack wins it all.”
Jaques called the toss. He lost and William chose to roll last. Now was ‘do or die’ time. Winner takes all. The official threw the jack. It rolled to a stop about three-quarters down the rink, close to the center, in line with the opposite bank.
Jaques surveyed the placement of the jack. He placed his mat on the grass, his feet on the mat, quickly genuflected, and with grace and just the right amount of power, let go of his bowl. It rolled right, arced left, and stopped a mere two inches from the jack. The crowd, what was left of them, cheered enthusiatcally.
Most lawn bowlers would see Jaques’ shot and feel dejected. Not William. He’s been there before. All his years of experience would be needed to roll the perfect bowl and heap glory upon his name.
William checked his surroundings. The wind now was strong enough to alter the path of a rolling bowl. The rains had all but subsided, but more lightning illuminated the skies. The thunder grew louder. William gently placed his mat down. He stepped upon the mat and briefly closed his eyes as he said a prayer to the lawn bowling Gods.
The Gods were both angry and merciful at that moment. As William stepped forward to release his bowl, a bolt of lightning struck true. The bowl must have acted as a lightning rod. As William’s arm swung forward, the bolt hit William. In the blink of an eye, William was gone; vaporized by the lightning. His bowl flew far to the left, nowhere near the jack, as it wobbled down the rink. Just then, a forceful crosswind appeard from the east, pushing the bowl toward the jack. The bowl barely missed the jack and hit Jaque’s bowl instead. When William’s bowl came to rest, it was five inches from the jack. Jaques’ bowl was seven inches away.
Albert took another sip from his snifter. “So now you know the legend of Sir William the Roller. When the dust had settled, all that was left of poor William was the burn mark where his mat lie. The dead grass you pointed out earlier seems to be a permanent reminder of that night.”
“What became of Jaques?” Biff asked.
“The last I’ve heard, he went back to Quebec and took up curling. He was overheard one day saying he kept seeing the ghost of Sir William smiling down from the heavens and saying ‘No one ever remembers who got second.’”
