This article first appeared in The Age on October 8, 2007
WHEN I hit my 30s about a dozen years ago, leaving behind my best sporting years, I used to joke that it wasn't too late for me to represent my country — all I had to do was take up lawn bowls. Those blokes hardly break into a sweat, any old bugger can do it. Watch them at your local club on a Saturday arvo, see if I'm wrong. I started playing in February and reckon I've eaten those words 10,000 times since.
It's an addictive pastime, an excruciatingly exquisite blend of science, art and plain bloody luck that can frustrate you to the point of baldness. Some days everything falls into place, your touch is perfect and it's as though you have the bowl on a string.
Those are rare days. More often, you trudge away from a game after going down — it could have been a close match or you might have copped a shellacking, it's all the same, losing hurts — and you'll curse the wind, the green, the better luck of your opponent.
But even on those days, you'll take away the thrill you felt for the one shot that came off, that delicately weighted backhand that slowly curled under three close bowls and came to rest on the jack, gentle as a feather landing on cotton wool. For the whole of the next week, you'll dream of doing it again.
I'd be out on the green every day if I could, but more important things get in the way. Home, family, work - life. My wife already regrets pushing me out the door that Sunday morning eight months ago, telling me to stop talking about it and just have a go.
Mastery of the game doesn't come quickly, but beginner's luck has a way of making you think you're destined for great things. When that doesn't — I'm not in the Australian squad yet, dammit — you settle in to the pleasure of participation and enjoying the people you meet.
Bowls is still disparaged as a sport for old folks, though that's changing.The average age of the national side is lower than the Australian cricket team. But at the grassroots, it is true; few clubs in the country could survive without the grey army that runs them — and for no financial reward. The sport is built on their unceasing, tireless effort. I'd guess the average age of our club is well over 70. We've got members who can't bend, many with crook hips, some losing their sight. But geez, they put down some gorgeous shots.
Our club is modest - not nearly as grand as some of the others in the bayside suburbs nearby, let alone the showcase clubs you get in NSW and Queensland, but we have a synthetic green, so we can play through the colder months when grass greens close down. Many players from neighbouring clubs came to play on our all-season surface. Every Saturday through winter, we'd turn out to throw down a few bowls for a few hours.
I remember the weekend I realised bowls is more important than sport. It was a filthy day, wet and bitterly cold. We were playing triples against Sandringham and feeling stiffer than usual under five layers of clothing. As another icy blast whipped across the green, we whinged about the conditions, what a stupid bloody thing to be doing on a miserable bloody day, we're bloody idiots. Then someone said, "Thousands in hospital would kill to be here", and we instantly regretted complaining.
Representing my country doesn't seem so important any more. But if I change my mind, there's always chess.
