APPRECIATIONS
The Triumphant Death of Don the BowlerLOS ANGELES, CA 31 October 2008 |
|
You may have read this story, the one about 62-year-old Don Doane of Ravenna, Michigan. For more than forty-five years Mr. Doane was a member of the same bowling team. He and his teammates competed in a local league at the local lanes over at Ravenna Bowl.
On October 16th, for the first time in his entire life, Don Doane bowled a perfect game. Strike after strike after strike after strike. Couldn't miss. Was in The Zone. A perfect score of 300. Total glory.
And after the final pin had fallen, Don Doane raised his hands in the air in miraculous triumph. He pumped a fist. There was a huge cheer. His teammates swarmed around him in a frenzy of joyous excitement.
And then Don Doane collapsed suddenly and fell to the floor and died of a massive heart attack.
Efforts to resuscitate him failed.
This story makes me think. More specifically: It makes me think about how I sometimes think about my life. How I often sit around wondering: How is this story gonna go? What's going to become of me? How will I fare going forward? What's the point? Is there a point? What will happen? What will I make happen? Will things go my way? Will things not go my way? How important is luck? What should I do? What should I not do? Is everything passing me by? Am I missing opportunities? Will things take a tragic turn? Will I run the table? Will it all end well? Will it all end badly?
One wonders.
That is, if one is anything like me.
Life, inevitably, is an exercise in loss. You live long enough, and you lose everything. Every relationship ends. Everything you have goes away. You disintegrate. All of your physical gifts wither and dissipate. It's all about loss, in the end. Acceptance of loss. The ability to handle loss with grace. The ability to lose.
Don Doane.
One of the anonymous majority. A regular man from Michigan. (I'm assuming he was regular.)
Don the Bowler.
Don is dead now. And in his death, he made quiet national news.
A perfect game.
He bowled a perfect game---his first and only perfect game---and then, suddenly, he died. Surrounded by his friends.
Everyone was wearing bowling shoes. One imagines they were all drinking beer.
It's one of the more triumphant deaths I've read about in recent memory.
|
||
Related Posts |
Death, where is thy sting?
We should all be so fortunate as Don.
This is what fuels my faith, that though I realize
how one lives is more important than
how one dies
that I desperately want there to be a place
where you get everything you lost
back again
and maybe faith isn’t what one is sure of
but rather what one is desperate for
and I desperately want more
than this
but the Kingdom is now,
so the old Rabbi says.
I don’t know how you feel about it, but your seemingly existential state as of late is producing some very good writing.
Seemingly existential state. I think I fluctuate. (Cyclical?) I haven’t measured it.
Maybe I’m on my moon. That’s what this hippie chick I know says when she talks about menstruating. “I’m on my moon.” My wife can’t handle that expression. It causes her to recoil. Violently.
I’m on my moon.
Anyway. I think it’s good to think about these things. Not too much. But sometimes.
Being dead is gonna be really easy, I suspect. Dying: A bit of a rash. Really being alive? Now that’s the hard part.
You drive me nuts with your double posting. I never know where to comment. Blogwhore.
Happy Halloween! We need a picture of Walter.
So you are either Bipolar or postmenopausal?
Don’t fret, all good artists are frequently existentialbipolarmenopausalrapidcyclingover-sensitivecynicalidealists.
Absurdists.
Postmenopausal. And tri-polar. Definitely.
two things:
1) now that name+the+vocation has become all the rage as a way to refer to the middle class everywhere, (it’s all over the news here in europe too) does that mean we are stuck with this? or is it–hopefully–like most other things, a passing fad. i can’t imagine a lifetime of no last name.
joe the plumber.
don the bowler.
brad the writer.
kip the translator.
chris the fitness instructor.
susan the teacher.
dick the proctologist.
jennifer the junior account executive.
2)is this not one of the least cruel forms of “irony tyrannizes us” (DFW)? the cliché of “well at least he was doing what he loved…” automatically comes to mind and makes me want to vomit because it’s too true. does this mean brad listi will die typing? and i’ll die doing something i love, like, meditating or sauteing onions and garlic in olive oil?
let’s hope so.
the chances are we’ll probably slip in the shower or see a semi-truck’s grill blinding at us at 65, screeching and we scream some obscenity as our last words.
god i wish these elections were over.
and dammit do i miss DFW.
btw, that last little DFW comment was in no way in relation to you or this post. just my subconscious leaking. the fact that i wrote so much should be testament to the validity of your post.
i think i’m also very thankful this wasn’t political in any way (though it’s obvious i can’t help but put that lens over it, even from spain).
Heh. No worries.
In fact, I think I may have written this post as a test of my own self-discipline. A desperate attempt to not write (or think) about politics.
Four more days.
Four more days.
Four more days.
There is a belief that each and every person was put on this earth for a specific reason.
Perhaps Don the Bowler was here simply to bowl a perfect game.
One never knows.
I had that same thought. Like, maybe here is a guy who actually fulfilled his life’s destiny.
So in four more days we get more of this?
Careful, one of those blogs may be the death of me
Which would be a relief because currently I’m struggling through “the hard part” and looking forward to “a bit of a rash.”
RIP Don Doane.
Bet those bowling shoes come in handy on streets paved with gold.
In four more days I am going to go to sleep and I will be taking a sabbatical from obsessive news-reading.
Though it is sort of important to point out that I (unlike most people) have really enjoyed the campaign. Despite my whining and my protestations, I genuinely think this has been a terrific political season from the perspective of fan and spectator. Historic. We’ll be telling our grandchildren about it someday. (That is, if I ever wind up having any.)
And I didn’t think anything could top the whole dangling chad incident… Seriously, this has been a political event I’m glad I was around to witness. Have nice break from the politics. I can’t imagine what you and the wife will do with all that extra time and energy of yours…
I think I’m on your moon. No, wait.
Actually, I’ve been contemplating my own demise lately, too (as you will see with my post tomorrow). Zeitgeist. Or maybe it’s just fall.
Happy for Don.
You’re right it is fall. And here in Los Angeles, the palm tree leaves are changing color.
I wish.
People from Michigan are regular. Well, for people from Michigan. We should all be so lucky to die doing what we love. Whether it be from old age, sports, sex, eating, laughing… Yea, we should be so lucky to die happy.