Hello. My name is Spit and I will be accompanying you on this journey through the bowling underworld. I began my dark journey into bowling as the offspring of two generations of league bowlers, whiling away my weeknights among the crash of pins and howls of children in the bowling alley day care room. The nursery overlords' penchant for naked-butt corporal punishment squicked out my parents enough to allow my early graduation to the sanctuary of the snack bar and locker hall, where I watched many episodes of "What's Happening" while they bowled. Only once, in my early years, was I allowed to sit in the actual pit. Unfortunately, I had contracted a truly sinister stomach virus and promptly threw up on the entire team, effectively banishing myself from anywhere in visible distance of the pins until puberty. On my 11th birthday, I had my first bowling party (sans that wussy "bumper bowling" mind you) and learned the joys of wielding the ten pound black ball. My life was changed forever...the dark gift was in my blood.

This does not, however, mean that I am a skilled bowler. Alas, love chooses not the easily captured. Instead, I bear the gift of a critical eye, an abundance of time, and a commitment to visiting as many alleys as possible to rate them on their gothic charm.

Should you happen to be a representative of Brunswick, Dexter, or a bowling alley, please be aware that I am not entirely above selling out. Court me with drinks, sweat towels, or perhaps one of those skull-in-polyurethane balls and see what happens. I cannot guarantee an excellent rating, but it can't hurt... Heck, give me an all expenses paid trip to bowling alleys around the country and I'll consider getting your logo tattooed on me somewhere...