A few of the Allegheny West bowling regulars, known in some corners as The Alley Cats, were recently reminiscing about pre-pandemic Wednesday nights at the Elks. As often happens on a cold winter night, sitting by the fire with a glass of wine and missing old friends, a limerick contest broke out. Below is what happened next. (Thankfully, most of us are better at bowling.)
There was an old man in the alley
Whose score no one could tally
Every frame, you see
Was marked with a ‘G’
The gutter was his hidden valley
– Ann Gilligan & Bob Griewahn
There once were some cats o’ the alley
Who thought bowling would be a right sally
So the Elks lent them a lane
Then the cats, the cats they all came
And the kitties framed a 300 rally.
-Trixie Burton
Of strikes at the Elks I’ve been dreaming
While pints of beer I am drinking
And banjo tunes are prevalent
Alas, my dream is irrelevant
As a vaccine shot , I still am awaiting!
-Fran Barbush
There once was a man named Bob Griewahn
Who’s hook was described as a mean one
His style never boring
Quite excellent at scoring
’Twas the best in my humble opinion.
– John Engle
Ten pins and a ball.
The pressure mounts. Need a strike.
Where is my whiskey?
– Mark Fatla
When asked what was bowling’s worst chore
John Engle said “Keeping the score”
“Do I carry the ten?”
“And add it again?”
At the lanes two and two don’t make four
– Bob Griewahn
When the goose poop was covered in snow
And the bone-chilling North Wind did blow
We’d head to the lanes
And bowl a few frames
While the Banjo Club played down below
– Bob Griewahn
’Twas in years before the virus
That lanes and banjos inspired us
The food was quite fine
And bourbon poured like wine
Of the Elks on Wednesdays, we are so desirous
– Tom Cihil
There once was a bowler named Bob
Who, concerned ’bout the poetry squad,
Did not work on the law
But limericked—hee-haw—
And told Laura, “No money, no prob!”
– Trixie Burton