With nothing on but my bowling shoes, I square up to my ten adversaries at the end of the alley.  I know if I crush them, she will come. 

I am a worthy opponent.  Fluent in the sacred geometry that is the bowling lane, I play a frame like Mozart tickles the ivories.  

The  methods I have at my disposal?  Legion.  Their effectiveness?  Lethal. 

Depending on the necessity, my weapon of choice might be the sleepy devastation of The Stroker.  Or perhaps The Cranker, with enough centrifugal force to blow the legs off all ten pins from right to left. 

But when the situation calls for maximum flaming revolution followed by sub-zero nuclear winter with ten pins lying face down in the ditch, I call upon… The Helicopter – a devastating hook I made popular in Taiwan, where the lanes are all as pock-marked as a pimply-faced teenager.   

For that technique alone, the Taiwanese government made me a national hero, and the Chinese have been actively recruiting me ever since –hoping my dangerous methods might be applicable to the spin science of ping-pong, the Olympic event in which they are always looking for new ways to spank that belligerent upstart nation just over the pond. 

But I won’t play one side against the other.  I have no concern for status, rewards, or a seaside villa in Guangdong.  I have but one sacred loyalty:  to the fair country, the fertile fields, and the beachfront property that is Me, Myself, Alone.

If I slay these ten pins, I know that she will reveal herself to me.

And then I will teach the bitch some manners.