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I slipped on my oversized button-up jersey, the ironed on team logo starting to peel after years of use. Next, I wrapped my hair into a low bun and fit it underneath my baseball cap, the bill flipped backwards. I took off my boots and laid them to the side, laced up my red and white bowling shoes — size 8. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that my transformation was complete; I was no longer the Lauren who walked in, but Patten Leather: Captain of the Bowl Dykes.

Every Thursday night at eleven, people pour out of the stage doors of Broadway theatres and head west. They converge just past the sprawl of the Port Authority Bus Terminal at 40th and Ninth Avenue, at the entrance to Frames Bowling Lounge. This is the home of the Broadway Bowling League, which has been going strong for over twenty years.

The League is flooded with new teams this season, gregarious groups from the new musicals of the 2016-17 Broadway season. On a Thursday night in September, I observed the newbies milling about, catching up with friends from other shows while “Insane in the Membrane” blasted from the speakers. Beer towers and chicken fingers were quickly delivered to the lanes so the players could fuel up. A hefty man from Arabian Strikes (Aladdin) strode past me to lane 20, proudly working a t-shirt that said, “GAY. EDUCATED. and PETTY.” A woman with choppy black hair from High Anxiety (Dear Evan Hansen) danced around lane 16, her candy corn crew socks signaling a hopeful anticipation of Fall. I hung back on lane 18, checking my phone for updated ETAs from the other members of the Bowl Dykes (Fun Home), and anxious eyed the growing group of bowlers from our competitors that night, The NewPinLanders (Come From Away).

The NewPinLanders were one of the new teams, and their youthful enthusiasm could not be contained. Food and beer glasses filled their table, actors and friends piled in just to watch the team bowl. I could hear from snippets of conversation that the show’s Newfoundland accents stayed with them: “Oh yah!” I remembered when the Bowl Dykes had that joie de vivre, buzzed off a robust Thursday evening audience and pregame drinks in the stage manager’s office. Since our show closed last year, getting people to the lanes has been more of a struggle. Every week, I catch myself checking texts and watching the unfolding game with a lazy stare; the epic tenth frames and the winning trophies are a thing of the past. But as the NewPinLanders’ energy washed over me, I felt my old bowling spirit awaken.

One of the bowlers from the team came over and introduced himself as Eric. “It looks like you’re my competition!” he said, a grin spreading across his long face. “What’s your name?” I looked him dead in the eye, raised my eyebrows, and proclaimed, “Your worst nightmare.

The first game was lively. The good bowlers were encouraged with adoring cheers for their strikes and spares; the bad bowlers were consoled with adoring cheers for their gutter balls and strange unintentional curveballs. TJ D’Angelo, one of the League’s co-commissioners, muscled his way through the crowded lanes with a booming announcement for 50/50, a weekly raffle pool that donates half of the proceeds to Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. His bald pate shining, D’Angelo only came up to most people’s shoulders. What he lacked in height, he made up for in bravado. All bowling ceased when he read the winning ticket number over a microphone at 12:30am. Each number was punctuated by simultaneous cheers and groans, and all necks craned to see the source of the winner’s final triumphant cry.

The effects of the drained beer towers began to take hold in the second game. Players’ technique deteriorated dramatically, and the strikes of the first game became sevens and eights. Some players came alive with the elevated blood alcohol content, and discovered magical bowling talents that had been lying in wait. Then, at 1:15am, the alley began to clear out. The stragglers slogged through their final frames, fatigue and drunkenness weighing down their bodies. Servers hovered with checks to be closed out; the music shifted to languid ballads from obscure ‘80s bands. The clock was ticking.

With a parting hug from my teammates, and a promise made to the NewPinLanders to come see their show, I took my leave of Broadway Bowling. The air was cool on Ninth Avenue. The pizza shop across 40th was still open, and homeless people hung outside of the doorway, hoping for a kind soul and a hot slice. I could still hear faint music through the glass doors of Frames’ entrance, dulled into a soothing beat. I folded my jersey carefully before putting it back in my bag; I let my hair down. I was simply Lauren once more. Patten Leather had retired for the evening.

—Lauren Patten, Social Media Editor