Fred Flintstone would never make it in Miami. Nor would Ralph Cramden.
See, bowling’s gone upscale. There was a time just a couple of years ago when you could drive north to Cloverleaf Lanes (on Northwest Second Avenue and 176th Street) or south to Don Carter Lanes (North Kendall Drive and SW 136th Avenue) and bowl like Fred and Ralphie.
Roll the ball hard. Drink $1 beers.
They both closed.
Lucky Strike Lanes on South Beach is a whole different bowl game. A buddy hit five strikes in a row there last night and that was nice, but neither Barney Rubble nor Ed Norton cheered him on. A friggin Andy Warhol picture was next to our lane. And the discounted beers went for six bucks each. There were more big screen TVs than one can imagine….and the breast surgery…..yikes, can you say South Beach!
And of course, it’s part of a chain. There’s a total of 16 Lucky Strikes across the country.
I like it this way. But I pine for the beautiful ugliness of day’s gone by.
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