Commentary by Tom Kuzeja April 2, 2002 (Started on January 10, 2002)

Earl Anthony is irritated. He fidgets while driving the Chevrolet Malibu we've rented from the Cleveland, Ohio International Airport. He shifts around the driver's seat in agitation. We're behind schedule but more importantly, Earl feels he's been "dissed".

"You know, back in 1975, the Avis people would upgrade me to top class as I approached the counter! They knew who I was! I'm Earl Anthony damn it!"

Nothing seems to calm him down. I try to compliment his choice of bright yellow and gray plaid Sansabelt slacks and matching yellow rayon shirt but he dismisses it. "Don't even talk to me about Sansabelt! I guess those Sansabelt people don't think I'm much of a promotional tool anymore. Sure... back in 1975 when I was the pro-bowling champion it was a different story! I had slacks coming outta my ears! Damn it... I'm Earl Anthony, man!" He pauses while gritting his teeth and slaps the dashboard. "This thing is a piece of shit!" I roll my eyes. Where have I heard that before?

We talk about the upcoming camping trip which seems to bring Earl back to earth. If there's one thing Earl loves more than bowling, it's camping under the stars. Slowly he stops fidgeting. We go through the checklist of supplies and before we know it, three hours have passed and we're just about at the Anthony estate out in the middle of nowhere. Earl takes a big breath and lets it out slowly and for the first time in days, he smiles. "Home" he says as we turn of the main road toward his gated driveway. Earl punches in a code and the steel gate opens. Now when I say "opens", I don't mean swings open like a door, or slides open to the side... it lifts up and back and I realize it's a giant secure replica of the mechanism that clears downed pins from the lane. Unbelievable.

The driveway from the road leads straight to the house which I always greet in disbelief. Earl's house is a sprawling ranch with two giant towers shaped like bowling pins standing on either side of it. As we motor down the crushed tan stone driveway I feel like a bowling ball headed down the lane. Earl stomps on the accelerator and heads for the right side of the right "pin". He slams on the breaks just before hitting the garage door. "Welcome to my house. It's a 7-10 Split."

After a brief pit stop, we load up the car with our gear for the trip. "We'll be ready to go in another 2 or 3 hours" Earl says. Then he disappears into his garage only to emerge a few minutes later with a sledgehammer. SLAM! CRASH! Earl has just smashed the windshield of the Malibu. "Now to call Jiffy Glass" he says while strolling back to the garage. His whistling tells me that Earl is somewhat back to normal... "Earl Anthony" normal that is.

About 90 minutes later, the Jiffy Glass people have replaced the shattered windshield with a brand spanking new one. Earl bids them farewell and he carries off the old damaged windshield to a shed and tosses it in there with about a hundred others. Then we hop into the car. With a big smile on his face, he turns to me and says, "you must have a perfectly brand new windshield for any real road trip."

We drive up a hill to the left of the house and down toward the end of the driveway parallel to how we came in... the ball return lane. Seven hours later we've reached our destination and we begin to set up camp. It's not long before night falls and we're sitting by the campfire, a little ways outside Earl's old custom made Sansabelt plaid tent. The night sky is unbelievable. "Man, the Brunswick is sure bright tonight" he says as he continues to point out constellations. Earl's renamed them all to be bowling related.

And that's just the start of the adventure. Tomorrow, Chris Schenkel arrives in his beat up old amber ABC Sports blazer. Ah yes... there's nothing quite like camping with Earl Anthony.