I was told by the bartender at the bowling alley that The Dude and Walter showed up with the Folgers jug in their hands. Of course, Donny’s ashes were already spread across the Pacific and on The Dude’s face, but nonetheless, the duo brought his holding jar to the match. Then, Jesus and Liam showed up. Jesus was sporting an all black, tight ass suit while Liam continued to say absolutely nothing.

The bartender then asked me to actually buy a drink if I wanted more information. I guzzled down a White Russian and he continued the story.

The Dude was focused. That Chinaman who peed on his rug wasn’t on his mind. Neither was Donny’s death. He just wanted the victory that bad. Cause, hey, he’s the Dude. The Dude’s first three rolls were strikes. Luscious. Walter rolled himself a strike, spare, strike.

“Beautiful,” I said to the bartender. “So, the Dude and Walter cleaned their clocks.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” the bartender responded.
“A jump to conclusions mat? No, that’s a different movie, and that’s Tom Smykowsky.”

The bartender continued by informing me that Jesus and Liam were matching The Dude and Walter frame by frame. The seventh frame turned out to be crucial.

“Remember when Donnie rolled, and knocked down nine pins, but the tenth just wouldn’t fall? Well, imagine The Dude doing that, but that tenth pin finds its way to hit the lane.”
I smiled. “I’d expect that from Dude Lebowski.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“So how’d it all end?” I asked.
“It went down to the final frame,” the bartender said. “And, can you believe that the pederast Jesus rolled a 5/3 in the tenth. Cost his team the match. And then, Liam, man, that guy can get really angry.”
“Really?”
The bartender chuckled, and in his best Chris Elliott Tostitos commercial impression, he said, “No, not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“I made it all up. No one knows exactly what happened in the semi’s. It’s for you to all piece together from what you saw. Think about it. Think about how the Dude rolled in the film. Just think about it.”
“Why would you make it all up?”
I’ll conclude this article with what that bastard of a bartender had to say in response to my question: “Hey, I had to get you to buy a White Russian somehow.”