Jake Schoellkopf/Special to the Tribune

Jim Karner (rear) gets set to serve as seen between the legs of Dan Armijo during their open division semifinal match at the 19th Annual Dog Bowl Classic at Midtown Sports & Wellness. The tournament concluded on Sunday.

Jake Schoellkopf/Special to the Tribune

Jim Karner stretches before his semifinal match against Dan Armijo in the open division. The Trib's Phil Parker competed in the "B" singles of the event, and says he admires handball players who excel at a sport he's grown to appreciate over the years.

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I need to become more symmetrical.

This doesn't mean that one of my ears sits higher than the other. I haven't buffed up the muscles in one arm while letting the other get gangly.

This is about handball.

Handball is a game that requires players to be as adept with the left side of their bodies as the right - to strike the small rubber ball cleanly with either hand.

It's that requirement - to make yourself as symmetrical as possible - that makes the game as frustrating as it is rewarding.

I'll never play basketball like Kevin Garnett or LeBron James. I'll never carry a football through and over an angry core of linebackers like LaDanian Tomlinson.

But here's Danny Armijo, a shaggy-haired, skinny-legged 30-something with a torn towel tied around his head, playing this beautiful game beautifully.

He's from Albuquerque, ranked a respectable No. 23 on the professional tour. Playing in this weekend's Dog Bowl at Midtown Sports and Wellness, the Pistol Pete of handball likes putting on a show. He'll slap the ball between his legs as it falls or shoot fading shots that his opponent can only watch and make faces at.

I know because I was there. Entered in the B-singles bracket, I played the only way that's comfortable - sprinting from corner to corner, smashing the ball with all the strength I could muster. I get two things from playing this way in tournaments:

A sore right arm.

An early exit.

I lost to a man more than twice my age. (This is rare - the men who beat me are most times much older than 51.)

Speed and strength will only get you so far in handball (for me - a first-game win and a loss in the next game and subsequent tie breaker).

Playing a heady, careful match is how a player advances. This is why some of the best players at the Dog Bowl are pushing 70.

My dad was there, too. The singles loss ended any hope for solo success, but he and I were competing in A-B Doubles together.

We were done in that bracket after our first match. He and I are the "B" half of that moniker. Our opponents were solid A's.

We were bummed, but not much.

My dad taught me this game when I was 15 and new to New Mexico. I would have hated it, given an hour, but shortly into my first day on the court my body went one way and my left kneecap another. Surgery followed. So long, handball.

After basketball ended my senior year of high school, it was back to the handball court, with my father and four or five other men, all much older than myself.

I hated it. Symmetry is hard to attain. Grab a rock and try to whip it, sidearmed, with your off hand. You'll understand.

But what truly worthy endeavor doesn't at first make you miserable?

I stuck with it, developed my left hand and different shots, and found something wonderful. There's Zen to handball. Maybe ultimate Frisbee or squash players feel the same way, but I couldn't be more convinced. The U.S. Handball Organization's mission statement starts with a sentence fragment:

"The Perfect Game."

This isn't The Perfect Game because they or I (or the complimentary shirts given to every competitor) say so. It's the perfect game because of symmetry. And because once you're comfortable hitting a handball, there are few feelings like it.

When my father and I get together to play handball - that'd be almost any time we get together - there's nothing more important to either of us than having fun. I don't see him nearly enough, but this is something we'll always have.

Forget money or accolades. A throng of spectators in this game constitutes a couple dozen players talking trash to each other between their own games while only barely paying attention to the proceedings on the court. Sport is games - no different than Scrabble at its core because in the end, there's a winner and loser. The former's happy, the latter less so.

The great players at the Dog Bowl were just like you or me, except they can strike a handball perfectly using either arm.

I'll get there.