There's an old saying: "Whenever fate closes a neighborhood bowling alley, it opens an ultralounge that happens to have a few bowling lanes."

I must confess that when I first heard that phrase, it didn't make much sense to me, but dig this: Last week it was announced that Ballard's popular Sunset Bowl, the only bowling alley on the Northwest side of town, will close forever this April. Two days after I heard that sad news, I checked out the grand opening of Lucky Strike Lanes in Bellevue, an "upscale bowling alley and lounge." It's funny the way those old adages find ways to fit modern-day situations.

Look, I'm just going to get this out of the way right now so I can say a couple of nice things: Lucky Strike's hourly lane rental rates are insanely high. We're talking Britney Spears'-custody-battle insane. Their prime-time rate (Sunday through Thursday, 8 p.m. to close) is $65 per hour, and it shoots up to $75 on weekends. The daytime rate, 11:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., is a paltry $35. I'll just let those numbers sink in for a moment.

By way of comparison, Seattle's own upscale bowling alley, the Garage, has a Saturday night rate of $25. The upper rate at West Seattle Bowl, which actually is the kind of vintage alley that Lucky Strike is trying to evoke with its decor, is $22 per hour. Three times less than Lucky Strike. The gods look down and weep.

So, yeah, you don't go to Lucky Strike solely for the sake of bowling. But the chain has grown from zero to 17 locations nationwide in less than four years, so it must be offering something that people want. My guess is this: It offers the experience of bowling to people who, by dint of their class or upbringing, would never, ever set foot in a neighborhood bowling alley.

Lucky Strike filters out everything that might make bowling an unpleasant experience for a socialite or a software mogul -- screaming kids, inedible food, utilitarian décor -- and presents something akin to an upscale, Vegas-style lounge that happens to have a few bowling lanes. If you've got the financial means -- and you won't miss the cheap Formica and pull-tabs -- then I reckon there's nothing wrong with Lucky Strike that a few drinks wouldn't cure.

It's certainly easy on the eyes. The word "sexy" doesn't often apply to bowling alleys, but it does in this case: Lucky Strike is one sexy bowling alley. The 1950s-moderne furniture and décor are pure Hollywood chic, the lighting is at once subdued and theatrical, and the walls are hung with snazzy artwork -- including Shepard Fairey's portrait of Debbie Harry, a favorite of mine. Gigantic screens glow at the end of the lanes, displaying nature scenes. The "Luxe" VIP lounge, with its pristine white couches and quartet of private lanes, has upscale Vegas in its DNA. And, frankly speaking, it's hard not to like a place with backlit starbursts on its walls.

I haven't yet had the opportunity to sample Lucky Strike's cocktails or food, but from the looks of the menu, the kitchen and bar are possessed of the same gusto that drove the interior designers. Comfort food is reinterpreted whimsically -- tuna lollipops, anyone? -- and I can honestly say that if I were to bowl at Lucky Strike, I'd totally hit the cheese-and-ground-beef-topped "cheeseburger fries." Also, like Ballard's doomed Sunset Lanes, Lucky Strike serves Budweiser in bowling pin-shaped bottles.

Now, would I personally bowl there? Probably not. Even removing the exorbitant lane-rental fees from the equation, there's an everyman quality to 10-pin bowling that Lucky Strike -- with its high price point and no-sweats, no-sports-jerseys dress code -- seems hell-bent on denying. Take away that quality and you've got the kind of society that would allow a neighborhood bowling alley to be torn down in favor of upscale condos. Ah, fate.

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