Because writing a personal column for a newspaper is a solitary, self-centered activity, it may come as a surprise that I consider myself a team player in almost every other aspect of my life, at work or play — even in marriage, where my wife is the captain and I am the team.

Indeed, I like to be a member of a team so much that I have played competitive sports a lot longer than my dubious talents or my accumulation of years would advise.

The only personal touch to my sports career is that the sports I have been drawn to are somewhat goofy, at least in the American context. Not to boast, but I dare anyone to match the range of my eccentric sports participation. Only if you try your hand at croquet, show jumping and curling will I be impressed, as I have my own trio of odd athletic endeavors.

For some years past, I have been a bowler — but, of course, not the regular sort of bowling. I have been a duckpin bowler.

What distinguishes duckpin bowling from 10-pin bowling is the size of the ball. In 10-pin bowling, the balls are large and have finger holes. In duckpins, the balls are small and have no finger holes.

The duckpins also have rubber bands (gum bands, in Pittsburghese) around them to make it easier for ducks to pick them up in their beaks if they stray onto the lanes. In truth, I do not know what duckpin bowling has to do with ducks. I often remark “Lord love a duck!” as I send yet another ball into the gutter, but that is just me.

What duckpin bowling has in common with my other sports is that I am lousy at it. If defeat is good for the soul, this column is being written by Mother Teresa.

What I am good at is eating potato chips. Fortunately, an excellent bartender stands ready in case I become too salty. So my teammates tolerate me and it is wonderful to be in their company.

It’s the same with paddle tennis —also called platform tennis. Paddle tennis is played with a rubber ball on a court that resembles a tennis court but is smaller and enclosed with chicken wire.

If the wire were not there, chickens might stroll onto the court like ducks, but that is not its only use: The ball can be played off the wire, which makes the game tennis on steroids. The paddle, of course, is not flexible and can be used for S&M purposes if couples so choose after the game.

Not me. As always, I compete for the good, clean fun and the chance to play in a howling blizzard or freezing rain — followed by sandwiches and beer with my frostbitten pals in the paddle hut afterward. Ah, it’s a fine game if you can ward off the pneumonia. I am better at that than hitting the ball.

In summer, I play cricket, which makes a nice change. Cricket is a popular game around the world, but the people who play it here tend to be various exiles from British-influenced culture. I played cricket in Australia as a boy, but my most recent teammates were from India and Pakistan.

Ten years ago, a bunch of us in Pittsburgh formed a competitive league, which has been outstandingly successful. The number of teams has more than tripled. I am prouder of my role as one of the founders of the Pittsburgh Cricket Association than any of my numerous journalism awards — even the coveted ones such as for most creative expenses and best clarification/correction.

I was honored that my expatriate friends gave me a Lifetime Achievement Award at their last banquet, which was especially touching since I never achieved much with the bat and ball. I was just a team player. As a bonus, cricket to me was an opportunity to pick up some useful Hindi words such as “shabash,” which is a shout of encouragement. I think it means, “Here we go, Steelers!”

The sadness is that soon I will be moving to a part of California where duckpins, paddle tennis and cricket are scarce. Instead, I will have to play golf, which I like well enough but to me seems a bit pedestrian by comparison, especially when you don’t take a cart. Remind me to ask my team captain about curling.

— Reg Henry is deputy editorial-page editor for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.