It was the holy grail of bowling, once.

The quest led men and women to lace up footwear that would not be out of place at a circus and hurl heavy black balls 60 feet down an alley. They would do it again and again, hoping against the odds to someday knock down all 10 pins for a strike 12 consecutive times. That would mean a score of 300, the highest one could achieve: perfection.

Thirty years ago, throwing a 300 made you a bowling celebrity, the Paul Anka of your local alley. The American Bowling Congress in Greendale, Wis., would solemnly present you with a gold ring to signal your ascension into an elite club. The bowling alley would memorialize your feat with a plaque or a glass-encased shrine. And from that day forward, it was a safe bet you would never buy your own coffee ever again.

These days, you had better bring some change if you think a 300 game gets you a cup of joe, because you have lots of company.

Thanks largely to NASA-like advances in bowling-ball technology and the more liberal application of lubricants upon lane surfaces -- by bowling center proprietors seeking to enliven a game of fickle popularity -- the number of perfect games has exploded. Teenagers in youth leagues are throwing them. Retired people in senior leagues are throwing them. There is a bowling alley mechanic in Nassau County who has thrown perfect games with his right hand and his left.