The Creed of the Low End Pin Man
In a time of pinflation and craigslist tomfoolery and game-rooms becoming like cryptlike shrines - there came to be known the ones called Low End Pin men. This is their creed.
The Low End Pin man craves not to line the walls of his lair with a NIB ACDC BIBLE with latest firmware and foundry cast brass bell mod. Ye Old Medieval Madness and the Clan Addams he avoids, unless the beasts be found on route location or at tourney. Instead the LEP man seeks the true worth of a machine in the form of the Bally Freedom, the GamePlan, the sweaty EM stood on end in a dusty corner. The undeservingly unloved, their rule-sheets short and their #44's dimmed with age and neglect - he cannot resist them.
The Low End Pin man does not wear white gloves while playing. His pintable vibrates and groans with extended play sessions wearing it down to dust while the Low End wizard laughs maniacally. "It's meant to be Played, not Laid" is his motto, mating call and battle cry all rolled into one.
He eschews the mirror blade, the gold plated ball, the handpainted plastic toy, the $400 repopped topper, the subwoofer, the LED generally, the fiber optic, the magic fingers massager and the High-Def Color 3D Smell-O-Vision DMD - these fripperies are not for the Low End Pin man.
The LEP man does not buy what can be borrowed, does not replace what can be repaired, does not repair what can be spit shined, does not spit shine that which is already truly "decent" and "serviceable". He endeavors to make the Low End Pin work with his own hands, via hacked tool, dodgy internet tutorial, paint marker, decoupage, needlepoint, necromancy - whatever it takes. He does not resort to the hired gun for his board work or his coat of clear, except when he finds himself in truly desperate straits.
The LEP man holds his breath when handling his backglass so that the flakes do not take flight and anoint him like so much multicolored dandruff.
The LEP man is not an artist. He does not spray that which may be brushed. He does not brush that which may be wiped or smudged. He does not touch that which may be concealed by post or plastic. He has no problem with quality or workmanship, he just knows that you are not supposed to be able to shave in the reflection off the playfield of that Evil Knievel, dude, WTF?
The low end pin man knows that the truest joy is the short green buy. When he sells the beast on to the Medium pin man, he will realize the cost of his time at $1.50 per hour if he's lucky, but who cares? The memory of the blood and sweat, the project game revived, the ball times long and oh-so-short, the echos of the triple knock shall sustain him until he can dip Low again.