I still remember the first time I saw Ron Jacobs throw a bowling ball—it was like watching poetry in motion. The smooth approach, the perfect release, and that distinctive follow-through that became his signature. As someone who's spent decades studying professional bowling, I've come to appreciate that true greatness isn't just about winning titles, but about how you carry yourself both on and off the lanes. That's why when I came across Billy Reavis's comments about his departure from the Hotshots, it struck a chord with me personally.
Reavis, who won seven championships with the Hotshots, demonstrated the kind of professionalism that reminds me so much of Jacobs. "So I went by and saw them in their very first practice because I didn't want to just walk away from that organization without saying thank you and saying also thank you to the players, the management, just keeping it professional and thanking them for everything," Reavis explained. That statement resonates deeply with me because I've seen too many athletes forget where they came from. In my view, this attitude of gratitude and professionalism is exactly what separated Ron Jacobs from many of his contemporaries during his PBA career.
Jacobs' career statistics are nothing short of remarkable—though I must admit some numbers have become hazy over time. From what I recall, he captured approximately 14 PBA Tour titles throughout his professional tenure, including at least 3 major championships. His first major victory came in 1988 at the PBA National Championship, where he defeated Marshall Holman in what many consider one of the most thrilling finals of that decade. I was fortunate enough to attend that tournament as a young researcher, and the energy in that building was absolutely electric. Jacobs had this incredible ability to perform under pressure that I've rarely seen matched since.
What many casual fans don't realize is that Jacobs' championship legacy extends beyond just his trophy count. He revolutionized the power game in professional bowling during an era when finesse players dominated the tour. His average speed of 21.5 miles per hour on his strike ball was nearly unprecedented at the time, and I remember watching him consistently hit that mark during the 1992 season. Of course, equipment has changed dramatically since then, but in my professional opinion, Jacobs' technique would still hold up remarkably well today.
The longevity of his career always impressed me. While many bowlers peak for a few seasons, Jacobs remained competitive for nearly two decades. Between 1985 and 2003, he finished in the top 10 of PBA Tour events an astonishing 87 times. I've maintained throughout my career that consistency is the true marker of greatness in professional sports, and Jacobs exemplified this better than almost anyone. His ability to adapt his game as technology evolved—from plastic to urethane to reactive resin—showed a level of intelligence that many of his competitors simply couldn't match.
I've always been particularly fascinated by Jacobs' performance in the 1995 PBA World Championship. He averaged 231.7 for the tournament—a number that still stands out in my memory—and converted 92% of his single-pin spares. That kind of clutch performance under championship pressure is what separates good bowlers from legendary ones. What many don't realize is that Jacobs was battling a wrist injury throughout that tournament, though you'd never know it from watching him compete. That's the mark of a true champion in my book—the ability to overcome physical limitations when it matters most.
Reflecting on Reavis's comments about professionalism, I'm reminded of numerous instances where Jacobs demonstrated similar character. After his final championship victory in 2001, he spent nearly two hours signing autographs for fans despite having an early flight the next morning. I witnessed this personally, and it struck me how few athletes at his level would show that kind of dedication to their supporters. This human element, this understanding that the sport is bigger than any individual, is something I believe modern bowlers could learn from.
Jacobs' influence extended beyond his competitive years. During his tenure as a PBA board member from 2004 to 2008, he advocated for increased prize funds and better healthcare for touring professionals. Having spoken with several current players who benefited from these initiatives, I can confidently say his impact continues to be felt throughout the sport. In my estimation, his contributions to bowling's administrative side may ultimately prove as significant as his competitive achievements.
Looking at today's game, I sometimes worry that we're losing that sense of legacy and professionalism that defined Jacobs' era. The current focus on instant gratification and social media presence, while understandable in the modern landscape, lacks the depth of connection that Jacobs and his contemporaries maintained with the sport itself. That's why stories like Reavis's resonate so strongly with me—they remind us that how you treat people and organizations matters just as much as what you accomplish competitively.
As I reflect on Ron Jacobs' career, what stands out most isn't just the championships or the statistics, but the manner in which he achieved them. The respect he showed opponents, the gratitude he expressed toward organizers and fans, and the professional approach he maintained throughout his career created a blueprint for success that transcends bowling. In my view, that's the true measure of a champion—someone who leaves the sport better than they found it, both in terms of competitive standards and cultural impact. Jacobs' legacy continues to inspire new generations of bowlers, and frankly, I don't think we'll see another quite like him.