Lost At Rowan Foods

Gentlemen, a small black diary has been found on the yard at Rowan Foods, It has no name only the tyre marks of a fork lift truck impressed into its cover. In an attempt to trace its owner we have decided to publish the entry from one day. If anyone wants to claim it back you know who to contact.
MONDAY 23 FEBRUARY
I woke up at 5.55am just before the alarm went off. This was it, the day had arrived, that trophy was going to be mine...
Put on my tracksuit and went for a three mile run and followed it up with a cold shower, no warm water to distract me from my goal of victory...
Breakfast was a carbohydrate rich porridge, made with water (no losers milk for me) and salt (sugar is for runners up), a champions breakfast..
Read over my preparation notes just before leaving, all my opponents games had been critically scrutinised and analysed by an expert in the USA, not cheap, but to get that trophy on my mantelpiece, any price is worth paying...
Met up with the boys (a.k.a. the losers) in the pub, quietly ordered a shandy, I didn't want to drink but I had keep up appearances and encourage them to drink as much as possible.
On the walk from the pub to the bowling alley (the soon to be arena of my triumph) I kept taking in huge breaths of air while silently repeating my yoga masters chant " breath pure white victory in, blow dark black defeat out"...
After getting another shandy (I never finished the first!!). I got out my customised bowling ball(It had cost a packet to get it painted like a house ball) and we started the first game...
After three frames I was a mile ahead of everyone else on my lane, and then I glanced at the scoreboard on the other lane, OH MY GOD, The President is actually BEATING me!!! for a minute I panic, then gain control of myself , I went to the toilet, locked myself in a cubicle and sat in the lotus position for a couple of minutes, and let the panic leave my body, his game will break down, I repeated to myself, if nothing else the Guinness will see to that...
Sure enough a couple of frames later and I am in the lead by a HUGE margin...
The once and future champion..
Those fools on the other lane have been trying to bowl as fast as they can, I let them play their silly games for a while and the KABOOM!!! I shatter their pathetic little record. Ha! they are no match for a true athlete like me...
Finally the trophy game, I draw a satisfyingly late number The scores start, a 5, beaten by a 7, Then Stuart knocks down a lucky 9, which stands until my turn...
A 9 to beat, I can match that in my sleep, a strike will win it...
I pick up my ball, walk on to the lane, I centre myself and just as I start my mental preparation a cry of " GO ON MY SON" breaks my concentration , I step forward and bowl...
The instant the ball leaves my hand I know its no good, a dark wave of despair rises over me and the bile rises in my throat, I am not going to win...
The darkness start to close in, I cannot feel my arms or legs, what little light is left starts to spin faster and faster, the demons of defeat mock me with their cackling laugh, how can I go home and face my family with this shame ?
Swallowing hard and pretending it meant nothing I turn and face everybody Their faces are a blur...
I cannot recall what happened the rest of the day I just kept replaying that awful moment...
As I write this my eyes are welling with tears of regret...
Still next time its Pool, and now THAT IS MY GAME.

So Gentlemen if anyone knows who this diary could belong to , please let him know it has been found
Many thanks.