Joy of Bocce

Its the warm sun shining down upon you, the caress of a cool breeze, the smell of freshly cut grass wafting through the air, and the childlike sense of wonderment that comes from playing outside on a sunny summer day. It’s the idyllic surroundings; a wonderland of nature far from the hustle and bustle of civilization but close to cherished friends and family. It’s the tactile pleasure of throwing a ball, the sense of accomplishment that comes from making a perfect shot, and the special kind of camaraderie that only exists when good friends get together to play a great game. Whether you’re noble in victory or magnanimous in defeat, whether you pass out drunk or stay up all night banging groupies, Bocce holds a special kind of appeal that no other sport in the world does.

Hi, I’m Paul Colabufo, and today I’ll be exploring “The Joy of Bocce.” Join me, wont you?

Our journey through the wonderful world of Bocce starts here, at the brewery. Like vital oil in a robot sent back in time from the future to destroy mankind, beer is the lifeblood of the Bocce player. Everybody knows that all Bocce matches begin and end with a sip of beer, but did you ever stop to think about where that beer came from? I did. So I paid a visit to a local brewery to visit its employees and maybe even get a chance to sample the goods. What I found was a modern day Garden of Eden whose splendor makes the supposed grandeurs of the Great Wall of China, the Eiffel Tower, and Celien Dion seem unimpressive, even pathetic, in comparison. And the brave men that work there? Lets just say they more than live up to the facilities reputation. Like legendary Greek Gods, brewery employees dedicate their lives to creating the ambrosia that calms the shakes and numbs us to the pain of our miserable miserable lives. Without beer it would be frowned upon, possibly even embarrassing, to wake up in a pool of your own vomit. So to those hardworking brewmasters whose dedication to their job is surpassed only by a zeal for stringent security, Bocce players everywhere salute you (especially those of you who didn’t forcibly remove me from your facilities).

 

Diligent brewery employee returns to work after removing Paul, belligerent, drunk and pantless, from his facility.

 

The next stop on our glorious journey through the wonderful world of Bocce takes us to quaint and rustic Little Italy, where the food is good and the gangsters would rather shoot you than look at you. Right away I fell in love with the colorful locals who inhabit Little Italy and energize it with their boisterous one of a kind culture. Although I don’t speak Italian I felt right at home conversing with the friendly villagers who took me in as one of their own and even gave me my very own nickname. “Un Bastardo!” They would shout as I passed by . . . I still have no idea what it means. Not speaking the language did pose a few problems for me. “Where’s the Bocce?” I’d ask. “Ti metto il cazzo in culo e te lo faccio uscire dalla bocca!” They would invariably shout in reply. Imagine my frustration, I finally had the answer of all answers in my grasp. The solution to the ultimate question -“Where’s the Bocce?” But I couldn’t understand it. Were they giving me directions to a heretofore unknown Bocce court? Or was their answer more esoteric than that? Explaining the nuances of Bocce in a way I would never have contimplated on my own, and through that explination of Bocce unraveling the mysteries of the universe and even of life itself.

 

One of the friendly locals Paul got a chance to meet in Little Italy.


 

As soon as I returned home from wonderful Little Italy I rushed to my Italian to English translator and solved the puzzle. Apparently they were shouting “If I put my dick in your ass it’s going to come out your mouth.” I guess it loses something in the translation.

Everybody off! The magical train that’s taken us on our fun filled journey through Bocce’s most exciting hot spots has reached its final destination. And what better place to be dropped off than the very center of the Bocce universe? The Bocce Organization Of Beer Swillers headquarters. I was lucky enough to gain admittance to this place where only a select few have gone before – into the inner sanctum of that most exclusive and clandestine of all clubs; into the heart of Bocce, and undoubtedly the very pinnacle of human achievement. I was expecting a wonderland of beer, bocce and hot babes, I was expecting heaven on earth. What I saw upon entering B.O.O.B.S. headquarters far far exceeded my wildest expectations. If you can make it past the armed guards, and if you can out maneuver the cloak and dagger secrecy of this powerful underground society, then you’re in for life’s greatest pleasures.

 

No cameras get past these guys.


 

Unfortunately the first rule of B.O.O.B.S. headquarters is . . . you don’t talk about B.O.O.B.S. headquarters. So this ends our journey through the many “Joy’s of Bocce.”

This is Paul Colabufo wishing you a very fond farewell and fervently hoping to see you again next time when we will attempt to rediscover the “Joy of Bocce.”

 


Dont Let This Happen To you . . .