A Memory at Fort Hale Park: A Fictional Comedy

A Memory at Fort Hale Park: A Fictional Comedy

The gang was all here at Fort Hale's bocce ball court. Present were my pals: Bobby, Mark, Lonny, Jose, Lou, Dave and Angelo.

The bocce ball game began. The teams were Lonny and me against Marc and Bobby. I don't remember who went first but Lonny and I used the blue balls and Mark and Bobby used the green balls. The smaller paulino ball was yellow.

“Throw the fuckin ball Bobby...not the blue ball, we're green,” said an irritated Mark.

“Take it easy pal, give me a chance to think; I'm half lit,” slurred a drunken Bobby.

Almost everyone at the bocce ball court was drunk. Mark was drinking Miller. Lonny and Bobby were drinking whiskey nip bottles. Lou, who was sitting on the nearby picnic bench with Dave and Angelo, were drinking cans of Budweiser, one after another, but they never became drunk. Only Jose and myself were straight.

The score of the game so far was four for the green team and two for the blue team; Lonny and I were losing. That sunny day on that bocce ball court was like a comedy skit.

It was Lonny's turn to lob the little paulino ball. He staggered, drunk as hell. He picked up the ball and said: “Watch this!”

He chucked the little yellow paulino high into the air. It landed on Mark's noggin who was now standing in the street. We all doubled up in laughter as Mark took off his hat and rubbed his head. He then said to Lonny: “Mother fucker.”

Let me describe the gang to you. We are mostly of Italian decent. Lonny, who arrived to the bocce ball court on his 1998 Holly motorcycle is of Irish decent. He looks like a rock and roll artist with the gray hair and beard.

Mark is a good friend of mine. I know Mark about five years. He used to come into my laundromat and wash cloths. He still owes me twenty bucks. Mark is a big man; about six feet four inches with a great big beer belly.

Bobby is a short little Italian American. Very short hair, very clean shaven with olive skin.

Me, well, my mom was Italian. As a matter of fact, she spoke Italian but I never learned any of it from her.

During the middle of the game, (I think we were losing eight to six) I had to take a pee. There weren't any 'port o potties' around so I ran to the woods as fast as my bad knees would allow me to limp, Boy or boy, did the woods smell bad. The stench of urine and dead bunker fish was overwhelming. (Some fishermen were apparently throwing dead bunker into the woods.)

Just then one of the gang yelled out to me: “Let's go Perry, shake it, shake it, but don't play with it. Get back to the game.”

I limped back to the court but it seems that I had peed my pants a little.

“Pee pee in your pants Perry?” said Bobby jokingly.

“Just a little,” I replied.

Okay, let's get back to the game. It was a good game; close score. Mark with a beer bottle in his hand picked up the paulino and lobbed it down the court. He threw it so hard it bounced off the back retaining wall. Then it was my turn to lob the blue bocce ball. I really suck at the game but this time I lobbed the ball just right. The ball landed about three inches from the tiny yellow paulino.

“YEA!” I exclaimed.

Lonny came over and gave me a fist bump and said: “Nice shot.”

It was Bobby's turn to throw. He picked up the green ball and lobbed it towards the paulino.

“SHIT!” Bobby yelled.

His ball didn't even come close to the paulino. Now it was Mark's turn to throw. Mark flung his ball with all his strength towards my ball that was only three inches from the paulino. He hoped his ball would knock my ball further from the paulino. His ball missed my ball by inches. My ball was still the closest.

“DAMN IT.” cried Mark after that last mighty throw.

Apparently Mark had pulled a muscle in his right arm by throwing his bocce ball with all his strength.

Just then Billy and his giant Great Dane named Macy walked over to the court and the nearby picnic bench. Macy looked about seven years old. She was gray with big floppy ears. (She never got her ears cropped.) Billy seemed to be a straight sorta guy. I didn't know him well but his dog Macy was loved by all the guys. Macy was off her leash and she jumped over the bocce ball retaining wall and grabbed one of the blue bocce balls with her great big jaws. She took off with the ball and ran into the woods with the ball.

“MACY! COME BACK HERE GIRL,” cried Billy as he pleaded with his dog to bring back the ball.

Macy went into the thick woods with the ball. Billy, Mark, Bobby, Lonny and myself all ran into the woods looking for Macy and the ball. We all climbed up the hilly woods until we found Macy digging a hole to put the ball into. She was just playing, but when Mark reached down to pick up the ball Macy growled and then she grabbed onto Mark's jacket and tugged on it.

“LET GO YOU DAMN MUTT,” cried out Mark.

Marks jacket was torn and the sight of a drunken Mark fighting with a Great Dane trying to get his jacket out of the jaws of that beast was hilarious.

We never did get to finish the game of bocce ball. The blue ball was ruined. Macy had chewed it up pretty good. I never did get to take a picture of Macy but the memory of that incident at the bocce ball court was worth a million dollars.

The End

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