Seasons Greetings!

Now that we have reached the halfway point of the regular season, I’d like to point out a few things that I have observed along the way. Newcomers, Bocce-on-the-Lake have yet to win a single game this season.  I won’t say that they suck because no one on their team has ever played bocce before.  Instead, I will reserve that term for the team that loses to them.   I am confident that it will happen, and I’m even more confident that I will notice.

One thing I did notice is that no one brought in any Christmas cookies to share this year; and by no one, I mostly mean Karen Politi didn’t bring in any cookies.  Last year Karen made a huge tray of assorted cookies for her Sonofa Bocce teammate PJ Buynack. PJ, being a decent human being, was kind enough to share them with all of the My Bocce League members.  Well this year, Karen waited until she was leaving bocce to tell PJ that she hid a tray of cookies in her car for him.  Basically, she said I want PJ to enjoy my baking, but no one else. I never really cared much for Karen in the first place, but at least now I know why; she’s a mean, miserly, miserable woman.

Come to think of it, my sister-in-law Joanne and her Great Balls of Fire teammate, Jeff Widmar, run the Humphrey Popcorn Company.  How tough would it have been for them to whip up an extra batch of that chocolate drizzle popcorn everyone loves so much? Way to spread the Christmas cheer you friggin’ tight wads.

Just another day at the office for the Humphrey Popcorn brain trust

Schweddy Balls, My Bocce League’s season one’s 16^th place team, has the number one seed at the break.  I am pretty sure that’s because their weak link, TJ Sell, is on the injured reserve list with a broken foot.  Knowing that Chip Tighe is his podiatrist, it’s a safe bet that the foot will never heal properly, and TJ’s bocce career is likely over.

TJ and his look alike uncle, Captain Kangaroo

Chip Tighe thought about joining his brother Bill’s dental practice before ultimately deciding that cleaning toe jam for a living was more up his alley.

Lastly, I’m going to be selling Baby-Birth Squares for Yolonda and Andrew Ryzner’s first born on January 4^th.  If I don’t sell all of the squares, and your team has failed to purchase at least four squares, you’ll probably receive a less than favorable shout out in the next blog edition titled “Exposing the Cheap Bastards.”

If Andrew Ryzner is reincarnated as a dog, I bet he would resemble this four-legged creature.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Marty Lynch
The Court Marshal

A Change of Pace

I was talking to Terry Wise about 3 months ago about the possibility of getting my college educated son a job as a holiday ride-along with Terry at UPS.  Terry told me no problem, he had pull at the place, gets to select his own assistant, and would take care of it. “Consider it done” he said. So last week I called Terry and asked him what was going on with that, and he starts hemming and hawing.  Terry said that this year was “extremely competitive” and he had to go with the most highly qualified candidate available, and my son was the runner-up.

Terry explained how Amber scored extremely well on her GED. And as you can see, she is capable of opening doors with her left hand, apparently another highly sought after requirement for employment.

There’s a guy on the Blue Star Ballers (who still suck, by the way) that reminds me of someone.  The guy’s name is Ray Averman, and he appears to be a nice, friendly fella.  Yet there has always been something about him that makes me feel slightly uncomfortable.  For the last three years, I’ve gone out of my way to avoid being alone with him, but I have never been able to figure out why. That is, until I watched Sling Blade on Netflix the other day.

Ray Averman and Billy Bob Thornton, I reckon I found the reason fer my discomfort, uh huh

Andy Mellen from Bloated, is one of the few Cuyahoga County workers that hasn’t been indicted…yet.  He was telling me that he made Thanksgiving Day jail house visits to his old boss Frank Russo, and former county commissioner, Jimmy Dimora.  While Russo wasn’t available because he was receiving his weekly mani-pedi, Andy did get a chance to have a chat with Dimora.  Turns out, Jimmy is living the dream.  He gets plenty to eat, gets to lie around all day, and has ample time for on line wagering.  Sounds like things haven’t changed much for him.

Jimmy Dimora taking a quick break between games of spider solitaire.

Just so everyone is aware, we are supposed to have the bocce area to ourselves.  As it turns out, some workers at the front desk have been mistakenly giving out the pool balls prior to us completing our games.  I have been assured that this will no longer happen. But after watching our bocce crashers, it did dawn on me that we are not a very diverse group.  So in an attempt to do some minority recruiting for next year’s bocce season, I decided to google “black people playing bocce.” Oddly enough, out of 431 pictures that appeared on page one, the photo below is the only one that actually contained black people. Oh, and by the way, the other 430 pictures were of Italians. 

Come to think of it, our crashers might actually think they are playing bocce.

Thinking of you,
Marty Lynch
The Court Marshal

I've Missed You.........Not Really

As you can see by my last post, it's been three years since I've written a blog, so it may take me a while until I'm back up to speed on things. As some of you former readers may recall, I'm not really big into heaping praise on people, but I do have a knack for observing individual shortcomings.

With that in mind, there were a couple of performances last week that shouldn’t be overlooked, the first of which involves my own team, Boccelism.  Typically, I am able to single-handedly carry the weight of the entire team on my shoulders, this past week; however, I had complete and total dead weight to deal with.  While I am the first to admit that I’m perfect, I must also admit that I’m not Hercules. I am stuck with Hope Reimer, who can barely pick up the ball; Sherry Tighe, who can barely find the court we’re on; and the lovely Mrs. Lynch, who can barely spell her own name. With these balls and chains wrapped around me, it’s amazing we scored any points at all.

That would be Sherry and Suzanne watching me do some pre-game warm ups. 

Hope was busy with her own pre-game routine.

Speaking of scoring no points at all, there are only two ways this can happen. First, fail to show up and forfeit the games 11-0, and 11-0.  Second, show up and be the Blue Star Ballers.  That’s right, the Blue Star Ballers drove in from Chagrin Falls, Cleveland Heights, and Hinkley, only to have their balls squeezed in a vise by the Wise-Pokorny squad, Bump My Balls.

The Blue Star Ballers are the only team in the league to have a bar sponsor them.  Yep, the Blue Star Tavern paid the $280 entry fee, which only goes to prove the point, if you give shit to people for free, they don’t care about it.  New rule, no more Section 8 league members.

One of the Blue Star Ballers, Anne O’Shaughnessy-Smith told me that the team they played was "really, really, really good."  I think the truth of the matter is that Anne’s team is really, really, really bad.

Another Baller, Margaret Duhigg, claimed the balls were very slippery.  Hey Margaret, I watched your team suck down nine dozen chicken wings before the game.  As a friendly suggestion, perhaps you folks might consider washy the greasy BBQ sauce off your grimy fingers before kickoff.  Just something to think about.

Margaret Duhigg and her teammate Tom just before game time.

I won’t be in attendance this Saturday, so my trusted assistant PJ Buynack will be running the show. 

If you haven't met PJ, he'll be the bald guy wearing the suit and tie.

All My Love,

Marty Lynch

The Court Marshal