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