Truesday: It's a Gaming Ship

Hole 1: Strangely confident. The subject approaches the initial game shot with subtle intensity, trying both left and right-handed grip methods as if there were some magical technique to be mastered. Two over par, and subject appears satisfied with results thus far.

Hole 2: Subject surveyed entire hole, studying the topography and nuanced terrain of the green. Then after two practice swings, hit four over par. First appearance of fleeting dismay, and what may very well be a paper-bagged $10 bottle of Kentucky’s finest Liquid Mistake.

Hole 3: While waiting for a family of fifteen to cease yelling at their diapered six year-old for attempting to urinate in a fake pond, subject managed to nervously shoot approximately ten ounces of cheap liquor from the bagged container. And then shot five over par.

Hole 4: Subject appears to be swaying, perhaps from the heat, perhaps from the contents of that bag. Three over par, nothing else of real note.

Hole 5: Subject is beginning to show signs of stress, with sweat rings of ever-increasing circumference, visible from over 100 feet away. Listless swinging of club threatens to soon turn reckless. Seven over par, after a prolonged period of time required to gather ball after errant putting incident.

Hole 6: Subject spread-eagle on nearby pavement as family of fifteen continues to have problems herding wandering offspring. Subject’s bagged bottle appears to be getting lighter, as it appears to be swung around with greater ease (and potential malice). Four over par, after two re-placement shots, both of which were clumsily initiated by bespittled yelling: “OH SHIT NO, that’s not what I was trying to do!”

Holes 7, 8, 9, 10: All skipped by subject in attempt to circumvent the family of fifteen, who have practically manned the entire course at this point, and are not even making attempts at keeping their scores (all pencils were either eaten, or broken in attempts by children to stab one another). Subject scores all skipped holes “at par”. Subject appears to be either laughing, or crying somewhat hysterically to self. Sweat marks cover entirety of clothing.

Hole 11: Subject attempts to make friends with a young couple who are obviously on a date. Subject is repeatedly threatened with putting club, by the female. Subject pushed to ground twice, by the female. “One underpants under par” scrawled across score card.

Hole 5: Apparently, subject has completely regressed. Empty bottle was punted into bathroom area, and subject has decided to re-attempt this far-previous hole. After repeated shouts of “PAR THREE ALL UP IN MY ASS!” while unbuckling pants in front of both infant and elderly, subject manages a seven over par. Writes “fuk this shiiiiit” on score card, and while aiming at one heckling ten-year-old from the family of fifteen, subject pathetically throws stunted pencil into nearby trees. Continued laughing/crying.

Holes 15 – 16: Subject is resting on chipped-paint railing, assuring all passersby that they should “play the fuck on through,” then repeatedly mumble-singing “Tiger Woods y’all, Tiger Woods y’all.”, just before unleashing an onslaught of inappropriate fashion commentary and game narrative. Treated as inanimate as the plaster dinosaur at entrance by all who pass by.

Hole 17: Subject sleeping on tee-off. Appears to have been soiled, likely by own self, but this cannot be confirmed without proper testing.

Parking lot: After brief encounter with local authorities, subject seen staggering past neighboring drive-through without the protection of pants or left shoe.

Peter Pan’s too awesome for any more of my thinning description. Just be sure to play on weekday evenings to avoid the crowds, and bring extra pants. You know, just in case.

If PP’s proves to be too long on kids, and too short on driving distance, then perhaps you’d be better suited for the Butler Pitch and Putt Golf Course across the street. It’s cheap ($4 - $20 depending on how many rounds you want to play, whether you brought your own balls – awesome to say, I know - and how many clubs you have to rent). You can still get shit-housed there, and it might be easier to catch a cab nearby. Be cool to the nearby homeless, and they’ll be cool with you.

Bocce Ball.

A couple of people sent me emails on this, but everyone appears to play it in their own back yard.

Except for Jessica, who heard that the French Legation Museum hosts regular Petanque games. Petanque is similar to bocce. Similar enough. They play it every 2nd and 4th Sunday of every month, between 2 and 5pm. But that’s complicated to remember, and no one likes having their summer activities limited by some museum.

That’s ridiculous.

I hardly consider it part of my list if it isn’t easily, regularly played somewhere in public. Hell, they even play CRICKET at Zilker every now and again. So, in an attempt to prove myself wrong about bocce, I mounted the internets in search of some answers.

I found only one.

Joe’s claims to do Bocce. “Really?” I thought, “that’s a tad odd for a condo-bar.” So I decided to check it out last week, after having consumed two or three gallons of happy hour (and beyond) products in nearby fancy-pants anglo-bars. The bartender was new and apparently afraid of my sweating swagger, and immediately sent for help from a more seasoned beer-pouring professional after I put in my order. Then some nearby biker dude started chatting me up about playing in bands or some shit, and his “old lady” began claiming that we’d be friends for life. She bought my friend two packs of smokes for reasons I cannot fathom. Something like that. After the first six hours of over-consumption, shit gets mighty complicated.

Then, for reasons not altogether understood by myself, I demanded that we play shuffleboard for some incalculable amount of time, almost forgetting my bocce mission entirely. Needless to say, I was confused.

For many reasons.

But mainly because I saw no evidence of bocce anywhere. Is it out the back, off the new patio, in the creek? I wandered around out there in the dirt, in the dark, like an idiot. Nothing. The parking lot? That strip of dirt where rusted Volvos used to rot, next to the Frank & Angie’s parking lot?

Where the hell Joe’s fabled bocce be at?

If anyone knows where this can be played regularly in public (I don’t care where, as long as it’s in the Austin area), please give a brutha a shout in the comments. I looked all over the place, but couldn’t find shit.

Word to your mom’s bocce balls.