Sunday afternoon saw a significant majority of the Ballbashers enjoying fantastic hospitality at Rob and Jacky’s while competing for the latest Ballbasher trophy – the Bocce Cup. As an aside, the Bocce Cup sort of evens out the score with regards to our trophies portraying beautiful examples of the human form – this one representing a male in the prime of life bearing absolutely no resemblance to any known Ballbasher.
Rob had contrived an evil competition pitching the men in pairs against the women in pairs with everyone having several matches to play. It soon became apparent that there is something in the design of Bocce pitches or the balls which suits the female more than the male – it surely cannot be anything to do with pure skill, can it?
Whereas the women could roll the ball gently up the middle coming to rest adjacent to the little white target ball, the men seemed incapable of avoiding massive swings to the right or left in a completely inconsistent fashion. Mind you, having observed Ballbashers putting for many years, I am tempted to say that massive unpredictable swings to the right or left are nothing new for most of us.
So, while enjoying slices of excellent homemade pizza washed down with a refreshing glass of rose, we reached the final game of the competition with the women leading by 4 shots. After the first end, the lead had been reduced to 2 and so, in true BB fashion, the result was going to be decided on the last rolls of the Bocce balls. Despite (or maybe because of?) Rob’s very best endeavours, the men could only muster 1 shot and so the women triumphed by 1 shot overall – 23 to 22.
The trophy was received by Sherry on behalf of the ladies and Sherry, having had years of practice delivering winner’s speeches at sundry golf clubs, thanked the men for trying to make a competition out of it and complimented them on occasionally getting a ball near the jack, while doing her very best to avoid sounding too patronising.
All agreed that it had been great fun and thought that a re-match in 2023 would be very welcome if the Atkinsons felt so disposed. Given the amount of washing-up we left behind us, we can only hope.
