I decided my girlfriend and I were going to learn Bocce Ball—mostly because it sounded like the one sport I could botch… and still be good at. I mean, how hard could it be? You toss a ball and hope for the best. That’s practically my entire athletic strategy. Some say it takes years to master Bocce. I gave myself a solid ten minutes—and honestly, that might’ve been overkill.
Now, what is Bocce Ball, you ask? Think Croquet—but without the mallets. Which is probably for the best. Give me a mallet and five minutes, and I’ll be cosplaying Thor, smiting the lawn, summoning thunder, and striking fear into the heart of the wicket.
Thankfully, Bocce Ball involves gently tossing balls instead of obliterating them with your Mjölnir—Thor’s hammer, for those of you who didn’t major in Norse mythology or Saturday morning cartoons. (And yes, it took me way too long to spell “Mjölnir” correctly. I swear it looks like two croquet balls are doing squats over the O. Honestly, why not just call it something simple, like MC Hammer?)
Anyway, gameplay starts with a coin toss to determine who goes first. Or, if you’re feeling particularly diplomatic, you can challenge your opponent to a thumb war. It’s a great way to warm up your digits, establish dominance, and confuse any bystanders who thought you came to play a sport.
Once that’s settled, the first team tosses the target ball—called the pallino, or jack if you’re on a first-name basis. Or, as I like to call him, “my old pal Jack.” Jack’s the kind of friend who doesn’t judge when your Marvel hoodie doubles as a cape and you start speaking Norse Code—which, to be clear, is like Morse Code, but with more thunder and extra dots over the O.
After that, each team takes turns tossing their bocce balls, trying to land them as close as possible to the jack. Whichever team isn’t closest keeps throwing until all the balls are played. Points are scored based on how many of your balls are closer to the jack than your opponent’s closest ball. It’s basically lawn chess, but with less thinking and more tripping over your own shoelaces.
Speaking of which—my first toss sailed majestically… for about two seconds, before it hit a rogue garden hose, veered sharply to the left, and somehow ended up in our neighbor’s koi pond. The fish were not amused. One of them gave me the side-eye, and I’m pretty sure another tried to reenact Jaws.
The goal is to get your balls as close as possible to the pallino. If one actually touches it, that’s called a kiss. Cute, right? Though honestly, it feels a bit forward. Maybe take the pallino to Tony’s first—share some spaghetti, light a candle, hum a little Bella Notte. And if Tony calls you Butchy even though you’re clearly Tramp, congrats—you’ve just played Lady and the Tramp: Bocce Edition. At the very least, you’re winning Butchy Ball.
So that’s Bocce. A game of strategy, finesse, and not nearly enough spaghetti. I may not have won, but I did get a kiss—from a bocce ball, not my girlfriend. Just to clarify. And no, I’m not in love with the pallino… we’re just close. Though apparently not exclusive—because one of the koi actually leapt out of the pond in protest. I think he had a thing for the pallino too. Either that, or I ruined his nap. It’s hard to tell with koi.
I may have inadvertently created the next Aquaman villain—wrong universe, I know. But if Marvel ever needs a hero to wrestle rogue garden hoses under the psychic control of an evil koi—all while dramatically falling over patio furniture—The Lawn Avenger is ready.
My girlfriend gave me a look and said, “You kiss one bocce ball and suddenly think you’re Tramp and an Avenger? Please. You’re more like Iron-Deficient Man. Now go sleep in the doghouse—and don’t think you’re getting any spaghetti.”
Little does she know, when you’re a Tramp, the doghouse is basically an Airbnb. It even got a 5-star review from a stray cat—“Would hiss again.” Or at least I think that’s what he said. My Norse Code isn’t the greatest. I think it might’ve been one of the ThunderCats.
And just like that, the only spaghetti in my future was emotional. And that kind of spaghetti? It’s as messy as it gets. Just ask the koi. Or my girlfriend.