Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.The Bocce’ Men of Hampton Beach by J. G. Fabiano The preparations are finally over. The kids are out of school and the long trip to get away from the reality of life is behind all that have arrived on the coast of New Hampshire and Maine. The beaches quickly fill with white unhealthy bodies yearning to become the tanned aloed souls of summer. This influx of summer tourists also heralds in the now traditional season of summer games. Hampton Beach has a tradition of beach games, some of which have evolved their own characters. Beach Bocce’ is one of those games. Teachers, who had patiently survived tenure, developed the game. They can now support themselves without the help of menial summer jobs. Other municipal employed vacationing people then joined these teachers. These are the policemen, the firemen, and the more affluent sanitation workers. Bocce’ is a traditional Italian game that, I am told, has been played since the original Roman Empire. In Hampton, the father of the sport is a mountain of a man sporting a white, reversed sailor cap. He has been called everything from the mayor to the commissioner. This man’s tan has increased along with his width. Beyond his brawny body, his trademark is the always-protruding Blackstone King cigar that hangs from his perpetually clenched teeth. Aspiring participants of the sport wait for the mayor to arrive at his anointed spot. Everyone knows that the game will begin when he arrives. You see the mayor never forgets his balls: Bocce’ balls that is. The mayor never starts the games. He simply sits in his ancient seat and pretends to be disinterested but, like the morning arrives every day, within minutes he is asked to become part of this daily ritual of the beach. Like the stars of the game, the characters of the game are also created. For example, the municipal employee is seen playing with a perpetually-full Diet Coke in hand. It makes me feel proud that one of our finest remains sober and abides by the laws of the beach but, why does he always drink from the same can? Amidst the serenity of the game are the "ranters". These are the people who engage in the ritual of kicking sand and mumbling obscenities at both their opponents and partners. They rarely win because they are perpetually paired up with someone who can’t play the game. Of course, that is what they say! Then there are the bumbling 40-year-old children who go to the beach every day with mommy. They hang out even though they are only allowed to play the game if there are no others to fill in the positions. Children are only allowed to play in exhibition games. You see two out of three games bring in high stakes. This is a cold 12-ounce beverage that is delivered to the victor’s chair in a plain brown paper bag. This is the trophy of the game that is given in front of the wife and family. A greater moment of pride can’t exist. On the other hand, a loss precipitates the long walk through the jeering spectators to pick up the winner’s trophy. Women are not allowed to play the game no matter what their age. Unlike all other institutions the equal rights of women in terms of playing bocce’ does not exist; at least not yet. Women are only allowed to watch the game and enjoy the competition. These same women are competing in their own form of game that is noticing who has the nerve to wear a particular bathing suit and how much better they would look in the same. The most beautiful model in the world could pass their view only to be scorned for crooked teeth or a loose abdomen. The game itself evolves in it’s own traditional way. The first few games are played near the surf line using an approximate legal distance. After a few of the trophies have been accepted, the game goes through its own form of degeneration with the playing field increasing ten fold and the line of play going knee deep in the ocean. God help any young child who dares to cross the path of the bocce’ court. If they do they must stay still until the end of the game. This is because they become part of the bocce’ court. The day ends like all the other days before. A beverage-filled vacationer passes out in his chair and the ranter, having screamed himself hoarse leaves the beach in a huff. He is always outraged that no one allowed him to win. The mayor is always the last to leave. After he collapses into his ancient chair and enjoys all that our beach can offer, he slowly leaves the beach. Some say he leaves only after the sea breezes chills him off but others say his wife threatens divorce, again. As he leaves, the other participants of the game have complete confidence that tomorrow will again begin the same. They know that the ranters, the 40-year-old children, the municipal workers, the women and the mayor will arrive and the mayor, without a doubt, won’t forget his balls. Bocce’ balls that is! THE END
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