Skip to main content

A Fitting End


What follows are what I hope is the somewhat entertaining email trail leading up to our spectacular defeat in the Staff Bocce semis. Yes, I'm lazy, I know.


From: Larry
Subject: Bocce Tournament Semis

As pursuant to articles 83 through to and including III. V. a subsection K, clause 301982 of the "International Office Workers Bocce Tournament Agreement, Rules, Stipulations and Errata", I hereby officially initiate a bocce match between:
John and Jane
Vs.
Jim and Mike

This will be a single knock out match, side-bets and over under percentages are still pending from Vegas.

Please keep it clean, the organizers of this bocce tournament would like to re-iterate that they do not officially condone eye-gouging, fish-hooking, or well placed elbows to the unsuspecting mid-section.

The date is set for:
Wednesday, September 19th, 2007 A.D.

Match is to be played at:
Bocce Bloodbath Pitch of Death (aka, whatever that scraggly, root infested bit of lawn is called in front of Smith Hall)

I hereby fulfill my responsibilities and wish all particpants good luck and God Speed.

Larry
Steering Head Committee Co-Chair Vice-President
Prod Bloc Bocce Scheduling Working Sub-Group


********


From: Jane
Subject: RE: Bocce Tournament Semis

We see your match and raise you three oxen and two of your children.

Noon on Wednesday, September 19th would suffice.

Jane


********


From: Mike
Subject: RE: Bocce Tournament Semis

You take all 3 and it’s a deal!


********


From: Larry
Subject: RE: Bocce Tournament Semis

Intentional ‘throwing’ of the game is strictly forbidden Mike.

We are watching you.

The Committee will need to see the oxen before hand, to ensure they are indeed oxen and not, say, overly aggressive cows with a penchant for pulling.

Children need not be inspected, but they should be the offspring of the bettor and not -- as has previously been the case -- the local urchins with a song on their lips and a well-rehearsed kicky dance number at the ready.

Jim, as he has no children, and is apparently allergic to the very sight of them, offers up one large, delightfully delectable tuna casserole.

Larry
Steering Head Committee Co-Chair Vice-President
Prod Bloc Bocce Scheduling Working Sub-Group


********


From: Jane
Subject: RE: Bocce Tournament Semis

Dear opponents,

We are having a lawyer check into the stipulations cited below.

Let us know if Smith lawn at 12pm on Wednesday September 19th works for you.

Thanks,

Jane


********


From: Larry
Subject: RE: Bocce Tournament Semis
Dear Soon To Be Crushed Underneath The Feet of the Never Before Defeated and Never Will Be Vanquished Prod Bloc (not to be confused with Soviet Bloc, who, while terrifying, obviously had an unnatural preference for the colour red),

Your lawyer is not fit to lick the boot-heels of our well-paid, homicidally dedicated crack team of Notary Publics. They not only read every word, they re-read it and then double check for both British and American grammar. Prepare to be riddled with quid-pro quos and other Latin phrases that may or may not mean you’ll be handing over your personal property to a large multi-national bank.

Vis-à-vis changing venues, I’ve consulted The Athletes, and they are not unamenable to changing it from the honourable and storied Bocce Bloodbath Pitch of Death, to the shifty, accursed and frankly, Communist sounding Smith Lawn. Since you have an aversion to dabbling, is ‘puttering about’ still on the table? We hope meddling is still kosher as well.

The day of the furious bocce action is deemed acceptable by The Athletes.

They will not be submitting to drug testing.



May you Cower in Fear,

Larry
Steering Head Committee Co-Chair Vice-President
Prod Bloc Bocce Scheduling Working Sub-Group

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Insults From A Senile Victorian Gentleman

You SIR, have the hygeine of an overly ripe avocado and the speaking habits of a vaguely deranged chess set. I find your manner to be unctuous and possibly libelous, and whatever standard you set for orthodontal care, it's not one I care for. Your choice in news programs is semi-literate at best and I do believe your favourite news anchor writes erotic literature for university mascots. While I'm not one to point out so obvious a failing, there has been rumour that the brunches you host every other Sunday are made with too much lard and cilantro. If you get my meaning. There is something to be said about your choice of motor-car fuel, but it is not urbane and if I were to repeat it, mothers would cover their children's ears and perhaps not a few longshoremen within earshot would blush. How you maintain that rather obscene crease in your trousers and your socks is beyond me, perhaps its also during this time that you cultivate a skin regime that I'm sure requires the dea

Learn A New Thing...

Man, you really do learn a new thing everyday. There have been a few shocking realizations I've had over the past month or so: -bizaare is spelled bizarre (how bizaare) -scythe is pronounced "sithe", not the phonetic way. Which is the way I've been pronouncing it in my head for my whole life. My entire youth spent reading Advanced Thresher Sci-Fi and Buckwheat Fantasy novels, for naught! -George Eliot was a woman, real name Mary Ann Evans. -Terry Gilliam is American. -Robocop is a Criterion Film. I shit you not . -Uhm, oh damn, just after I post this, I find that, this movie is a Criterion film as well . Maybe I don't know what being a Criterion film really entails.. Alright all (three) readers of my blog, post and lemme know some earth shattering facts you've learned recently.

Absolute Write Blogchain #10

We interrupt your usual lackadaisical one post a week with a blog chain! There are many desriptions of a blog chain, but it's basically a blatant attempt to bring new readers to your blog by writing about meandering topic. I'll be riffing off of Midnight Muse's post about salmon, I think. And smoking. Oh, and produce! I think it has to be a mark of adulthood to be excited about produce. When I was a kid, and we'd go for some vacation to yet another boring landmark (with not a single arcade in sight) about some misguided explorer who had died along the way to a destination (where I'm sure he was expecting opium and cheap women, but who the plaques invariably cast as a starry eyed dreamer, bent on discovering the world for road-side diners and the more boring parts of textbooks). We'd inevitably find some long lost fruit stand. Abandoned except for a weather worn sign and a disaffected youth who oozed small-town teen resentment. My dad would stop our full sized v