It started as what might have been the last of a yearly vacation taken together. Boys. Brothers, actually. Three of them packed into a car to whip across country. Fifteen hours, split across two days of driving, with a small intermission. That was when it would be decided. They needed a yard game. But what? Croquet? Too involved. Cornhole? Too many parts? Mölkky? Sure, a high-enough level of sophistication to it, but where to buy, where to buy? They shelved the topic and threw a few more slices of pizza down the hatch.

They drove North. Far out of any city, into a small river valley nestled into the Appalachian mountains. Low-laying mountains, some of the oldest in the world. Certainly not the kind to cross a Kodiak. A cougar, maybe, or even a black-bear. The real reason to fear these mountains wasn't what lived there, but what didn't. Miles upon soulless miles these unassuming mountains stretched out so once you're there in it is became impossible to distinguish one crest chok-full of trees from the next. Besides, getting out of the city for weeks at a time was hard enough, a resource intensive affair, an aspect often taken for granted in highfalutin planning of such outings. They took a pitstop in the city where the fourth brother lived, two-thirds of the way to their destination.

There they went to a party and found some French folks playing another particular game. Petanque? Like bocce ball but smaller - Bocce ball?? - Bais, ouais. Metal spheres, about the size of an A-cup breast tossed in an underhanded fashion toward a smaller - about the size of a nut - white ball. Great fun for a small group at a party. But these guys are too drunk, none could steady himself enough to look you in the eye, or throw straight. This game is too niche. It might be hard to find. No. But bocce. ... The game as old as civilization itself. For thousands of years, men, women and children have gathered around spherical, polished rock. It was the Romans invented it. Colombians had their own version, but with explosives - Tehjo - and now some French folk wanted to reinvent it with braless metal A-cups on gravel, being drunk and snorting like pigs as they measured distance. Not the finer version of the sport.

Bocce. A game for philosophizers. A game made for the focused and loquacious. Bocce. A game of intense focus. A game for diplomacy. Bocce. The game of all games. They found a set, purchased, drove onward to camp, leaned in to their throws.

So the Pallino - that's this white ball, here, a little smaller, see? - it is thrown into the Pit. You can use a flat ground for your pit with side boards if you have them, or just use any area. An even pitch works just as well as the more rugged one. For some, the more treacherous the better. Uphill, you want to overshoot, and try to reduce the roll with a great lob.... THUD! If you can backspin, all the better. On dirt, or on sparsely grassy areas, you reallllyyyy need to watch it..... Or it goes, in a loooooooong bumpy ellipse. Downhill you throw short. Really short, depending on the terrain. Watch the Pallino as it rolls into place. See how it settles, there? There's a divot, obscured by that tree's shadow, but you watched the Pallino roll that way and settle there, so you know there's one. Ok, now you have your bocce. But it is about 5x the size, so think about Newtonian physics. The bigger objects, when they go they really go. So watch the force you put behind it. Not bad. Now the rules. It isn't hard. We alternate who throws first. He will throw the Pallino, then his first bocce. Wherever the latter lands, sets what we call Inside. The other team, then, alternates throwing their own bocce until one of them makes it closer the Pallino. That forms the new inside. Only if they succeed in doing so, does the starting team have to throw again. The throw always goes to the team who hasn't set the Inside. After all the opposing team's balls are thrown, that sets the Frame. The win goes to the team whose bocce settled closest the Pallino. A Match is played with an odd number of Frames, decided upon at the beginning of the game. Got it?

All week they played, and organized a tournament. They could make three teams among them, so a round-robin wouldn't work, but they crafted their own tournament board with a scoring system. The fates had it so that the middle brothers, the most athletic of the bunch, took the win. At night, around a campfire, they called their fifth brother, way across country in the other direction, among those higher range of mountains, to give him the news. A reunion, unlike they would ever have again, made their hearts with joy, not knowing what strange pitch life would throw their Pallino toward next.