June 10–17, 1999

cover story

The Bocce Boys

A game for those who don’t want to play fast and out of control.

by Jen Darr

Five men huddle loosely at one end of the clay bocce court, smoking cigarettes and cigars, swigging Rolling Rock or sipping red wine. Some have beer bellies and some don’t, some are balding or gray. The one thing they all have in common is a flair for arguing.

Especially Fil Verticelli. In the middle of a debate, he suddenly clamors: "It’s called etiquette. E-T-I-Q-U-E-T-T-E."

Meanwhile, on the other end of the court, Frank Felice, who suffered a heart attack recently, rolls a red ball. It stops much too far away from the smaller ball (called a pallina).

"Hey Frank, you can’t milk that heart attack," Fil bellows from the other side. "That was last season’s story."

Bocce’s a summer game for a lot of people — you see them rolling on the beaches, in parks. But for these guys, summertime means the shore, so every Tuesday night in the fall and the spring the members of the Villari Bocce League gather on the indoor court in the Overbrook Italo-American Democratic Club.

The club’s like every other old-timer gathering spot: There’s a friendly barkeep and plenty of Frangelica, the paneling is slightly brown from cigar and cigarette smoke, and the smell of gravy permeates the air.

There are about 40 men in the Villari league. The oldest player is 72; the youngest, 29. On this night, they’re playing an exhibition game, so only a handful of guys shows up.

Their unofficial name is the "businessmen’s league." Among them are restaurateur/actor Sal D’Angelo, who has a cigar permanently planted in his kisser; gray-haired stock trader Verticelli; architect Perry Benson; bond salesman Joe Evancich; real estate developer Gene LeFevre; Joe’s brother-in-law Jim Gattinella, who works as a manager at Super Fresh, and others. Many members are artists, too.

Five teams compete against each other in this league: The Blind Jews, The Real Italians, The W2s (Wops and Wasps), The Force and The Notsos (Not so good, Not so Italian, Not so Jewish… ).

Before they started the league eight years ago, they played volleyball.

"It was very competitive," says Joe. Besides, the women were beating them.

"We said, ‘We gotta find something that won’t kill us,’" he says.

Joe heard about the Overbrook Club’s bocce courts, but to get in, he first had to endure an interview with Sal’s octogenarian uncle, Felice Villari, who has been a club member for years.

"He took me into his house and served me frozen peach Schnapps," Joe explains. Mr. Villari approved and told the club president to let them in.

Many Villari members are Italian or Italian American, but bocce isn’t exclusive to that nationality. The first bocce Olympiad was held in Athens, Greece, in 1896. Egyptians played a similar game in 5000 B.C. and Greeks in 300 B.C., according to the World Bocce Association, one of four bocce organizations in the United States. The Greeks brought bocce to Italy and other parts of Europe about 2,000 years ago. Now played in more countries than

	Roll players: (From left) Fil Verticelli, Bob Tana and Sal D’Angelo of the Real Italians.

any other ball game except soccer, bocce is part of the Special Olympics and is being considered for the Olympics.

The key to the game is the pallina. After one member throws it onto the clay, the two teams compete to roll their bocce balls as close to the pallina as possible, scoring points for proximity.

The Italians in this league consistently come out on top. The Real Italians have won the Super Pallina (the league’s version of the Super Bowl) six out of eight years.

Bocce is a game almost anyone can play, but you won’t find any women in the Villari league.

"It’s the equivalent of hanging on the corner — no women," Joe explains. "Guys go out to smoke cigars, drink, argue."

In the eight years this league has been playing, only six women total have been on the court. And that includes two from City Paper — the reporter and photographer.

"This is boys’ night out," Fil explains. "If you want to take your wife out, take her out some other night. Tuesday night is Tuesday night bocce."

Fil tells a joke: "What do you call a woman without an asshole?"

Everyone guesses, but no one gets it right.

"A widow."

There’s no question these men wear their testosterone on their sleeves, but, whether they want to admit it or not, the game also allows them to let their guard down once in a while, to bond.

Before tonight’s game begins, player Jay Tackett asks Fil’s advice on how to handle his 15-year-old daughter, who refuses to talk to her father lately. Fil’s raised a few girls already.

"Listen, she’s no longer a girl," Fil says.

"Is she a young lady?" Jay asks.

"No, they don’t like that either. She’s a young woman."

But for every piece of sage advice, there’s five times as many insults.

Fil turns to Perry Benson, "To you she’s a victim. For you she’s hands off!"

After the game the men sit around a table shouting and squawking, mocking each other’s faults, arguing about the game or any other subject that crosses their minds — tattoos, kids growing up too fast, the last time the Phillies won the World Series.

In between bites of his baked clams, Fil starts talking mushy. He’s wondering out loud if he’s made the right choices in life.

"My mother died two years ago yesterday. I couldn’t make it to her grave so I went today," he says.

"My mother died, too," Perry mocks him.

"Does she talk to you still?" Fil asks. "’Cause my mother does. She tells me every day that I’m an asshole."

"Hey Fil," Joe interrupts from the other end of the table, "your mother’s part of a chorus."