The End of Last Season, to the Best of My Knowledge

Rod did not win last season. Instead, Rod fell into an abyss of depression.

He blames the loss. To be honest (which Rod isn't a fan of), it merely started there. But then it spiraled downward, endlessly.

Other elements came into play. Like his inability to hold down a stable relationship. With a woman.

Or his children.

Also, he reflected on his choice of attire for the past 40 years and cringed. That's when the drinking started.

The drinking lasted until this evening. That's when he realized what a son of a bitch he is for not updating the blog. Maybe his son was right about him. Maybe he is nothing more than an egomaniac who loves to dangle carrots over the heads of his fans, i.e. the readers of this here blog. For this he apologizes.

Also, he would like to inform you that the apology is insincere. What do you want from him? He's a rock star. We do what we want.

For example:


On this note, Rod would like to share with you the comments from an email chain with his teammates regarding last season. Apparently, he was not the only one that drank himself into a coma.

"I know we lost to Old Dirty Barristers, not sure who we beat that day though."

"The week prior to that, we beat Cobra Kai, right?"

"Yeah, I don't remember who we played either. Did we play Cobra Kai? I don't even remember that."

So there you have it. In the first round of the playoffs, we're sort of sure that we beat Cobra Kai.

After that stunning victory, unparalleled in skill and class by any team ever to play the sweet game of bocce, we advanced to the following week, a winner take all scenario that would last hours and carry into the wee hours of late afternoon.

The first game, it was Rod versus Kiss My Pallino. But don't worry, we also took them down in a battle to end all battles. It was as if the Greek Gods were clashing, like "titans" if you will. Luckily, Rod played the role of Harry Hamlin and tricked the wily crew who, admittedly, were clearly more interested in the Preakness races anyway. Whatever, we advanced to the Final Four.

The Rod crew chose to indulge in a post-victory meal at Five Guys, strutting through Brooklyn Heights with bad attitudes and a swagger rivaling P. Diddy's. It wouldn't last long. Old Dirty Barristers, as you noticed from the emailed quotes above, decimated us in the Final Four.

The Final match was between ODB and Boccelism. Boccelism won. Again. Woo-hoo...