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Since out man, Gartholomew is on the scene in Buffalo ... I won't say very much except ... the Sabres really owned the period, had wings on their skates and Cam Wardhad to be very sharp or it would have been 3-0. Maybe 4-0.
**
So what do a couple of Italian-Americans do on Memorial Day when there ain't no hockey to be found on the telly?
Why, of course, they turn to bocce!
I went on to Anthony Sanfilippo's aunt's house in Delaware County on Monday with C.B. (Crazy Bitch) for Memorial Day. You know Anthony, the reigning "Boy Genius" on the hockey beat from the Delco Times.
At the Sanfilippo residence, the highlight is always a game of bocce among the men of the house.
You got Anthony's father, Anthony Sr., you got Uncle Bob, the wives, the kids, and the dog, too,a friendly boxer with a name I can't remember. Was it "Clarice" of Hannibel Lector fame?
Plenty of grape � our red wine was collecting dust and aging very nicely in the Sanfilippo wine cellar as I carefully plucked an old Chianti that disappeared into large chalices before the sun set.
Back to bocce ... Anthony's grandfather, Tony, was a pretty good bocce champion in his day, both here and in Italy. Our game late yesterday was highly competitive.
Anthony and myself on one side, and then a rotation of his son, Anthony Jr. a/k/a A.J. (Think: Soprano's), grandpa Tony and Danny, a strapping lad of college age.
Anthony and myself won the opener from Tony and Danny with a long game and great distances. We really had to rally, however, in the second game against A.J. and Danny. They prefer a "short" game.
So A.J. was tossing the pallina just close enough to make it miserable for Anthony and myself. The lads kept piling up points. We prefer a game of distance to put some back spin on the bocce.
Let me tell you about the bocce set. All, authentic, ancient wooden balls, direct from Italy. Judging from the deep scars on the face of the balls, I'd have to guess these balls traveled with Grandpa Tony from Rome to Abruzzi, where he grew up all across Delaware County, as well.
We were getting torched 14-6 at one point in the second game as Danny and A.J. kept winning point after point but mere inches. Tony used a crooked tree branch to measure.
Just as things seemed awfully grim for our heroes, Anthony got a call from his Toronto girlfriend, Layla (Think: "Derek and the Dominos."). That call seemed to put some pep into Anthony's step. Even I had some glide in my stride. We began our rally.
We beat A.J. and Danny on back-to-back throws and finally wrestled back the rights to the pallina.
Now it was in our grubby hands. "Go long, young man, like deep center field," I instructed Anthony as he hurled the pallina toward the Philadelphia border.
Mind you, we're playing on the world's biggest bocce court _ a thick, grassy plot of open space smack in the middle of Glenolden.
The long game suited us fine. We started racking up points. Behind 18-15, we tied at 18 on the last throws with the pallina firmly in our mitts. Anthony tossed near a giant tree, the only one on the bocce court.
"A little rocky but some dirt, up there," he smiled.
His bocce toss was historic. He hit the tree at the base of the trunk to the left and the bocce ball took a perfect left angle turn, parallel to the pallina, resting about two feet from its center.
I saw the look on A.J. and Danny's faces. They didn't have a chance. Their throws were wide with us ahead, 19-18.
I clinched it on my final two throws, with just the right amount of backspin.
Champs again!
I've decided if the Flyers ever advance to a Stanley Cup final in my lifetime again, we will have a bocce tournament between games 2 and 3.
Probably across from the Sanfilippo residence in Delaware County.
**
A word about long-time Flyers equipment man Jim "Turk" Evers. You may have seen my story on his resignation in Friday's Philadelphia Inquirer.
If not, permit me to tell you about him. He had been with the club 23 years as both an assistant and head equipment man. Sometime trainer, too.
In today's NHL, this is a young man's job. You have to be at the rink hours _ and I mean many hours _ early and you leave many hours late. You have to drive trucks loaded down with tons of hockey equipment long distances, too.
"I've had enough," Evers told me last week. "The job was wearing on me and I was burnt out. The last season really got to me. I just felt it was time to go. I was miserable at times and that's not me. I told [Flyers coach Ken Hitchcock] Hitch [on Friday].
"I needed a change in my life. I want to see my son grow up. My wife [Sherri] is upset, but I'm actually happy right now. I feel like there's no more pressure on me. I'm relieved. I'm retired."
Turk's career began as stick boy and person attaché to Derek Sanderson during the days of the Philadelphia Blazers in 1973. He later became an assistant equipment man for the Philadelphia Firebirds.
It was during his association with Sanderson in which Evers chauffeured the former Boston Bruin about Philadelphia and handled his personal affairs, that he picked up the nickname, "Turk," which happened to be Sanderson's nickname, as well.
I always thought he brought a light touch to the dressing room, always telling jokes and often using the people and players around him as objects of playful ridicule.
"I don't think anyone ever took it personal, I had fun with people," he said.
Some people thought he was abrasive. But you had to know Turk to understand it was an all an act.
On more than on occasion, he assisted me with his acumen to mend a significant tear or a lost wheel on my computer bag when the team was on the road. He took great pride in his work for saving someone from buying a new piece of equipment or garment he repaired. He never charged me a cent.
We wish Turk, his wife Sherri and son, James Jr., well.
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Philadelphia Flyers Blogger •