MANDALORIAN LORE OF THE DAY: MESHGEROYA (A.K.A. BOLO-BALL OR LIMMIE)

MANDALORIAN LORE OF THE DAY: MESHGEROYA (A.K.A. BOLO-BALL OR LIMMIE)

bolo-ball A popular sport known as limmie outside the Core.

Climbing the ladder to one of the concussion missile bays, he found himself looking up at Rex as the clone commander leaned over from the gantry above. Rex, even without his distinctive blue-and-white 501st armor, was easy to spot among the ship's company. He had his helmet clipped to his belt, and he was sporting another new hairstyle. Instead of being shaven to a fine polish, as when Pellaeon had last seen him, his scalp was now covered with short fuzz of blue-dyed hair cut into stripes. "Very ... different, Rex," Pellaeon said. Ahsoka leaned over the rail beside Rex, although she had to stand on tiptoe to do it. She twitched her striped head-tails. "Nothing wrong with stripes, sir." "Bolo-ball final," Rex said. "I'm somewhat partisan. Bylluran Athletic." Pellaeon had no idea how Rex-bred on Kamino without any of the usual sense of geographic or species tribal-ism-decided which team to support. Bylluran was a Sullustan team. But most teams had fans who'd never been within ten parsecs of their home ground, and some couldn't even breathe the same atmosphere, so maybe that was ... normal. Stang, he's like any other being. A normal human male. It's hardwired in all of us, this need to ally and belong. "So, Rex, what do you think of the upgrades?" Rex replaced his helmet. "I can't judge the new concussion missiles until I see them take out a city or a capital ship, but I'm not convinced that the improved laser recharge time was worth the expenditure."

The parade ground was a platform edged with a low retaining wall and a border of manicured bushes, all trimmed to regulation height-there was such a thing, Scorch was certain-and it didn't see many parades. More often than not these days, it stood empty except for the occasional impromptu game of bolo-ball. The two veteran sergeants stood in the center of it with heads slightly bowed, oblivious of the commandos approaching. - "Meshgeroya," Besany said. "The beautiful game. That's what they call it here. Bolo-ball. Limmie. The ground's thawed enough to play." "They haven't got enough players for two teams." "Oh, that won't stop them." "Good grief, is Laseema going to play?" Scout seemed horrified. "And Jilka?" "I think they're going to be line judges. Parja's refereeing." "What line? It's just grass and mud out there." Besany and Ruu laughed. Meshgeroya was a Mandalorian obsession and certainly seemed to get a lot of boisterous energy out of their systems. When Ny looked out of the window, she was surprised to see Kina Ha and Uthan "What's shereshoy?" "A lust for life. Grabbing it and living it for the day, because you don't know if you'll be around tomorrow." "Shereshoy. I like that word." "If you ever see a Mando in orange armor, that's what the color means." Skirata held the last chunk of cookie to his nose and inhaled again. The aroma was obviously evocative. "You're a good woman, Ny." "You're not so bad yourself, Shortie." So this was shereshoy in action. The snow had melted, the sun was struggling to get noticed, and that faint promise of winter's end had sparked an impromptu game of meshgeroya and modest feasting. Ny liked that. Her life had always been spent deferring gratification, waiting for that mythical one day to come when she and her husband could spend good times together, but now that day had passed a few thousand times and would never come again. Ordo, sweat-streaked and visibly pleased with himself, halted the game to hand out mugs of ne'tra gal. Ny decided now was a good time to learn to enjoy the Mandos' sweet black beer, their crazy obsession with bolo-ball, and their eccentric hospitality that could, in the same heartbeat, take in both friends and traditional enemies. There would also come a time when she would have to come to terms with their ruthless, more brutal side. But that time could wait.

Beviin stopped the speeder in front of what could only be a cantina, its doors parted and the smell of cooking and brewing wafting onto the street Above the entrance was lettering Jaina couldn't read, and—helpfully—a few words of Basic: UNIVERSE TAPCAF-NO STRILLS INSIDE-BARTER ACCEPTED. Jaina followed Beviin inside. He took off his helmet, laid it on the counter, and ruined another stereotype for her: he wasn't some granite-faced thug but an ordinary gray-haired man about her mother's age, with the kind of face that looked on the edge of a big smile all the time. And the Fett-inspired

image of Mandalore that she'd nursed for so long kept crumbling. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she found herself in a cantina full of armored Man-dalorians, not all human, helmets stacked under tables. They were watching a big holovid screen in intent, reverent silence, mesmerized by a bolo-ball match. "Meshgeroya," Beviin whispered, as if he was interrupting an act of wor-ship. "The beautiful game. Our other national pastime."

The bolo-ball provided a neutral distraction. She was almost caught up in it, so deafened as the room turned from total silence to explosive yells of "Oya!" when the favored team scored, that the sensation that ran up her spine and made her hair bristle caught her by surprise.

"Come on, Kad'ika." Ny lifted Kad onto her hip. "Let the big kids play with the ball now." Fi tossed the ball in the air and headed it as if he was checking that he could still do it. "Love us, love our game." "I'll get used to it ..." Even Vau joined in. Ny watched, waiting for the crunch of old bones whenever Skirata and Gilamar were tackled by one of the clones. The lads were big, fast, and exceptionally fit, far too fit for the veteran sergeants. Ny could see a little midlife crisis raising its graying head there. But maybe the crazy old barves just loved playing meshgeroya, and the risk of a painful trouncing from the youngsters wasn't enough to stop them. The shouts and indignant appeals for penalties sent Mird into an excited frenzy. The strill slapped its whip-like tail on the ground and squealed to itself, occasionally racing around what seemed to be the edge of the pitch in its imagination. Kad watched the game intently, fist held to his mouth. Vau went for a high ball and headed it down between two bushes that seemed to be the only goal. He roared truimphantly. "Offside!" Corr protested. Ny had no idea how he worked out where the goal was, let alone whether Vau had broken some rule. She didn't really get the game at all. "Ref, that was offside." Parja allowed the goal, pointing imperiously toward a nonexistent center spot. "Wasn't. Play on." "Devious old men one, fit young upstarts nil," Vau said smugly. But he looked seriously out of breath.

"It's all they can think about," Mirta muttered. "I'm glad it's only once every five years." "What is?" "Galactic bolo-ball tournament. It's taken over the HoloNet." Wrong again, then. Jaina's misfortunes weren't as riveting as a sporting event. Life didn't center on her small circle, another reminder that there was a wider world she seldom saw. "Where's Fett?"

MANDALORIAN LORE OF THE DAY: MESHGEROYA (A.K.A. BOLO-BALL OR LIMMIE)

MANDALORIAN LORE OF THE DAY: MESHGEROYA (A.K.A. BOLO-BALL OR LIMMIE)

Sources: Star Wars: The Clone Wars novelization, The Clone Wars: No Prisoners, Republic Commando: True Colors, Order 66: A Republic Commando Novel, Imperial Commando: 501st, The Complete Star Wars Encyclopedia, Vol. I, Legacy of the Force: Revelation

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