Forget cricket, soccer, tennis and all other spectator sports, the game for 2000 is definitely petanque.

Invented, obviously with the dissolute wine drinking crowd in mind, petanque (pronounced pet-onk) or in French, "boules" (balls to you) is the ideal participation sport for lounge lizards and the slothful. Most popular in France, its country of origin, petanque is a sort of cross between Italian bocce and WASP lawn bowls.

To play petanque two or more contestants hurl heavy (600-700 grams) chromium plated steel balls (roughly the size of a baseball) at a small wooden jack called a cochonnet (lit. little pig ), over a distance of some six to ten metres. The ball nearest to the cochonnet at the end each round scores.

Though it is nowhere stated in the rules, the bit I like about the game is that it seems obligatory for players to have a glass of wine and/or a plate of food in hand while playing. Also, at the beginners' level, little skill is required, short of minimal vision and the ability to toss a ball.

I am grateful to M. Sigmund Jorgensen for introducing me to the game at his Petanque Classique Tournament. As we competed against a selection of Melbourne's top French chefs, I suggested to Siggy that the game probably originated during the Hundred Years War.

He and I envisioned bored French soldiers, at say the 75 year break, drinking vin tres ordinaire while tossing slightly used English cannonballs at farmyard piglets. Of course whenever there was a direct hit there would be a thud and a squeal, hence "pet-oink!" A new game with a new name was born.

Now the beauty of petanque is that unless you're in a tournament you don't need a special pitch, or as the French say, piste. A handy river bank, the front lawn, the local park, a gravel drive way, in fact any mildly uneven surface will serve equally for a spontaneous game. Consequently fans usually carry a set of boules in the car boot, next to the car fridge, on the off-chance that a suitable piste will eventuate.

A petanquing friend of mine says his idea of the perfect afternoon is a drive in the country with his lady friend for, "a game of petanque, a glass of vin blanc, and whatever else...." He shall remain nameless.

A set of boules is not cheap but being made of steel they should last forever. I bought a set of six in a nifty little wooden suitcase The package, including boules, cochonnet, measuring tape and rules, cost $65. If you shop around you can pay much more.

Wine etiquette.

"One more drink and I'd have been under the host." Dorothy Parker. From the Oxford Dictionary of Modern Quotations.

Dorothy Parker's witty admission reminded me of a few rules that I've learned to adhere to - or not, concerning over indulgence. Following some or all of these commandments after too many drinks will save drinkers from remorse, inevitable humiliation, and possible retribution.

A selection, in no particular order of importance: Do not vomit on the hosts' dinner table. Avoid engagement in amorous congress with anyone but your partner, but if you must, don't expect your overtures to be reciprocated, or, in the unlikely event that they are, do not anticipate a super performance.

Never expect sober persons to share your air of exalted hilarity or maudlin depression. Always go to bed before opening that last bottle of rare port put aside for a special occasion. Refrain from phoning your old friend in Beijing for a long chat at 3 am. Absolutely desist from offering gratuitous opinions on the state of the nation to passers-by, especially young police officers. Leave driving to the sober.

Lastly, on the Monday after your lost weekend, never phone to apologise to someone you may have insulted. Chances are they were as drunk as you were, will also be suffering from partial amnesia, and will have enough troubles of their own to worry about.

© Martin Field