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Bobby B, RIP

An Original Berry Boy:

Wife never met him; couldn’t figure out why the phone exploded when the news hit and we boys were so distraught… “It’s Bobby Barile!” …couldn’t believe when TT called her and told her while near tears; she had no idea, then he said “look, I can’t explain this, just put Redhead on the phone.” He’d never been so abrupt.

I’m glad they added the guitar stuff in his obit. He was proud of that shit.

Wife demanded I explain what made him so big in my mix:

“”Honey,” I said, “Bobby… how can I explain this?… he was fucking invincible. He was supposed to outlive all of us, even though he was absolutely nuts for a fat slice of his life. He was five foot something or other, and God Himself could hit him with a baseball bat or a two by four and Bobby’d get up. He forced you to reach down and scream “You don’t win!” when we’d have crew brawls with guys from the Beaches or Great Kills. He wouldn’t allow us to lose. He yelled at me at games I was the goalie, and he didn’t know nothing about hockey. He’d just scream “WIN, MOTHERFUCKER.”

He drove everyone nuts. We loved that boy.

He saved me from beatdowns more times than I like to admit, just by forcing me to drag my sorry ass off the pavement while some guy thought hitting me in the head meant he was kicking my ass because, from the corner of my my eye, I’d see Bobby get up and swing from his knees.

“We could never lose with him on our side.”

“My world sucks knowing Bobby Barile is not a part of it.”

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