AN ODE TO THE
SMERGETTES
Dear Smergettes gathered here tonight,
Your radiant beauty a
thing of delight,
With every year you
look more inviting,
How do we leave you on
Sundays, is golf that exciting?
The answer dear ladies
is an emphatic Yes,
And I’ll tell you why.
You don’t have to guess,
You’ve heard the
results, the winners, the boasts,
But it’s personalities
that I like the most.
We’ll start with Tim,
or Moon-balls Becker,
A distinctive voice
but rarely a heckler,
A
He shoots the ball
high but rarely hooks.
Which
is more than I’ll say for Boom-boom Skulander,
On his day the longest
right-hander,
A delightful smile, a
charming demeanour,
He’d win every week if
his putting was cleaner.
And then there’s Phil
Stabback, all grace and poise,
Can’t win off his
handicap, he tells all the boys,
But he wins his share,
and more some would say,
His record in majors
says he knows how to play.
But what about Alan
our steady performer,
Once a slow player but
now a reformer,
I’m really quite
quick, he’s sure to remind,
I’m always ahead of
the group stuck behind.
Well now to our Master
who keeps all the scores,
I’ll pause for a
moment for a round of applause,
For Rob Lowndes is a
Master of lasers, not chipping,
If he sailed like he
putted, he’d endanger the shipping.
Rob Miller is fast,
he’s also quite young,
And after a win he’ll
call home to Mum,
He and Ken prove that
brotherly love thrives,
Until
there’s a contest involving long drives.
Which brings me to
Ken, thanks for tonight,
Did you fly in from
You can always be
relied on to turn up dead last,
Then Rob says, here’s
Ken, it must be half past!
But we’re all in awe
of the man from the Falls,
Phil must be on
steroids, the length of his balls,
But our day in the
mountains isn’t about golf anymore,
It’s the lunch that
comes after that we all adore!
With his quizzical
smile and eccentric swing,
Golf with Steve Figgis
is a wonderful thing,
At the tee on the 16th,
the green’s within reach,
The practice swing
perfect, as professionals teach,
Back comes the club,
the galleries roar,
Someone’s playing the
15th we’d better cry Fore!
Not long ago, Rick C
was a wreck,
With his wide legged
stance, ball wouldn’t leave the deck,
But now he’s back to
the game he adored,
An Op on his neck and
perfection’s restored.
The drums are rolling,
the trumpets sound,
For a bloke who
selects when to have a good round,
I practice at
Northbridge says the man from the East,
I save my best for a
Major to feast,
So to Major Bruce Rowe
I’ll say with good grace,
You’ve stitched us up
royally, with a smile on your face!
His swing is so ugly,
it’s almost obscene,
But down comes the
club with unerring grace,
And Rick Butler turns
round with a smile on his face.
On to the strangers
who grace this great day,
Peter Burns from the
Occasionally he graces
our Northbridge party
But more often that
not he’s with Rob, sipping Latte.
Mike Bell is back,
he’s been resurrected,
His handicap’s dodgy
but that’s been accepted,
Think of the lost
shots, somebody said,
15 years serving
breakfast in bed.
You’ll note I’ve left
the best till last,
My drives are scenic,
my swing’s quite fast.
When I leave my putts
short I’ve been known to quip,
I’ve left that BASTARD
right on the lip!
So thank you ladies,
I’d tell you more,
About the husbands you
so adore,
I know they’re sexy,
rugged and tempting,
And they tell me your
desires are unrelenting,
But now, I’m rambling,
so remember this,
No sex on Sundays just
a quick kiss!
We’re finally there
you’ll be relieved to know,
Our thanks to Ken,
Master of this show
Your planning, Ken,
leaves me to comment,
Is the Killara Open
your next big event?
Nick Hillyard 3 November 06 (on the Occasion of the SMERGS Annual Dinner)