I saw him once, came down our local club;
He turned up late from some or other pub.
He didn’t smell too good if truth be told,
And sniffed so much I thought he had a cold.
Strange how small they seem, folks from off the box;
Right frail he was, with something of the fox.
He bobbed around, calculating angles;
Slammed the balls, put several blokes in tangles.
He gave us 50-starts and beat us all,
Save one called ‘Ivor Biggun’, I recall.
Ivor Biggun, that made us laugh a bit,
And so did Alex with his slurry wit.
Then he was gone, a minimum of fuss;
More drink inside, few hundred nicker plus.
A legend with a cue; a joy, a pain.
No Hurricane like this shall strike again!
He turned up late from some or other pub.
He didn’t smell too good if truth be told,
And sniffed so much I thought he had a cold.
Strange how small they seem, folks from off the box;
Right frail he was, with something of the fox.
He bobbed around, calculating angles;
Slammed the balls, put several blokes in tangles.
He gave us 50-starts and beat us all,
Save one called ‘Ivor Biggun’, I recall.
Ivor Biggun, that made us laugh a bit,
And so did Alex with his slurry wit.
Then he was gone, a minimum of fuss;
More drink inside, few hundred nicker plus.
A legend with a cue; a joy, a pain.
No Hurricane like this shall strike again!
