Sport and Sportsmen.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18544, 18 August 1928, Page 5

Sport and Sportsmen.

The other clay a well-known Canterbury goffer approached a group at the nineteenth, saying, I> l want all you chaps to pay a shilling and join the Ida Club" "The what?” he was asked. "The Ida Club,” William replied. "I’d a won if it hadn't been for hitting a tree at the thirteenth.” How few there are who haven’t qualified for membership!

It was in the game with Warwickshire at Birmingham that Hendron obtained his eighth hundred of the season, a remarkable thing to do so early as June 20, says the latest "Cricketer” to hand. It was also his highest score of the year, and when the Middlesex innings was declared, leaving him to carry out his bat, he had made 1644 runs, with an average of 109.66. His three-figure scores included in that aggregate were as follows, all made for Middlesex:—loo v. Worcestershire, 157 v. Somerset, 200 v. Hampshire, 101 not out v. Worcestershire, 109 not out v Essex, 100 not out v. West Indies, 126 not out v. Essex, 209 not out v. Warwickshire. At that rate of progress he will have completed his 100 centuries ere the season closes, for he requires only six more to reach that number.

A blight has fallen on professional sculling on the two N.SAV. rivers which have hitherto been its greatest nurseries —the Parramatta and the Clarence. Neither ot these rivers now has a professional worthy of being called a sculler. The Richmond has its Burns, champion of Australia; the Macleay boasts Saul, and McLaren has brought the Hastings into the picture. A few months ago Burns’s Richmond friends, seeking assistance in Sydney to send him to England to meet Barry for the world’s title, met with the excuse that Sydney people had never seen him row on the Parramatta.

A sporting writer in the Sydney “Bulletin” tells this story:—Spotting Jack} r sneaking off through the bushes, accompanied by a greyhound on a leash, I followed him to see what his game was. On reaching a large cleared paddock Jaeky began to tear round and round, dragging the dog behind him. “What for you do that. Jacky?” I shouted. “Training for the Olympic Games?” “No fear, boss,” panted Jacky “Dis pfella plurry dark horse for tin hares.”