BY THE WAY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19121, 14 July 1930, Page 9

BY THE WAY.

SOME COLLECTIONS AND REFLECTIONS. (By One of the Boys.) A new name for cricket: BR ADM ANTON. :: Jhe path of noble cricket through the ages Is paved with many records, lined with thrills, And many are the interesting pages Penned as each player some new feat fulfils. We’ve read of batting records, Dr Grace’s, Prince Ranji’s and the feats of skilful Hobbs; Put now there’s one whose record theirs displaces. And makes their scores look like a lot of “ blobs.” Each bowler might be just his aged namesake, Who bowls with care to reach the snowy Jack — As each attempts, if only for his fame’s sake. To send a ball that Bradman can’t send back. Hail, Bradman! You have wondrous pow’rs of staying, A bowler’s heartbreak, thou, without a doubt— And there he stands when darkness stops the playing. His score three centuries and nine, not out. Gosh! Isn’t football full of surprises. There is Christchurch gone down to Varsity, and Hawke’s Bay beaten by the British team. :: :: In a Soccer match between Tram ways! and Ponsonby, at Auckland, the Tramways twice stopped playing to argue. Of course the Tramways could not be expected to go on till the referee had set the “ points ” to their satisfaction.

Out of £599,728 17s 6d gross profit the N.Z. Breweries. Ltd., paid to the Government £476,690 16s by way of duty. In times like these We’d do a freeze Except for beer and bets. And of this pair The country’s share Will cause us no regrets. It’s nice to think The more we drink The more the country gets. And while the “ drys ” Moan to the skies The helpers are the “ wets ’* Say, Chapman’s team may be some good, To England sweet as honey, But Woodfull’s crew have sized them up, I guess they're feeling funny. Don Bradman he’s just one smart guy, A king among all bats, And cricket fans in Aussie lands Are throwing up their hats. He slogged and banged so many fours When piling up his points That Chapman’s bo.wlers spent much time At oiling up their joints. All previous highest scores he’s passed. And now he stands alone, There’s not a record left intact For cricket’s gramophone. In Sydney now each four he hits The bells begin to peal, And when his hoard goes on the board They do not cheer—they kneel.