Sporting Stories.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 19, 6 November 1912, Page 44

Sporting Stories.

LORD HAWKE. The Lay of the Lobster. ROH downright fun some of my cricketing tours in America would be hard to beat. While in New York on one occasion I caught a chill, and wad unable to play for the next day or two. The reporters at once stated that I was laid up through eating too much lobster salad, and someone sent me the following: — TUB LAY OF TUB LOBSTER AND THE LORD. There was once a lobster in New York, They made him into salad; His lordship ate, alas’, too much, It made him very malade. Their criticism of Sammy Woods was very tickling. “After Demoji Woods arrived the Staten Islanders were mowed down like wheat before a fiickle. lie is a big, brawny fellow; but nobody knows where lie has got his ispeed from, unless it may come from the bottom of his pockets. During the over he thrusts his hands deep into his flannel#, and only

withdraws them to field a ball. In bowling he takes a few fancy steps like a skirt-dancer, and ki-k out like a Georgia mule before letting the ball go.” On another occasion, while the members of a cricket team were journeying to fulfil an engagement, the sorry pair of horses attached to the conveyance which they had hired came in for a good deal of adver-p criticism. “I say. driver,’’ at last remarked the captain of the team, “you've got a whip; just touch ’in up a bit. At this rate we shall never reach our destination.’’ The driver explained that lie had never had occasion to drive that particular pair « f horses before. “As you remark,” ho added. “I’ve got a whip, but I don’t like to take the ri-k o’ lining it.” “I <see,” was the grim rejoinder: “you’re afraid of knocking ’em down, eh? A cry well. HtriA sixpence for you. That ought to cover the damage if you do knock ’em down. Now, then, hammer C. GRAHAME WHITE. The Monoplane Hunt. To the ordinary individual there might appear little that is humorous in aviation; it would n. rather, to be a grim and gri-ly with sudden death always at the pilot’s elbow. But the dangers of air marehip are ridieuloijsly exaggerated, ami there i«, as a matter of

Heard and Told byl Well-known Sportsmen.

fact, much that ie amusing in what I might call everyday aviation, and particularly in regard to the operation ef a flying-school. And now as to the most amusing incident I can think of. Well, here it is. A pupil, after landing at my Hendon aerodrome one evening at t'he end of a

flight on a monoplane, jumped out of the machine before it had stopped running along the ground. Stumbling, he not only let go of the machine, but accidentally ‘touched the engine-switch and accelerated the motor to a high rate of speed. The result was that the monoplane darted away like a big, angry bird; and, as though rejoicing in its new-found freedom, it ran this way and that about the aerodrome, its motor humming defiance. With confident mien, some of the mechanics hurried out to catch the runaway; but they had not reckoned upon the ridiculously eccentric actions of the machine. Soon we who were watching were convulsed with mirth. Whirling hither and thither under the impulse of its propeller, but without the power actually to

rise, the monoplane seemed instinct with the desire to elude pursuit. Buzzing away across the aerodrome, it led the mechanics a fatiguing chase. Then, suddenly wheeling round, it plunged at them, and scattered them with the fear of its spinning propeller. Again they chased it; again the machine, as though a thing alive, wheeled round and made a vicious dart at themThis time one man managed to grip its tail, but he was shaken off and fell flat on his back.

Perspiring fri» ly, and with many terse remarks to express their annoyance, the mechanics again took up their weary pursuit. Meanwhile, quite characteristically, unfeeling onlookers merely laughed. Up and down, to and fro, the men ran and dodged and slipped and fell, their furious, unavailing shouts and cries mingling with the spiteful splutter of the monoplane’s engine. At length, having laughed at the ludicrous spectacle until we could laugh no more, some of us who were standing by the sheds made a move to join in the game. But the machine seemed possessed. It wrenched itself away from the grip of several pairs of eager hands, and then hopped and floundered to some other corner of the aerodrome. One or two of the pursuers sat on the ground, quite exhausted. Others were laughing too much to pursue effectually. And still the monoplane buzzed at large. Finally, when we were all weak from running or laughing, I managed to get hold of a wing-tip. The monoplane whirled round and round furiously, but I was able to hold on. And then a mechanic ran in and switched off the motor. At once the machine stopped its absurd gyrations. But while it lasted the monoplane hunt was the funniest sight you could imagine. J. B. HOBBS. The Mean Professional. I remember on one occasion a certain team finishing up at Lord’s at half-past six one evening, and having to open the next morning at Manchester, necessitating a railway journey the same night. As there was no time for the men to get anything to eat before leaving London, and there were no restaurant-carri-ages on the train, it was decided that a luncheon-basket would have to serve each man. Now, one professional on that side was awfully mean, and he

openly vowed that he wasn’t going to pay for a basket. “ A. pork-pie will do for me all right.” And he proceeded to fetch one. In the meanwhile, the captain had luncheon-baskets, with half a bottle of wine in each, put in the prufessionals,”c<Mii part merit, paying for them himself, a fact of which all but the man who had gone for the pie were well aware. The train started, and one of the players told the mean one that they had secured baskets for all, purposely omitting the information I hat they were a present from the captain. “ I don't

want one. I’ve got all I want here," said he. " Very well,” said the other, “ we must divide it between US.” And they did, although the other fellow looked on with hungry eyes. When all had been demolished the captain walked in from the adjoining compartment and asked them if everything were satisfactory. “ Splendid, sir,” replied the pros., “ and thank you very much. It was very kind of you.”. Tire other fellow immediately wanted an explanation of the gratitude, and when he was told he nearly went raving mad. W. G. GRACE. Cricket Under Difficulties. The following story may be a chestnut to some readers, but it amused me greatly. A cricketer who was to go in sixth ob his side, seeing that the preceding batsmen were making prolonged stands, betook himself to the refreshment tent. Suddenly wickets began to fall, and his captain, in hunting up the man to tell him to prepare to bat, found him in a state bordering on intoxication. “ I am afraid,” said the batsman, “that I ean t do much good. 1 am sure I shall see three balls.” “ Never mind,” said the captain ;; “ smack at the middle one.” The batsman survived one over, and was then bowled by a straight one. As he walked baek to the pavilion his captain went out to meet him, and imperiously asked why his advice hadn’t been taken. "I did exactly what you told me,”

replied the batsman. “ I struck at the middle ball, but in a moment of indiscretion I struck with one of my out'ide bats.” GEORGE HIRST. New use for Toffee. Probably some readers are aware that I liave had certain investments in a toffee factory, and it was this fact which led to the following amusing incident. During a match at Bramall Lane some time ago a strong wind kept blowing the bails off when I was batting. “ Stick ’em on with your toffee. Garge !” yelled one of the crowd. " PLUM ” WARNER. “ The Man Who Taught Me Cricket.” I was once touring with Lord Hawke's team in Trinidad, and there scored the first century ever made in the island. At its conclusion a nigger, who had bowled to me as a youngster, came rushing up, shouting : “ Bravvo, Massa Pelham I I taught yon to bat, sah. You play well, sah. 1 proud ob you.” FRANK MITCHELL. tCaptain of South African Crieketers.)} "My Niggers.” I do not think my reminiscences contain a more amusing incident than the following. A lady friend wrote to ask my wife and myself to stay at her house for the Worcester match in May last. The invitation was accepted, and in a subsequent letter she said : “ Bruce (the -young son) amused me today when I told him you were coining to stay with us, by asking if Mr. Mitchell would bring his niggers with him when he came.” NAT GOULD. “ My Lueky Day.” In my early days I came a “cropper” in Sydney. In other words, I severed

xnv eonnection with a couple of papers for which I had been working, and then found I could not get another berth. I tried all sorts of devices to get on another paper, but could only get a feuspecial articles to write. I then learned something of what the feeling must be of a man who really wants work and cannot get it. At last the turn of the tide came. I was offered the editorship of the “Bathurst Times,” and took it. Then came the deluge. A few days before leaving Sydney, for Bathurst I was in Phalert’s Hotel, when the proprietor came to me and said : “You’re just the man I wanted to see. I have a Wire (from A in Brisbane, sending thirty pounds he wishes vou to invest at, the races for him to-day.”

“Very well; I’ll do my best,” I said, and added: “My luck’s in.” The money was handed over to me, and I went to Randwick. I am writing entirely from memory, but it was the clay Lamond won the Metropolitan Stakes. An extraordinary thing happened. It has never occurred since; I don't suppose it ever will again. I backed every winner in five races. Timbrel, I believe, won the first race at a fair price; Sloth won a selling race*. I barked them both. Then I backed Lamond, which won comfortably. and put a couple of pounds on I’earlshell at ten to one, which won the next race —the Oaks—although another horse, Volley, was the favourite. I re-

member the scene to this day. They came dashing down the straight, the light blue and white of the Hon. James White's colours showing up conspicuously on Volley, and Tom Hales riding ■easily. ‘The favourite’s won,” I thought. But it was not all over. For once in a way —• a very rare occurrence —Tom Hales seined to be caught napping; probably he was a trifle over confident. At any late Mie O'Brien came down on him with a swoop on I’earlshell, and before we knew where we were they were racing neck and neck. “Pearlshell!” I yelled. I remember that shout as well as if I uttered it as I write,- for there is nothing like backing a winner, at a good price, to beat a hot favourite, to make the memory clear years afterwards. It was a finish, desperate close, between two consummate horsemen, and O’Brien got Pearlshell up and won. And after that I backed the first and Second of the fifth race. My pockets Were crammed with money, and, needless To Bay, the proprietor of Phalert’s was astounded when I doled out A ’s share. Then I went home and found my wife ■upstairs with a ladv friend packing up for Bathurst. “Look here! How’s this?” I said, as I emptied a heap of gold on the bed. “Whose is it?” she asked. “Ours, I’ve won it —backed every Winner!” What a day that was! I have often given it as an instance of how luck ■nay change in a few hours. Next morning we went up the Blue Mountains to Bathurst. SIR THOMAS LIPTON. * “Ma Conscience!” JHu? story pf a Scotsman who went f? reeling for the first time in F't hfo is not without its humour. Tha pi<l pians friends persuaded him to risk

sixpence on a horse —a forty to one chance. With much trepidation the Scotchman handed out the sixpence, and, strange to say, the horse won. When the bookmaker handed out a sovereign and sixpence to Sandy the latter could not believe Iris own eyes. “Do you mean to tell me I get all this for my Baxpence?” he asked. “You do,” replied the bookmaker. “Ma conscience!” exclaimed Sandy. “Tell me how long has this thing been going on?” LORD LONSDALE. The Novice. I was once initiating a debutante at a race meeting into the mysteries of betting, and- concluded a lengthy explanation as follows: — “So, you see, if the horse starts, at fifteen to one, you get fifteen pounds; if at ten to one, ten pounds, and so on.” “Oh, yes, I understand perfectly,” said the pretty novice. “But what do I get if the horse starts at one o’clock exactly?” LORD ALVERSTONE. Told in Court. My fondness for athletics was once brought up as “evidence against” me by a man in the dock. “I knows yer,” said the prisoner, “and

many’s the time I’ve given yer a hand when ye’ve been stepping it round the track like a greyhound. So let's down lightly, like a good cove as yer are.” CHARLES JARROTT. “Half-time.” Two of my friends, while on a motor tour, put up at a country inn. When they inquired about accommodation, the landlord burst forth into a paean of praise. “Beautiful large feather bed. Plenty of room for the two of you, and big enough for three. This way, gentlemen.” The travellers went up to their room and inspected the famous feather bed, which did not look very inviting. However, there was no choice, so they turned in. At about two in the morning one gave the other a violent nudge and said i • “Get up; it’s half-time.” “Half time? What are you talking about? This isn’t a Cup-tie.”

“No,” said the wakeful one, “but it’s my turn to sleep on that feather.” I/JRD CHARLES BERESFORD. A Mixed Bag. One of the best stories I ever heard was about a fellow who was very fond of shooting. He said: “The first bird 1 ever shot was a squirrel, and the first

time I hit him I missed him altogether, and the next time I hit him I hit him in the same place, and after that I took a stone and dropped him from the tree, and he fell into the water and was drowned. And that was the first bird I ever shot.” MELBOURNE INMAN. The Movable Spot. I came across something really unique in the way of rules in an hotel at Ne-wara-Eliya, where I was once booked to play when touring in India. In the Billiard room, immediately opposite the table, where everyone could see it, hung a card bearing the following announcement : — For first ent 100 rupees. Second cut 50 rupees. Third cut 20 rupees. ■Any subsequent eut .... 10 rupees. Judging from the appearance of the cloth, I "should think that table must have been a veritable gold-mine to its proprietor, if he collected all the fines. Evidently his motto was, “ Cut and come again.” On another occasion, while staying at Wellington, New Zealand, I was invited to play at the Tarahua Club, Pahiatua. The table itself, I found, wasn't at all bad, but wljpn I looked at it closely 1 noticed that the billiard spot was at least three inches too far to one side. I had become fairly hardened to trying conditions by this time, but to attempt to play with the red ball inches out of its recognised position was more than I dared do. “What’s the matter with that spot? 1 asked. “It isn't right, is it ?” The man addressed squinted at the spot. “ Seems sorter crooked,” he agreed, slowly ; “ but the fac’ of the matter is that we change the position of that yere spot once a week. Otherwise it'd work a hole in the cloth !” That beat me. I fled for the hotel and sought out the gentleman who had invited me to come there. He listened to my tale of woe, and then, asking me to wait for a moment, disappeared. I don’t know whether they balloted or not, but the spot was moved into its right place, and the situation, so far as I was concerned, saved. H. W. STEVENSON. False Billiards. One summer, on the west coast of Ireland, another man and I were overtaken by a storm; and had to go into a tavern for shelter. The rain fell steadily. We had three or four long hours before us. Time began to hang heavily on our hands. “Landlord,” said I, “do you happen to have a billiard-table ?" “Sure,” said the landlord. “ Sure. Just step this way.” He proudly threw open the door of a dark, stuffy room. We saw an antiquated tabje with a patched cloth, and in the corner was a rack of crooked cues. “Any balls ?" said I. “ Sure,” said the landlord, ami lie unlocked a closet and set on the table three (White balls, and alike —there was no spot, you know. “But, see here,” I remonstrated, “bow do you tell these balls apart ?” “Oh, that's all right,” said he. “You soon get to know 'em by their shape.”