The Match of the Ancients

The Match

of the Ancients

{Veteran Ballina Cueist’s Encounter Recalled}

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O shades of old Arthur,

What would he not barter,

To view with esteem and delight,

The prowess of Jimmy

Who still non est finis,

Is full of beans, pep and cue fight.

From the North came one Quinn,

Moreth three score and ten,

Wearing caubeen, cravat and rimmed glasses;

His mouth all adroop,

And as deaf as a goop,

Not a sight to appeal to the masses.

To that Mecca of sportsmen,

O’er Ruddy’s, ginger ale, port and gin,

Gathered sundry and all for the fixture;

At sixpence a time

There was quite a packed line

For admission, with no ban or dull stricture.

In an atmosphere tense

After parting their pence,

Sat the crowed hushed and crushed round  the table’

While standing erect

With deportment correct

Waited Jimmy the champ fit and able.

A low smothered roar

From the outer hall door,

Announced that Quinn and his second had just entered;

And betting ran rife

On the forthcoming strife,

As all eves on the challenger were centred.

After intro and caution,

That made some in awe, shun

The chance of being thrown out in the street;

The opponents in fine fettle

Were soon on their mettle

To taste victory sweet or defeat.

But lo! What is this?

Must be surely a miss,

With the red hanging over the pocket,

No—’tis Jimmy slapped down

Some smiled—others frown,

As “spot” scrams with the speed of a rocket.

And so on they play,

Old Quinn making hay

By potting on every occasion,

While Jimmy’s display

Was a treat—so they say,

Winning all his friends’ fond admiration.

But to the patience of nations,

Of caretakers and relations,

There’s a limit we but comprehend dimly;

And so direct to the sack

Like express on a straight track

Goes plain ball, with the Champ smiling grimly!

Now what’s all this moaning?

And shuffling and groaning,

And taunting remarks that it was a sin?

Our hero replies

Without fear in his eyes,

“I’m just giving his a dose of his own medicine.”

They pile up the points,

Despite old aching joints,

With Jimmy in the lead and fast scoring,

His many fine shots

Hit the high lights in spots,

Evoking rounds of applause and encoring.

After three minutes’ break,

During which they put “spake,”

At the stuff in the small room adjoining,

They once more took the floor

Fortified to the core,

With old Quinn some choice phrases acoining.

With scraping of chalk,

And misses in baulk,

With sneezing and coughing and gasping;

This Quinn from the North

Tried for all he was worth

To stop Jimmy, the laurels from grasping.

At last towards the close,

With the tape at his nose,

Only one to go—our hero stopped scoring;

In came Quinn all alert,

His supremacy to assert

A mere seven to make—and then there’d be roaring!

What’s this/ Not a miss;

Good gracious ’tis—Yiss!!

Depart boys, the game is all over,

And bold Quinn from the North,

Don’t you come here again,

And think playing Jimmy Patten is all clover.

Ballina, from the ‘Fifties.

No author mentioned.