Friday, December 19, Eastern Star Golf Club

The December Members Tournament each year is also known as the Memorial Tournament to remember certain of our members who have gone before. This year the competition was held on the newly improved Eastern Star and all were pleased to find the course in superb condition and the course played really well but was made more difficult by the windy conditions.

This being a Memorial I think it only fitting that the story be told in the pictorial and so to the memories of the day. So to all, and from all at P.S.C. all the best for the future and especially 2004.

This four-some and their caddies are ready to tee off at Eastern Star Golf Course for the monthly PSC Members tournament.

Flight Winners with PSC Golf Chairman Gerry Carpenter (far left).

Checking the score cards.

Gerry Carpenter (left) presents the trophy to Gerry Power (right), Low Gross of the day.

The prize display.

Awaiting the results while relaxing in the clubhouse.

by Howie Reed

Boxing can’t be facing the New Year with anything but a brave face that may be nothing more than a clever facade. The sport for reasons that are too wide spread to discuss here is in “serious” trouble. For reasons, not all of their own doing, the “sport” in many countries has fallen from the menu of main stream sports.

That problem is compounded in that it’s not even a “niche” sport like “horse polo” or “overthrowing governments” in other countries. It appears to be fact that “as the heavyweight division goes so goes the sport”. For those that have been out of contact lately the heavyweight division is in the “dumper.” Boxing rode the coattails of Ali, Tyson and Holyfield. There’s a void that was never filled by The Imperial One Lennox Lewis. Now he’s gone. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Unless that void is filled by someone the sport will not survive except in countries and areas where boxing is still a way out from under economic hardship while fighters are considered sportsman and heros.

Even without mass appear boxing will still provide fodder for writers the world over. It is a spot that lends itself to humane drama and nationalism. The late Ernest Hemingway once opined, “There are only three real sports. Bullfighting, auto racing and boxing.” Is there someone out there that can rekindle the fires of public attention to boxing? Good question but only time will supply the answer.

There are some candidates. In America Oscar DelaHoya is the only “100%” sure box office attraction. There are pretenders but few contenders. Roy Jones jr. is the worst thing that has happened to boxing. He is a highly talented boxer with all the class of a loaded garbage truck on the Second Road yesterday morning after New Year Eve. He, like many less public, have forgotten that boxing like no other sport is about the fan. The “I don’t care about the fans, I’m doing what’s right for me” doesn’t hack it. Roy Jones Jr. is a putz. To be more precise he is an arrogant, self centered, egotistical putz which would never be confused with your normal everyday run of the mill putz.

The Brothers Klitschko would love to rule the boxing world. The problem is that “there is no there there.” Borrowed that quote from the late Gertrude Stein who also said “a rose is a rose.” The Lady Person became famous for stating the obvious. When she made the comment about “there there” she was speaking about Oakland California USA. As I called Oakland my hometown these comments has never endeared Ms. Stein to me.

Neither Klitschko has been able to capture the imagination of the American sporting public. Never gained the popularly world wide that a Russian fighting out of Germany and living in Beverly Hills should. There may be on the back burner just ready to start cooking some major stories from the world of the “Manly and womanly art of self defense” that will catapult someone to fame fortune, wine women and song.

There are rumblings that Felix Trinadad is coming out of retirement to fight Bernard Hopkins and Oscar Delay Hoya. The guess would be Oscar, then Hopkins. That at least is the word from the “Nuevo Dia Newspaper” which as all good Pinata whackers know means New Day.

Another on track to “maybe” mix it up with Hopkins is 2000 Olympian Jermain Taylor (18-0) Taylor though he’s smarter than your average fighter’s saying. “I feel there is no hurry to get to Bernard, because I WILL get to him. When the time is right, I will fight Bernard Hopkins.” Translation? “I’ll wait until Bernard is a couple of years older. Then I’ll take away his cane’s, push him out of his walker and hope to get lucky.”

The coming year bodes well for fans from the Land Down Under. “We come from the Land that I love”. That would be Men at Work on their Business as Usual Album of 1983. Which beats the heck out of Waltzin Matilda. There are a couple of Australian fighters that could grab the International spotlight this year. Undisputed Jr Welterweight champion Kostya Tszyu has a fight on February 7 in Moscow against Sharmba Mitchell who he already whipped once. After that win there isn’t a lot at 140. The move to 147 is not out of the question with Richard Mayorga and Cory Spinks there. Maybe even a jump to 154 and Shane Mosley who has about as much chance of getting 12.5 million dollar to fight Oscar as I do.

Then toss in the down under mix Danny Green. He destroyed Eric Lucas. The logical next step would be a re match with WBC 168lb champ Marcus Beyer. Green lost the first time via a DQ although he clearly was taking the German to the cleaners. There’s talk of getting Anthony Mundine the WBA champ at 168 and then Beyer. If Green gets both he could take over the world stage at a weight.

Just a few days before Christmas Former WBA title challenger Saohin Condo (42-10, 27 KOs) captured the vacant PABA feather title. Condo beat a pretty good fighter in Manue Pathy with a 7th round stoppage after “a right hook to the shoulder of Congo fighter caused him serious pain and the referee finally stopped the bout”. Pathy was good? He had a win over WBA fly king Sornpichai Kratingdaenggm who he destroyed. How about them apples?

It was Monday again and for my Dad that means Hash. Having already been denied the pleasure of swimming again, I found myself with the usual motley bunch of energetic beer spillers and proceeded to extract my own brand of fun out of the situation by annoying certain hand-picked individuals.

I would have preferred to have finished the run before the sun had disappeared, but it was not to be. My Dad thinks he’s some sort of Hash athlete and came in around the hour mark, but it took me and the girls considerably longer and he was starting to look a bit worried by the time I showed up. By the time I did get back, GKW had appointed my Dad scribe and he, as he does, gently sloped his shoulders and let me get on with it.

The man Who Ate All The Pies says I’m precocious, which is a long word for a little girl. Seeing as Free Willy was one of the hares, my Dad says he will help me with any more long words he can think of.

The circle began with the traditional raffle with the traditional Ewok clad like Father Christmas with tits and bum. Numbers were called and prizes were claimed. Skiing Finn was deemed guilty of momentary numerical dyslexia and was ordered to sit.

Next followed the draw for the PMH3’s 70 000th runner, which was won by a big man from Norway with a bad name - F.F. My Dad says it’s OK to use the B and F and SH words on the Hash, but I mustn’t tell Nanna or Grandad or my teachers!

A whip round for the bus driver followed this and most people were happy to give at this time of goodwill in appreciation of his excellent services and unbounded patience. When the hares took to the ice, there was nothing but praise for a good run followed by mince pies. Nobody could hear my little voice, but I thought it was a bit long for little legs. My Dad told me to shut up.

Next came the good bit, where we kids were handed presents. My Dad said this will save him a few baht at Christmas - kineow!

Once those returners requiring extra lubrication had been dealt with (that Tommy 2 Lips talks a bit like me), the circle honoured the visitors from more sane Hashes like Fat Boy Slim and Ewe F. My Dad says he sleeps in a hammock on Beach Road! Neville the bad man was back too, but I knew that anyway - I could hear him. There was also a man with a Floppy D. and one called Dodic. Dad says he does very secret things for Mr Bush - is that a Hash name?

The circle was now Sir Airhead’s - if you don’t know him, he’s a very big man with the biggest voice, a bald head and a moustache. I like it when he smiles. He called in Swedish Meathead and M. Worm for a bit of heat exchange. The first man thought he might lose his Has**t for Life status - dream on mister, this is Pattaya. The second man was even dumber and asked for a new name. He sort of got what he asked for and is now called Allah’s A.

The circle now slowly filled up with virgins until it was almost bursting. My Dad says somebody had shouted Shenanigans - that’s a bit like abracadabra. Apparently, if you shout TQ1, they all disappear again. I’m not allowed in there next week - even that nice Sir Airhead can’t swing it. Now for a bit of singing by a man with a Shirley Temple hairdo and called Needle Dick. There appear to be a lot of men here this week called something Dick or Dick something - seems a bit obsessive to me. He sang a sort of Christmas song about drunken hashers. I think he got it right looking at my Dad by this time, but the bulk of the lyrics seemed somewhat bereft of goodwill to all men.

The anniversaries followed and are chronicled elsewhere on this sheet. Last of all before the Hash Hymn came the hare’s song, which was short, snappy and quite funny. Then off we went on the Magic Bus back to Fun City to the teepee of Big Chief Wombmaster - a place called Shenanigans.

Uncle Fester and his group must have traveled by rocket as they were just starting their second plates full as we arrived. Our host was given a D2 by Charlie Manson in appreciation of his continued support for hashers in Pattaya and the food was enjoyed by all. My Dad didn’t have to ask me to eat it all up today.
On on
C.Y.Y.