Monday, June 24, 2013

Baz

Before Gerry, there was Barry.

When I joined the Brunswick Trugo Club, I became part of Gerry Strachan's team. But Barry was the first to take me under his wing and offer me pointers and encouragement. At that point, about two years ago, he was still fit enough to play the game, though it strained him. Mostly, he sat on the bench behind me and scrutinised my swing. He barked advice while smoking ("Fuck, you hit it too hard, mate!"), in a hoarse, gravelly voice that sounded like a sea lion. This past year, the effort of playing trugo was too much for him, but he attended the games and played cards with the others on practise days.

Left to right: Gerry Strachan, me, and Barry Smith.
The competitive season over for now, I don't usually go to the clubhouse unless there is a special reason to. But a local community group had rented the facilities for a small event yesterday, and a few of us had been asked to help represent the club and explain the game to those attending. It was then I learned Barry had passed away about two weeks ago.

Somehow, I'd missed getting the message from the other players, and therefore the memorial service. That disappointed me, but it was an honest oversight. We'll miss Barry, but his mallet, labelled "BS" in block letters (Barry Smith), remains on the rack among the many others in the equipment room. He'll stay close.