Fletch

When you talk of sport’s great characters Australia’s had its share,
Before the million-dollar contracts, when the playing field was fair,
You played for club and country for that feeling deep inside
Borne of pride and camaraderie that money cannot buy.
A name not so familiar to the experts and the fools
Is a bloke called Kenneth Fletcher but he could take them all to school.
He played tennis in the ’60s when the field was very hot,
Singles, mixed and doubles – Fletch always played the lot
He won Wimbledon with Newc, took the Slam with Margaret Court,
And could’ve won a heap more titles if they made drinking beer a sport.
At the US Mixed decider Fletch was almost late,
Marg was having kittens when she met him at the gate.
She said “Ken, you haven’t shaved!”, Fletch’s eyes were fairly red,
Ken said “Haven’t shaved?! Marg, I haven’t been to bed.”
At Roland Garros versus Gulyus the Hungarian chased all day,
Ran down every smash and volley, got them all back into play,
’ til Fletch smashed the ball out of the park, he really was the master,
He yelled at the Hungarian “Get that back, you bastard!”
He didn’t like pretension, couldn’t stand the la-de-das,
He’d rather drink with mates at the local public bar.
Loved a gamble, loved a beer but at the back end of the day
With a racquet in his hand the man could really play.
Harry Hopman said his forehand simply was the best,
In tennis, as in life, Fletch passed every test.
Even if you only met him once your life was so much richer,
There were smiles on every dial when Ken was in the picture.
So raise your glasses people, drink a toast to Fletch with pride
And when you’re talking sport’s great characters he’s the captain of the side.

by Murray Hartin