Otago table tennis celebrates its 75th anniversary tonight. Dunedin writer Roy Colbert reflects on some of the characters to have made their mark on the sport.
My father-in-law, Harry Taylor, was on National Radio recently talking about playing competitive table tennis at the age of 88.
Former national coach Trevor Flint described Harry as not the most stylish player in the world.
Harry was most put out.
He said he had been trying to keep that a secret for years.
When I remember the players I played with in the 1960s, the incredible variety of styles is one thing that stands out.
The way some of these players ever got the ball on to the table remains a mystery to me.
For every Bryan Foster, there was a Donald Koh.
Donald Koh? He was in my University A grade team, a flat-mate of Otago representative C. Y. Chan.
When we were one short, Donald was the only player we could get.
Donald tried to play shots that hadn't been invented yet, with furious bat speed and ferocious intensity.
Often, he would miss the ball by a metre, or whack it into the overhead lights.
He never won a game, but he was one of the few table tennis players I would pay money to watch.
Bernie Daglish was my Mornington team-mate in B grade when I was 14.
Bernie had all the shots, but shot selection was not his strength.
He constantly challenged the laws of physics with his attempts to finish a rally, and was wildly spectacular doing so.
The first A grade game I ever saw featured a North East Valley team with Bryan Foster and Bob Gallagher.
If I hadn't been told Bob was in the Valley team that night, I would have just assumed he had wandered in off the street looking for a phone.
He moved around the table like, well, he didn't move around the table.
He just stood there and peered at you over the top of his spectacles with a wry smile.
And hit crisp winners past you on both sides with a hard Barna pimple bat he probably bought when Victor Barna was still playing.
Ruth Foster had a Barna bat, too. She was actually very stylish. I first met her when she was Ruth Laing in B grade down at Sawyers Bay.
They told me she was in the Otago team, and I asked why she always laughed while she was playing.
I thought table tennis was pretty damned serious.
Bryan Foster was, of course, extremely stylish.
All sorts of things conspired to stop Bryan winning 10 or 12 national singles titles, instead of two.
They even brought in players from overseas like Australia's Michael Wilcox and England's Dennis Neale to win our national title.
Unfair.
The amount of spin Bryan put on the ball was frightening to a young player like me, though he did have wrists the size of my thighs.
I especially remember his ability at driving cars.
Bryan had a Jaguar, and he drove fast and extremely well.
Gary Williams I first met at the Taieri Open in 1964.
I was 15 and I thought he was 40. He was actually 10.
But he did have the ball control of a 40-year-old.
Not long after he won a couple of national junior singles titles.
He also played senior rugby, and cricket for Otago and Auckland.
I remember helping him sneak out of Otago Boys High with a forged exeat pass so we could practice for the nationals.
He was a nervous third-former then, and I was a multi-convicted seventh-form felon.
He looked back over his shoulder so often as we walked towards the gates he was almost walking backwards.
Gary led our Otago junior team back then.
Also in there was Martin Duffy, who made all trips away from town memorable through his desire to experience the city he was in.
Late at night.
Martin was later a national selector, and made an enormous contribution as a coach in Dunedin.
Alastair Kirk was one of many to come out of Alan Williams coaching school in Mosgiel.
It was always fun watching Al's steady chop-and-chisel game undo top North Island juniors who thought flamboyance and a flash track suit was enough.
Pat Collett was at Mornington when I joined as a 12 year-old.
Pat may have been an Otago player, but he didn't like to wait around for points.
He hammered anything he could reach, presumably believing if you hit the ball hard enough, spin wouldn't be a factor.
Kelvin Pedofski, still very much involved in the sport, was another whose style I found baffling in the lower grades.
Kelvin played with an old Bob Jackson bat - thick black rubber - and he had spin serves which a boy in his first season couldn't begin to read.
He handed me my first interclub loss, and I went straight outside and sat in the rain in the High Street School playground, crying my eyes out.
Eventually, one of the mature grown-ups came out and explained that I wouldn't learn how to win until I had learned how to lose.
