Dreaming

Legend has it that in his younger days, and with a belly full of merlot, Piers Ackerman once plucked up for a round or two in Jimmy Sharman’s tent. Funny story. He raised his fists to his nose but was instantly stricken once his lumbering adversary began to move. The next five minutes were sheer vaudeville. Two grown men chasing each other round the ring; one grunting and kicking up dust, the other skipping and shrieking like a clown.

The pitiful Piers, short of breath, was eventually hounded out of the tent, the car park, then the town, when it became clear he was all mouth. Next stop Sydney, and a job with The Daily Telegraph!