What We Do
The White Stick Trophy - Hogan's Lament
By P L O'Hara
John Heavey was the man in charge
When the White Stick thing began
He won it then retained it
A most successful man.
But his term of office had to end
His energies were spent
Louis Hogan was the member’s choice
As new Leinster President.
He settled in and started work
A constitution he'd to find
And that little White Stick Trophy
Was furthest from his mind.
And then it was September
Of nineteen ninety one
When Merrion was the venue
And Louis had some fun.
The Northern boys were under stress
Not knowing what to think
As they watched the Leinster President
Fill their captain full of drink.
But O'Hara didn't bowl or bat
So he enjoyed the fun
And Louis was quite magnanimous
When the Ulster umpires won.
But that was when it started
All those little pangs of fear
‘A joke’s a joke’ his players said
‘But you’d better win next year’!
Well he worried and he fretted
And he couldn't sleep at night
Contemplating the unthinkable
It was a parlous plight
It affected his decisions
His judgement went to hell
Eight LBW’s Ireland versus Wales
And Stephen Warke as well!
And then at last it was Armagh
A triumph was his dream
He’d appointed Stan McCready
To pick a winning team.
‘I daren’t slip up’ he said to Stan
This match has got to be
A win for Leinster Umpires
‘ I'll bat at number three'
And so he came to Joe Vaughan's town
He was batting like a book
But things went wrong and he was felled
When he top-edged a hook
'Oh God, it's sore, I'm badly hurt'
The stricken President cried
So out rushed Alan Tuffery
And knelt down by his side
What happened next without a doubt
Was the downfall of big Louis?
For he drank from Alan's hip flask
Filled with whisky and drambuie
He struggled up and took his guard
Ignoring pleas to quit
And from the next delivery
A catch to cover, hit
Well after that the Leinster side
Collapsed before the foe
One hundred and four all our - he knew
It was an all time low
The Northern boys, they took their chance
Six wickets was the win
Fair play to Louis Hogan
He took it on the chin
But he left Armagh that autumn night
And sadly home he went
Knowing he'd go down in history
As the 'stick-less' President