Player Profiles
Now before we begin, you'll need to understand that none of the following is meant to be particularly factual, and if you're tempted to sue, it's clear that Ian Phillips wrote it. Here are a few short notes about the club's squad of players:
Aaron Billing - young, good-looking and debonair (well, at least for Ponty he is) he makes the rest of us sick with jealousy. He can play a bit too.
Alun Jones - the club’s Chairman. Now bionic following his heart-attack. It’s rumoured that some of his rink refused to believe that he had a heart, but stents don’t lie. His recent health scare has been cited as the single responsible factor in a notable drop in the bar takings at the club.
Barry Pierpoint - a man who splits his sporting life between golf and bowls, hasn’t yet got confused and attempted to deliver the kitty with a well-timed 9 iron shot.
Bob Pearson - “Birmingham Bob”, regularly lured back from the bright lights of England’s second city by the weekend call of Pontardawe. He must be getting too much Mitchell and Butler’s down him during the week, but we’re grateful for it.
Chris Harris - rumoured to be moving home to somewhere further up the Swansea Valley, which puts us in mind of the old joke that every time a Welshman leaves Wales for England, the average IQ of both countries increases. (Not that we’re suggesting anything about Chris nor our neighbours further up the river.)
Clive Davies - Vice-Chairman, still working despite having been eligible for retirement sometime after the end of the Second World War. Alleged to have more money than the Duchy of Cornwall. Never go drinking with him, you’ll neither be able to afford it nor keep up.
Bob Edwards - 40 years a Ponty veteran, if he makes it to his half-century, we’re going to buy him a new cap. The only man in the club with sufficient experience and language skills to translate for Haydn Bowen. Bob's also the club’s fixture secretary.
Haydn Rees - not be confused with Haydn Bowen. The most vertically-challenged of Ponty’s current crop, but bowls the woods of a much taller man.
Haydn Bowen - this season’s captain. Speaks a dialect known only to a few from the darkest depths of Trebanos. Has been known to turn up at the wrong green and/or without any woods or kit, but can generally be relied upon to coax his rink to some fine results via a mixture of sign-language, ability, and enthusiasm.
Ian Phillips - club treasurer, allegedly elected because he was the only member able to count and unlikely to attempt to emigrate to the Bahamas with the club’s bank balance. Also the father of Joe, for which we are grateful to both him and Mrs Phillips.
Joe Phillips - at 14 years old the club’s youngest and most promising member. Already bowling at international standard. Yet to feel the pernicious and corrupting influence of drink and women, we’re hoping that, when it happens, it won’t interfere with his game (but, then again, looking at his dad …)
Keith Edwards - another member of the father-son combinations at Ponty (and yet to be sectioned for wandering around Herbert St late on a Saturday night proclaiming himself to be “the son of Bob”).
Malcolm Bubb - the club’s leading political thinker. We know what you’re thinking, how much political thinking actually goes on at Ponty BC? But some of the late-night discussions at the Sports Bar are quite esoteric (or potentially violent and slanderous, depending on your point of view).
Malcolm Griffiths - spends much of his life marooned on a platform in the North Sea and for whom the respite of a weekend in Pontardawe is indeed a blessed relief.
Mark Roderick - Ponty’s resident white-van-man, well, we say “resident”, but spends much of his life asleep in a lay-by just outside Haverfordwest. Owner of the world’s largest collection of Imperial Mints.
Maurice Ashton - a former President of the Welsh Bowling Association, it’s like having a minor-Royal playing for your club (or in Maurice’s case, like having Mike Tindall playing for your club, but with less likelihood of accusations of any throwing contests involving very short people, allegedly).
Peter Pitston - “The Pitbull”, if he’s not actually playing, he’s to be found sat in front of the pavilion generally intimidating the opposition (and some of the gentler members of Ponty). Not as fearsome as he looks, but don’t tell him I said, I don’t need anything breaking.
Randall Roberts - often to be found on the M4 between Ponty and London (that’s travelling now, not looking for some of his more wayward woods).
Steve Davies - able (just) to read and write and therefore the club secretary. Can spell blancmange, but more likely to be found eating it. Once mistakenly got into a round with Clive Davies, penury and liver problems followed.
Terry Patton - the club's newest acquisition, we can't divulge his transfer fee, but it's somewhere in the region of what he'd charge you for a fare in his taxi, mind you, we're not saying where you're going.
Now before we begin, you'll need to understand that none of the following is meant to be particularly factual, and if you're tempted to sue, it's clear that Ian Phillips wrote it. Here are a few short notes about the club's squad of players:
Aaron Billing - young, good-looking and debonair (well, at least for Ponty he is) he makes the rest of us sick with jealousy. He can play a bit too.
Alun Jones - the club’s Chairman. Now bionic following his heart-attack. It’s rumoured that some of his rink refused to believe that he had a heart, but stents don’t lie. His recent health scare has been cited as the single responsible factor in a notable drop in the bar takings at the club.
Barry Pierpoint - a man who splits his sporting life between golf and bowls, hasn’t yet got confused and attempted to deliver the kitty with a well-timed 9 iron shot.
Bob Pearson - “Birmingham Bob”, regularly lured back from the bright lights of England’s second city by the weekend call of Pontardawe. He must be getting too much Mitchell and Butler’s down him during the week, but we’re grateful for it.
Chris Harris - rumoured to be moving home to somewhere further up the Swansea Valley, which puts us in mind of the old joke that every time a Welshman leaves Wales for England, the average IQ of both countries increases. (Not that we’re suggesting anything about Chris nor our neighbours further up the river.)
Clive Davies - Vice-Chairman, still working despite having been eligible for retirement sometime after the end of the Second World War. Alleged to have more money than the Duchy of Cornwall. Never go drinking with him, you’ll neither be able to afford it nor keep up.
Bob Edwards - 40 years a Ponty veteran, if he makes it to his half-century, we’re going to buy him a new cap. The only man in the club with sufficient experience and language skills to translate for Haydn Bowen. Bob's also the club’s fixture secretary.
Haydn Rees - not be confused with Haydn Bowen. The most vertically-challenged of Ponty’s current crop, but bowls the woods of a much taller man.
Haydn Bowen - this season’s captain. Speaks a dialect known only to a few from the darkest depths of Trebanos. Has been known to turn up at the wrong green and/or without any woods or kit, but can generally be relied upon to coax his rink to some fine results via a mixture of sign-language, ability, and enthusiasm.
Ian Phillips - club treasurer, allegedly elected because he was the only member able to count and unlikely to attempt to emigrate to the Bahamas with the club’s bank balance. Also the father of Joe, for which we are grateful to both him and Mrs Phillips.
Joe Phillips - at 14 years old the club’s youngest and most promising member. Already bowling at international standard. Yet to feel the pernicious and corrupting influence of drink and women, we’re hoping that, when it happens, it won’t interfere with his game (but, then again, looking at his dad …)
Keith Edwards - another member of the father-son combinations at Ponty (and yet to be sectioned for wandering around Herbert St late on a Saturday night proclaiming himself to be “the son of Bob”).
Malcolm Bubb - the club’s leading political thinker. We know what you’re thinking, how much political thinking actually goes on at Ponty BC? But some of the late-night discussions at the Sports Bar are quite esoteric (or potentially violent and slanderous, depending on your point of view).
Malcolm Griffiths - spends much of his life marooned on a platform in the North Sea and for whom the respite of a weekend in Pontardawe is indeed a blessed relief.
Mark Roderick - Ponty’s resident white-van-man, well, we say “resident”, but spends much of his life asleep in a lay-by just outside Haverfordwest. Owner of the world’s largest collection of Imperial Mints.
Maurice Ashton - a former President of the Welsh Bowling Association, it’s like having a minor-Royal playing for your club (or in Maurice’s case, like having Mike Tindall playing for your club, but with less likelihood of accusations of any throwing contests involving very short people, allegedly).
Peter Pitston - “The Pitbull”, if he’s not actually playing, he’s to be found sat in front of the pavilion generally intimidating the opposition (and some of the gentler members of Ponty). Not as fearsome as he looks, but don’t tell him I said, I don’t need anything breaking.
Randall Roberts - often to be found on the M4 between Ponty and London (that’s travelling now, not looking for some of his more wayward woods).
Steve Davies - able (just) to read and write and therefore the club secretary. Can spell blancmange, but more likely to be found eating it. Once mistakenly got into a round with Clive Davies, penury and liver problems followed.
Terry Patton - the club's newest acquisition, we can't divulge his transfer fee, but it's somewhere in the region of what he'd charge you for a fare in his taxi, mind you, we're not saying where you're going.