Poem from 2025
Chad’s poem for Guy
At Kurnell’s Hall on Monday night,
The tables echo, lit just right.
Yet silence falls, for one is gone—
Dear Guy Costanzo, now moved on.
In early nineties, sharp and spry,
With twinkling eyes and spirit high,
He'd smash with power, left-hand grace,
And spin the ball with deft embrace.
A master of the underspin,
He’d draw you out, then pull you in.
His paddle danced with calm control,
A game of chess upon a roll.
He’d greet you with a friendly grin,
Then quickly switch to “must-win” skin.
For though his heart was warm and kind,
His will to win was well-defined.
He’d never miss a Monday game,
A record etched beside his name.
Rain or shine, he’d make the call—
The steady soul within our hall.
Beside young Chad, his final feat—
The B Grade Doubles win was sweet.
The crowd all cheered, his eyes shone bright—
He claimed the cup with sheer delight.
We’ll miss his banter, sharp and dry,
His way of glancing with a sigh,
Then flicking forehands past your blade—
A gentleman, yet unafraid.
We saw in Guy what time can’t claim:
A youthful fire, a steady flame.
In every match, he gave his best—
Now in our hearts, he takes his rest.
The club feels less without his cheer,
His voice, his spin, his presence near.
But legends never truly leave—
They live in stories we believe.
So raise your paddles, let them ring,
And hear the sound of angels swing.
For somewhere now, beyond the sky,
They're learning how to lose to Guy.