How on Earth did he move so fast?

With his birthday coming up (and thus nearly time for one of my two cans of XXXX every year), I'm thinking about Frank a bit lately.

And although I hadn't thought about it in decades, I suddenly remembered how he used to play squash. I don't know if he ever enjoyed it as much as rugby league, I think he played that as a young man and it made him a devotee and watcher of the game, whereas squash was more to do with having fun and getting a bit of exercise, probably about getting out of the house and hanging around with other men.

He played at a couple of different courts that I remember. One used to be at the top of a rise where President Avenue goes up and down over the bush-covered hills at the southern end of Caringbah, where it backs onto Lilli Pilli. Another was in Beverly Hills near the corner of King Georges Road and Stoney Creek Road, not far from where the M5 crosses King Georges Road nowadays.

I only ever remember him playing with two people – Uncle Bob and a family friend named Reg Baker. If I ever knew how Reg first fitted into the picture I've long since forgotten it now – Dad knew a fair few blokes from the automotive trade but I don't think he was friendly enough (or could be particularly bothered) to see them socially. It's just as likely Reg was someone Bob knew from his refrigeration and air conditioning career.

I also don't know why I was ever there watching them play, but I distinctly remember it. Maybe he got lumped with babysitting duties or something, or maybe I was just interested enough to want to go and watch. I never played, mind you, just spectated, which probably explains why I ended up quite liking squash too (we end up wanting what we're not allowed to have as kids), playing it later in life quite a lot, including a stretch of about 10 years with a really good friend.

I sometimes fancy I'd like to have another go, but it's been about 20 years since I've played so it's just as likely my body would respond to it the same way it does when I crawl around on my hands and knees playing lego or dolls (something else that used to be easy) with my three grandkids; by saying 'that was 20 years ago, you idiot. Now, you're going to pay...'

My physicality isn't the issue here, but Franks, Bob's and Reg's is. You'll all remember one of Dad's distinguishing features was that most iconic of 70s and 80s mens' lifestyle accessories, the beer gut. I don't think Bob was ever as big a drinker as my father but he also had a belly that commanded its own measure of respect.

And my memory of Reg Baker, who's likewise not with us anymore and might be horrified to think anyone remembers him this way (but who I also remember being so good humoured and good natured he might laugh uproariously at the idea) is of a man who was all stomach, just arms and legs growing out of it, a luxurious beard topping it all off.

The thing about squash is that unlike cricket (where there's a burst of activity followed by not much), football (where the aim is to move consistently in one direction) or even tennis (where there's a lot more room), squash is played in a space the size of a large lounge/dining room, with walls instead of lines so you're trapped inside it. The ball is very small and goes very fast. You have to move very quickly in every possible direction, change direction often, summon bursts of speed in a heartbeat and twist and contort into all kinds of positions to return a shot – all while being mindful of your opponent's position too.

It's a fast-paced, high powered sport one would think needs a high degree of physical dexterity, balance and motor control to even keep the ball in the air, let alone win a point.

So now I look back, I don't know how three men their size managed to play. Some of you might remember David saying how Dad's golf swing defied all physics at his funeral. I wish it'd been easy to take video in those days, because their squash game must have been the same and I'd love to see how they did it.

Because somehow, a human being who was as much stomach as man and as much Reschs Pilsner as flesh and blood shifted his considerable body size (likewise all three of them and remember, Bob was tall too) around a tiny squash court like... maybe not pros, but certainly enough to keep the game moving.

Maybe there's still hope for me at 52 yet...