The Ballad of Barry the Rainmaker

November 13, 2008

Did you hear about poor Barry? He ain’t makin’ rain no more,
Cause the deal flow went and dried up like a Murray-Darling bore.
He was legendary, Barry, wide and deep was his renown,
For decades now he’s moved and shook and really lunched this town.

As a salesman he was priceless, indeed, he had no peer,
When he got his clients on the phone, their hearts would seize in fear.
For they knew that by the end of week, he’d seal it with a beverage;
They’d be hung and tied and buried deep, all financed via leverage.

‘Twas rare it was, ‘til times just past, that any’d get away.
A far cry, you see, I’m sad to say, from the man we see today.
But forgive me, for I’ve jumped ahead and served dessert before the starter,
First I ought to tell of Barry’s meet with old boss Carter.

‘Twas the bust of 10 ’08, and as he crossed the floor,
Barry saw a neat-clipped finger beckon from the corner door.
“Barry,” said old Carter, “The situation’s grim.
I’ve had to talk to Gary and to Pamela and Jim.”

“I thought till now I’d seen it all, the bubbles blow and then go pop,
But it seems this roller coaster ride is coming to a stop.
We’ve been short of cash before, but this time it’s just not funny.
The bank has called… on Tuesday last we ran right out of money.”

“Oh I know Boss,” spake our hero, “Its looking pretty grave.
But I’ve got the boys to looking close at where we just might save.”
“Jonno’s counting pencils, and the biscuits are no more.
And the stress-relieving masseur, well… she’s gone out the door.

“But it’s OK, we’ll get through it, although my headaches will get worse.
I think you should consider that when you split the bonus purse.
And about this weekend’s offsite, well, I’ve had a look at flights.
A chopper’s clearly not the go…

“You’re not hearing me,” said Carter, “its not just your bonus that’s no more.
Here’s a box, please fill it with your stuff, and mind your backside with the door.
I’d love to sit and shoot the breeze, I’d really love to talk,
But the press is lining up outside to witness my perp walk.”

With that, our man was, as they say, stunned just like a mullet,
He’d never been that way before, but words caught in his gullet.
He looked across the office floor, stood stock still as a post,
For hours, some say days, face whiter than a ghost.

Then Brucey from security tapped his shoulder with a groan,
Mate, you can’t stay here no more, its time that you went home.
“Hard to take,” snapped our Baz, “after years of just success.
I’d set off home right now… but can’t remember my address.”

But our Barry did go on back home, a fate not of his own choosing,
A place, he’s found, compared to town, a great deal more confusing.
His wife she recognised him from his picture on the web,
Although hadn’t seen him many times since the day that they were wed.

And the children, I’ll confide in you, could scarcely have been ruder,
The youngest ran out shouting, thinking our man was an intruder.
“There’s a stranger in the kitchen, Mum, and he’s looking kind of sad.”
“Barry Junior,” said his mother, “that man is your Dad.”

But Barry never was the kind to let himself get rattled,
His digger blood refused to run and onwards he would battle.
The next few months, for our family, did seem rather strange,
But their lifestyle, through necessity, it really had to change.

The youngest boy thought that it was really kind of cool,
When they rented out the house and moved in to the cabana by the pool.
For the first time in a long time Baz got used to wearing jeans,
And soon he’d learned six appetising ways to serve baked beans.

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