When tales are told in the sailors’ den
Of gallant deeds where men are men
In the real man’s world of guts and blood
You’ll hear the name of Merkyl Crud

Now the Sydney-Hobart’s not for the meek
Not for the faint hearted not for the weak
It’s for men like Merkyl who go down to the sea
Where boys become men and where men become free

Now when Merkyl was strolling by Rushcutters Bay
Where the boats were all moored on that fateful day
When the old man said “We’re short of a hand”
Then Merkyl said quickly “I’m your man”

So out through the Heads heading south with the fleet
Merkyl could sense he was with the elite
As the boat dipped gently to the Nor’ Easters song
Merkyl thought to himself “This is where I belong”

“Can you take the wheel Merkyl?” asked the old man
And the boat gained a knot under Merkyl’s soft hand
And he felt right at home on the water and dreamed
“If I could be anyone I’d be the wind”

As night fell he saw the stars dance with the mast
And the moon-beam tagging the stern as they passed
But he sensed they were yet to meet their fate
For lying ahead was the mighty Bass Strait

As they entered the Strait, the wind roared aback
The spray was as white as the water was black
The Antarctic wind it stung and it hurt
And Merkyl changed into his long sleeved shirt.

He drove the boat up the wave refusing to crack
Like a road-train up the Razorback
Then cresting the wave and heaving a sigh
Dropped like a skier down Kosciuszko’s side

Then a black gust from hell spun the boat clean about
The old man scarcely had time to shout
The boom smacked across and with a sickening thud
Cracked open the skull of Merkyl Crud

“That was close!” cried Merkyl straightening the wheel
The hardened crew marvelled at this man of steel
When the old man asked “Are you in any pain?”
Merkyl cried “Give me more tension on the main”

But as he straightened the boat his heart filled with dread
A giant sunfish was sunning itself dead ahead
And though he swung hard to port on the wheel
Slammed into the sunfish and snapped off the keel

Straight over the side though he couldn’t even swim
Merkyl grabbed the keel and he plugged it back in
And fearing the sunfish might cause them more strife
Stabbed it in the heart with his Swiss Army Knife

Then like a bold Viking he conquered Storm Bay
He sailed up the Derwent where the finish line lay
Then found himself trapped in a dying wind
And the big boat ahead would surely win

But Merkyl spied a gust on the southern shore
And the old man smiled as the boat eased to port
The crowd on Constitution Dock held its breath
Could Merkyl do it? Who was the best?

Then the spinnaker filled. The bow of the boat rose.
Merkyl Crud passed the big boat and won by a nose.
The crowd went wild for Merkyl’s great win
“King Merkyl” they cried for Merkyl was king

Then Merkyl’s mum’s voice rang out through the din
“You’ve forgotten to set your alarm again
Just look at your bed it’s in such a state
Looks like you just sailed it across Bass Strait”