In a world drowning in specialisation, where the notion of mastering one skill is a virtual feat of heroism, Don Sherman peered askance at this absurdity. Indeed, he harnessed an audacious variety of talents - being both an Australian international lawn bowler and a master builder. Then he threw in a splash of breeding cattle and horses, for sport, really. Let’s not bask in the insubstantial comfort the mere mortals of us derive from mastering a mere single line of work. No, Sir. Don Sherman leaped across professional boundaries like an ambitious kangaroo, clearing the insurmountable hurdles of trade and sport with the nonchalance of a somnambulist. Becoming a master builder has its own unique set of challenges. After all, it is said that "Every man thinks meanly of himself for not being a builder”, and “bricklayer” is a profession whose practitioners’ median age is apparently 107. The challenges are manifold, from dodging the occasional projectile brick to deducing whether the newly installed doorframe is, indeed, an avant-garde installation art piece. Yet, in spite of these obstacles, Sherman became a master builder par excellence, leaving in the dust those more used to installing crooked outhouses than opulent mansions. But, oh wait, the thrills of laying bricks and orchestrating symphonies of scaffolding weren’t exciting enough for our intrepid hero, Don Sherman. He picked up the deceptively innocuous game of lawn bowls. Laughably dismissed as a sport for the geriatric, lawn bowls boasts a terrifyingly difficult strategic element. Normal humans struggle to understand the enigmas of aiming for different points called the jack, while working with integrally biased balls that are purposefully designed to be lopsided. Talk about throwing a curveball into the mix. Sherman, however, took the unlikely game of spherical puzzle pieces and made it his playground. As if contemplating whether your bowling ball will traverse the intended trajectory wasn't enough to furrow the brow of a mere mortal, Sherman chose a simultaneous career in handling bovine and equine in rural Australia. Not to imply breeding animals is akin to rocket science, but the uncivilised glossary operant for distinguishing stud bulls and expectant mares could confuse even the most cultured, linguistically astute individuals. Galvanising the unpredictable beastly participants to abide by the prosaic laws of nature, consistent with productivity, eludes many an amateur breeder. Woe betides if the stud bull has mood swings or the broodmare gets finicky during mating season. Don Sherman danced through these dual careers with the nonchalance of a dingo dodging boomerangs. He built dream homes by day, bowled over champions by evening and somnambulated through the rigours of animal husbandry with a grace that left the rest of us slack-jawed. A polymath in every sense of the word, Sherman fleshed out the title of "Renaissance Man" from the annals of obsolescence. The longevity and success of Don Sherman's dual-career is, undoubtedly, the stuff of prodigy and lore. Making the hurdles of constraining specialisation his stage, he delivered an astonishing performance, defying convention and confounding critics. Whether bricklayer, lawn bowler or animal breeder, Sherman made his own rules, eluding stereotypes and creating his own trail. And for this, we salute him. He sends a challenge to us mediocrity-spangled office drones: to dare to dream, dare to cross boundaries, and dare to become a master of all we survey.