FIRESIDE DREAMS

The great thing about speedway is, it can be enjoyed in the mind if you can’t get to the track.

In the long, long hiatus since that Heat 15 when Cookie had Jye off (cueing hugely-enjoyable mayhem) in early September of 2019, there are many who have not since seen a live speedway race.

But while we’ve waited out the pandemic, our fireside memories have kept the pot bubbling….

Watching speedway at Shielfield in our mind’s-eye doesn’t need a Tapes Up DVD (excellent though they may be, he hastily adds) to remind us of the good times.

We may be of an age to remember Graham Jones, wee Wayne Brown or Grantie in their pomp. Or maybe young enough to only go back to the heydays of Adrian Rymel, Stan Burza or Seb Alden…….

Dare I say it – shocking though it might sound to this old coffin-dodger – there are doubtless a crop of Bandit-come-lately readers today who will tell you of the “good old days” when they first came to Shielfield to marvel at the exploits of Nick Morris, David Howe and yes, even Kevin Doolan strutting their stuff in black-and-gold!

By the fire in midwinter, awaiting news of on-track movement, we can still enjoy our sport through recollections, recaptures and crystal clear hindsight.

Moments, great figures and notable occasions return. We hear the growl of engines, the blaring of “Wheels” and the rising swell of cheers as the stadium inside our mind fills with floodlight and yields up the image of a still-young rider – a hero, perfectly memorised – swooping out of the second turn and down the straight past the ever-present Ducket like an arrow.

See the way he sits? His head always at just that angle? That racesuit? Yes, that’s him!

Unmistakeable even after so many years, he leans into the third turn before zooming past the pits and over the line for yet another win – in our memory, he’s always winning.

Any fan, of any age, can play this private game, extending it to extraordinary and impossible happening in their mind.

Doug Wyer might face up to, and beat Craig Cook. Steve McDermott, ever-cool and in control, can see off his childhood hero Peter Collins – and Rob Grant, ever rough and ready, would be able to stare down the immaculate World #2 Malcolm Simmons before going out to beat him all ends up.

Oh wait, that last one really did happen….

By why is there such vividity of mind, even from such imaginary confrontations?

I’ve followed other sports – football, ice-hockey and even baseball – eagerly enough, but none has ever yielded such permanent interior pictures, evoked such precise ancient excitements.

I think it might be due to speedway being the one sport to watch most intently, where anticipation can exceed reality without subtracting one iota of enjoyment from the event.

The build-up to each race. Staring at our programme – hoping for the best, fearing and anticipating the worst.

During the actual race – if our man gets in front, it seems as though the heat lasts seven or eight laps, yet if he’s chasing it’ll be over in a couple of circuits!

Then we have the reconciliation of the score, a look at the next heat’s line-up – indeed at the next two or three races. Do we make a change? Will the opposition roll out a tactical? When?

There are people who think they are paying for no more than fifteen minutes of action at a meeting, and if they cannot understand how involved they could be, then they deserve no more.

Each of us who have our heads on straight, well, we know better. We can savour those two or three minutes of mounting anticipation, thrill at the actual sixty-plus seconds of noise, speed, balance and blood-and-thunder — and then happily spend another few minutes of reflection on what has just happened while all the time rebuilding anticipation.

Sitting in the stand or standing on the terracing, we sense that this is our sport, our time, our dream come true.

The riders below us – in our drifting mind they could be Gifford, Blackburn, Makovsky, Courtney or Ashworth – swirl and blur together in our memory, but the clouds clear and we can see that we’re seeing Willie Templeton team-riding shoulder-to-shoulder with Leon Flint as they inflict a famous 5-1 over third-placed Bartosz Zmarzlik……

Such fireplace dreams have had to stand in for the real thing over the past eighteen long months – but never fear, as I write there are just fifty sleepless nights until the Bullets’ first, streamed, match of the year. Indeed, only seventy-one to go until the Bandits’ own opening night, hopefully with a live audience.

Until then, sweet dreams…………………
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Disagree with Dick – as so many do? He is always be happy to hear from interesting people at dick@crystalfm.co.uk