Racecar

By Vince – Written in 1994 – Dedicated to Aryton Senna

It’s a week since first they came to this place the circus claims.
Fired up passion growing strong. Now the climax won’t be long.
Tens of thousands take their place to cheer on their chosen ace.
With ad. men selling top rate places to advertise their companies graces.

Pole man sits on the front row. Cameras focus on the show.
Eight hundred horses singing loud to a tune to please the crowd.
Noise increases on the grid as final checks reach fever pitch.
Greens release two dozen steeds and the rubber feet do bleed.

A multi-million-power game guarantees the man his fame.
Progress verses nerves so hard in the world of racing cars.

The first corner is a squeeze. Only four escape the siege.
With the start again its all clear but the last ones pay so dear.
Fifteen straights without a change, then an oil seal makes a claim.
Gives a chance to two more aces, for three circuits changing places.

A multi-million-power game guarantees the man his fame.
Progress verses nerves so hard in the world of racing cars.

More back markers, slipstreamed straights. Tyres and fuel in ten point eight.
Fastest lap is a new crown as the times come tumbling down.
Carbon fibre body getting light. Black and white comes into sight.
The gathered crowds roar out his name and another takes his fame.

A multi-million-power game guarantees the man his fame.
Progress verses nerves so hard in the world of racing cars.

A multi-million-power game guarantees the man his fame.
Progress verses nerves so hard in the world of racing cars.

Author: Vince Poynter
From the songs section of the vinceunlimited.co.uk web site Version 5.035 dated 11 Dec 2017
First Published: Version 1.00 in Oct 2003 and reproduced here in full, unedited
The image depicts the author’s two Formula 1 model racing cars. A 2002 season Jaguar Racing Team R3 and a BMW Williams FW24 photographed by the author in 2005. It was added to the web site in Version 5.035 dated 11 Dec 2017.

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Olympics

So rarely something happens that changes our perceptions so completely it takes you a bit by surprise. The 2012 London Olympic Games was a rare example of this. And from what I hear and read I’m not the only one who has had to re-focus their original opinion.

My thoughts about the ‘OGs’, as I shall refer to them to avoid a lot of finger pressing, started earlier than most. Yes we all had a passing interest when we heard that we beat the French in the first game of the season by winning the rights to spend a fortune on the spectacle. But a lot of thoughts turned elsewhere very soon. After all, you can only do so many laps of French gloating.

But I thought there may be quite an overlap between the OGs and myself. I earn my tech-spend money in construction and moved in close enough circles to think I may get some work out of this massive money-pit. Not only in planning and commercially running some of the work but also in the likely delay and disruption claims that seemed sure to follow in the subsequent three years.

But the Lord Coe & Co had other plans and secured the construction via an alternate consortium who for some peculiar reason managed to build it all on time and within budget. Leaving me with no pie encased finger and nothing to pick over later.

I was never asked to lift a finger to help. And from history it seems this was a shrewd move by LOCOG. Ahem.

So it was with the rest of you that I did the marathon ignorance of the whole caboodle until the organisers started a spectacle of individuals chundering through the countryside with a naked Greek flame. Even then my cynicism vented through my first words as I tweeted ‘..As the Olympic torch relay passes from worthy individual to worthy individual. Each carefully selected from those without eBay accounts..’

But soon I became quite fond of the procession. Instead of seeming repetitive the flame relay with its smart convoy of BMWs, buses and outriders became quite the thing. I wanted to see it all but not so much as to bother to move from my front porch. Then it went past the porch and I got all fan-like again.

I then had reason to visit London on a couple of occasions and felt a palpable frenzy in the air. London, washed clean and made green by the preceding months rain, smelt fresh and the £11bn expenditure was everywhere. Particularly in the never-ending barriers. Even the Olympic lanes looked right. And there was still a week to go.

And when the sport started and the infectious crowds recorded by our rightly partisan broadcaster got into the swing I started to regret not paying a small mortgage on the chance of seeing a sport I wouldn’t normally cross the park to observe.

And so normality got put on hold. Meaning for me, I barely posted a Tweet. Subconsciously avoiding tempting fate because as you all know if I said “Ooh, this is Good” almost certainly Katherine Grainger wouldn’t have won Gold and Steve Redgrave would have missed out on his hug. And I couldn’t do that, could I? Even worse I wondered how poignant praise may be if Johnny Terrorist suddenly decided to let rip. In hindsight he seemed to have been as engrossed as we were.

I’m not saying everything was perfect as some commentators have suggested. The overuse of the word historic for the event and individual contributions had been both abundant and annoying. In wearing my pedant hat either everything is historic or nothing is. A first woman’s boxing win may be classed as such but a double gold in two events or multiple successes or medalling may be repeated again. And the event itself, no matter how much we enjoyed it is not historic in the way it was suggested.

I also noticed not every medal winner was happy. I’m particularly thinking of the Silver medallists. When Gold was earned it was either great joy or relief. Bronzees did the same. But the guys who got Silver often looked pretty miffed. I presume this is because Silver was seen as failing to get Gold. The reason why Bronze medallion wearers were equally as proud as the Golden guys was that they could rightly be classed an Olympic medal winner. And they weren’t fourth.

My final thought has to go to the legacy. After all that’s what won the bid for the Brits over the French and The London Olympic Committee can be glad that this will manifest itself in two distinct ways.

Firstly the games legacy will inspire a nation of young fit athletes. In Jamaica.

And more importantly, the London 2012 font will inspire a whole load of copycat writing. Mark my words (with an angular felt tip pen).