SPECTATOR SPORT
Traveller's tales
Frank Keating
FOR ALL ITS pooh-poohing of Poms, Australia likes to remain in close touch with backpage England. In steamy Brisbane a couple of weekends ago a roomful of them stayed up for the early-hours live transmission of England's rugby team being k. nobkerried out of sight by the bonny Irish in Dublin — and two days later I was not the only one seething with fury that the mangy English had still been given the lion's share of places in the British Isles touring team for the summer.
The day I left, that same group of bud- dies were making plans to stock up with the 'six-packs' and watch the Grand National live. They would have particularly enjoyed that obviously quite hilarious and (sorry, I'm still overcome by a fit of the giggles and can't quite get it out) shaming episode of Keystone coppery — especially as the alleged race was run by a booze company and the bowler-hatted chairman of the racecourse was a brewer.
For one of the purposes of my trip had been to gauge (again a joke at England's expense, I'm afraid) whether Manchester represents a stern challenge to glorious, golden, sun-baked Sydney in the rivalry to stage the Olympic Games of 2000.
When I continued to put the loyal sug- gestion that the challenge between the two cities must be a very close-run thing, those Aussies with snappy cream suits and sun- tans laughed me up the aircraft gangway, hooting that 'these days you Poms couldn't organise a piss-up in your own brewery'.
I had not even hit Heathrow and, dammit, they had the proof. With knobs on. Needless to say, members of the Interna- tional Olympic Committee were at Aintree to see just how we manage these things.
Another reason for the flying visit had been to stuff my ears with cotton-wool and witness Nigel Mansell's debutant drive in the `Indycar' new-world version of Grand Prix racing — faster cars, but less fragile, is the layman's difference. Our madcap motorist whined (in all senses) to a notable first victory — but the knowing Australians and Americans chewing gum around the pitlane at the torrid and tacky Surfers' Par- adise all warned that any mug could drive on a street circuit (which this was) but just let the Limey see how he likes it when we get him on 'the US ovals'. These are enclosed, sort-of elongated greyhound- tracks, round and round, three or more cars abreast, with solid concrete walls on either side.
Mansell's co-driver, the laconic Ameri- can veteran of many a dice with concrete, Mario Andretti, said, sure, he wished Nigel luck, but he had to remember that 'those walls can bite back, and bite back real hard'. It was the turn of us little knot of vis- iting Poms to pooh-pooh the very idea. 'No problems for our Nige, you'll see.'
I was scarcely through Customs when they told me that Mansell had been heli- coptered to hospital, lucky to be alive, dur- ing the first practice day at the Phoenix Oval.
These are not good days for the self- esteem of British travellers.
Previous page
