Where the Wild Things Are....

Wrighty is back with his Steel City report, aptly named after the book we all read in primary school. Incidentally the author died this week, which is pretty sad, and speaking of things pretty sad, its over to our man in the North East

OK, I should explain from the outset that I'll watch just about anything race in a circle or near-circle....I'd watch greyhounds if they made engine noises when they were going round, so you'll doubtless understand that speedway and rods and Indycars and sprint cars and all the various forms of racing are just a wide smorgasbord from which i indulge.....and of course NASCAR is pretty near the top of that little pile, especially now that is viewable weekly on the same channel that carries our F1 meetings. NASCAR has a strange reputation in this country amongst the stock car fraternity, much like Marmite to the culinary types....some love it for its variety and its unique tang, while others think its a waste of time and space, pointless and silly and frankly not worth the effort.

You know where this is going don't you.....big tracks, dangerous beyond measure for no good reason, unique tang. Yep, Sheffield.

I love the place, I love the racing, I love the atmosphere and, because it's like a superspeedway compared to some of our regular haunts,I love the different fayre it offers....alas these days, despite the fact that it hasn't changed at all in all of the years that I've been going there (and rest assured that is 'many') it's a track that is almost starting to outgrow a sport that worries about costs of damage and then looks at its primitive post & wire fence as a modern anathema, like it would if barrels and concrete-filled marker tyres were re-introduced or a decision was made that drivers didn't need mid-race yellows any more....as a spectacle, however, it is peerless, completely and utterly without compare, a place where speed is everything, and then the icing on the cake is more speed usually....Sheffield is a shale track where a loose car can be frightening for the spectators, never mind other drivers, a place where the crowd arc back in a wave as soon as someone is in the fence and the traffic skims by, speed unabated....Sheffield is a track where, if it was the first place you'd watched the sport you probably wonder why almost everywhere else looks like footage in slow-motion. Sheffield is almost BriSCA's Talledega Superspeedway, not 'the real deal', not 'the home of the sport', not the landmark but, purely by the quirk of location, BriSCA's biggest wasted opportunity.

You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink, so they say, and i'm sure the inducements that could be offered to drivers to come to the Steel City would be many and munificent, but they would not pay for the damage on a bad day (ask Scott Davids, who had a full rear axle surgically removed from his F1 in a heat race), and these days all damage days are bad days and so, despite the meeting being a double-formula world qualifying round (or is that rounds?), there was under 30 F1s and approximately 40 F2s in attendance in an attempt to bag the points including a strong north-eastern contingent doubtless eager to secure prime semi-final grid spots for 'their' world final. One of the great things about the meetings at a lesser-attended track is that often the form is a little more difficult to read prior to the event, but Heat 1 offered little away from the status quo as Andy Palmer took the win (not quite straightforwardly but the win did suggest that Andy is starting to get more comfortable in his new car) ahead of Dave Polley, again bucking the recent trend by producing self-built cars with pace to spare, with flying white top Andy Robinson coming in third in a 440 machine of no apparent vintage but driven with real brio on a classic Sheffield surface (i.e. snooker-table-smooth....oh yes, i stoop that low...). Heat 2 was taken by Paul Kitching in his Bingley-built example (it's taking a while but those stubby little downbar cars are starting to finally grow on me......they're not quite Battenbuilts but they're flippin' effective on the loose) ahead of John Davies and Rob Mitchell with local hotshoes Steve Mallinson and Liam Bentham, thankfully none the worse for wear following his recent Barford travails, in close attendance. Heat 3 was notable for the fact that Dave Harley did his level best to get out of the racing arena through the turn 4 fence, but thankfully was stopped at the rollcage (and of course thankfully was none the worse for this incident, although the damage sustained was doubtless not minor)....after a lengthy yellow flag stoppage while the 362 machine was carefully extricated from said wires, the result saw a popular win from hardy perennial Paul Broatch, still winning at the ripe old age of 364 years young (haha just joking matey!) ahead of Steve Mallinson, recent stoxblog picture star Paul Wilson and Daz Shaw.....heat 3 was also notable for the sterling efforts of Charlie Whitfield who, having been excluded from heat 1 for an apparent confusion with regard to lining up during a heat 1 yellow stoppage, proceeded to complete heat 3 with most of his engine oil seeping out of the bonnet and across the bodywork and amid a blue haze that did not bode well. In the circumstances a ninth place finish was scant reward but Charlie knows that every point is going to be vital, and it is to his credit that he wore his heart on his sleeve and fought for the point, almost daring his equipment to succumb....such effort will surely not go unrewarded in time.

Danii Pics again..... Chaos is back, and well ended up getting acquainted with the fence

Dowsy gets the shale bug

As is the way at this fine arena, the other formulae racing were just as exciting, just as blistering, just as peek-through-your-fingers-and-hold-your-breath terrifying, and soon enough the F2 final was upon us. From the green flag it was clear that it was going to be one of those where some got caught up again and again in other peoples incidents (and of course often the incidents are not minor.....even just a correction of line at these speeds can become a mighty tankslapper of an incident, and it is to the credit of the drivers that they have the skills of clairvoyance to read the movements before they occur) but this was a race that saw success for perseverance, specifically for Sam Wagner, back onto the shale in a car that was still bedding in after a recent rebuild, chased home by John Dowson who had had a nightmare of a meeting up to this point with two right-rear puncture DNFs but had looked a shoe-in for this win until the combination of a tight-handling car and a slight misfire (related as they are, where a car loses power and can't maintain the controlled wheelspin robbing him of those last few oh-so-vital horsepowers) saw Wagner make up the gap and steal the win from Dowson in the last quarter of the race. Josh Coleman, Rob Mitchell, Daz Shaw (unlucky again in this race and having one of those days where he was the innocent victim of everyone elses incidents) and Dave Polley completed the top six but Wagner was not to be denied.

Finally to the Grand National and Dowson was able to gain some recompense for the defeat in the final, storming to the win despite the continuing slight misfire....after his recent shale meetings that have seen his car eat engines at a rate of one per meeting, it was to his credit that he took to the track for this race but surely the sound of the engine not running at 100% must have weighed on his mind as the laps ticked down to the chequered flag.....thankfully, however, it all stayed together and the relief as he was interviewed afterwards was audible, the celebrations on the rolling lap were welcome indeed and a fitting footnote to a very successful weekend from the young Thornley driver.

.....reflections on this meeting are warm and fuzzy already and this was a meeting that, while not quite the usual modern BriSCA fayre, was certainly one that will live long in the memory. Tracks do not come along very often that are this well presented, this well prepared, this.....visceral. This is a place for heroes and villians, none but the brave, not for the foolish or the weak or the ill-prepared....truly a place, with respect to the recently departed author Maurice Sendak, where wild things are.

Yours, still hearing a Pinto on full song, just for once unleashed and unfettered.....Wrighty