Motorcycle Real Road Racing Blog by Barbiegirl Northern Ireland
All I'd really wanted for Xmas was a shiny new XXXX, but sadly it didn't arrive. Nothing to do with the adverse weather conditions - all that white stuff, sub-zero temperatures - some guy swore he'd seen polar bears and penguins skating across a frozen Belfast Lough - in the cold light of Boxing Day now I'm not so sure that he was paralytic drunk as first imagined. Perhaps a colleague was correct when he'd suggested my belief in that guy Santa Claus was a trifle misplaced - I'd written to him at the North Pole - sent him an email - firstname.lastname@example.org - and had he replied? No, nor had he brought me my presents. Next year I'll act on the advice of my colleague, make public my Xmas wish list - I'll call in the media - newspaper journalists, radio journalists, television journalists, even those nice internet journalists.
'Next Xmas', I'll tell them, 'I want a designer tweed jacket - preferably Harris Tweed - and a new set of wheels perhaps, not that I have an old set, apart from the Yamaha - one of those new Healey Sports Cars would suffice'.
In years long since past - we've all heard the stories - the hacks, local and from across the Irish Sea, what they allegedly knew or cared about the motorcycle racing scene could now be written on a pin head, but what they knew about the hospitality tent the alleged stuff of legends. Did any of them care about whether the racing was good bad or indifferent, or what alleged scheming went on behind closed doors? Not when allegedly pissed as newts on an alleged never ending supply of free booze they didn't. The stories of daring do were still published, even if they were rose tinted as allegedly supplied by local dinosaurs - alleged stories that made local legends, even if they to were at times allegedly as pissed as the hacks, but still managed to race - and win. On the other hand, many perished in those wondrous glory days of Irish real road racing (many still perish) but who cared - they were legends - up there with, even if not quite of the same stature as, the great Finn McCool.
Fast forward to the 21st Century and believe it or not - we still have the dinosaurs, some of the old hacks are still around - somewhere or other - complete with pickled livers one imagines, but now we have - the Internet. The days of the KGB are numbered, secret societies are no longer secret - secrets are published worldwide, if not by WikiLeaks then by anyone with an Internet connection.
It's understandable why the Great High Priest who dost rule the World of motorcycle racing here in Northern Ireland, and all those who dost Worship @ the Elite Holy Inner Sanctum of the Sacred Temple of the Dinosaurs - otherwise allegedly known as, in another bygone age - the Motorcycle Union of Ireland (Ulster Centre) Limited - MCUI-UC - dost banish the evil media from this, his Land of the Dinosaurs. How dare any mere mortal publish the truth about the Dinosaurs, rather than the alleged Fables of the MCUI-UC.
Who indeed needs the media? The Dinosaurs have already made extinct motorcycle real road racing in Northern Ireland, therefore one should read only the Obituaries - not for the name of any gallant competitor who has succumbed to his, or her, chosen sport, but rather the passing of the sport itself.
'Dear Santa, Next Xmas forget about the Harris tweed jacket, and the Healey sports car I requested earlier - next Xmas I want a copy of the local newspaper, the one with an obituary - the one that reads - Real Road Racing Fans Raise A Glass To The Passing Of The Dinosaurs'.
Save Our Sport From Evil
©2010 Motorcycle RealRoadRacing Blog by Barbiegirl Northern Ireland