An Australian Adventure, Part III

  Prologue: In late February of 1988 NASCAR sanctioned what amounted to an exhibition race in Australia at a sparkling new speedway near Melbourne, The Thunderdome.  It held the potential of being a great  adventure for those lucky enough to be going, including me.  The trip proved more than equal to the promise.  Over the next few days "Scuffs" will recount some of the stories from two decades ago, including a heart-warming triumph by the late Neil Bonnett.
   
   The welcome afforded by the Australian people to the visiting American motorsports party  was genuinely warm and wonderful.
   We were treated, really, like royalty.
   And then, on our third day Down Under, came a stunner in the Melbourne Herald.  Turns out not everyone was charmed to have us in the country.
   Gerard Wright, a columnist for the conservative afternoon newspaper, ripped the Goodyear 500K that loomed at Bob Jane's spectacular Thunderdome race track on Sunday.  Wright also had ugly shots for the U.S. drivers and singled out one individual for special sarcasm, UNOCAL's colorful representative, Bill Broderick.
   Someone in the  infield press center handed me a copy of the Herald with the page turned to Wright's ranting.

 

 

   Wright started off by calling the stock car race a "peculiarly, distinctive American event in all its noise and vulgarity.
   "Ever stood at the end of a runway as a jumbo jet has soared over your head?  Pain thresholds are breached and ears bleed.  It's a strange sensation.
   "Much the same effect can be had at Bob Jane's Thunderdome Sunday afternoon in the first Goodyear 500K."
   Wright then went after Broderick, who wore his red hair thick and swept back.  Brockerick also was fond of expensive jewelry, especially gaudy rings.
   Wright called Broderick "a pompadoured, sleazy, vulgar, bejeweled camp follower."
   Broderick came into the press center and walked over to my spot, where I was reading Wright's diatribe.
   Bill was laughing and reveling in the notoriety.
   "I'm offended no end," said Broderick, putting his tongue firmly into cheek.  "It is well known that when it comes to sleaze and vulgarity, I'm a leader, not a follower."
   Wright's column continued:
   "The style and sound of the racing you see and hear you may remember from The Dukes Of Hazzard television series.  According to the official history of the Goodyear 500K, NASCAR evolved from the Deep South when moonshiners used to ferry their product  from backwoods stills to a thirsty populace at night, using powerful cars to run the gauntlet of the law.  Eventually, instead of the cops, the moonshiners raced each other round and round on dirt tracks throughout the South.  There the sport now offers $16 million annually in prize money.
   "Bob Jane has moved heaven and earth--5 million tons of the latter--to attract 50,000 latent hillbillies, petrol heads and noise freaks who will pay $18 each to expose themselves to sunstroke and industrial deafness on Sunday.
   "To see what?  The cars chase each other at high speed on a closed bank track for 278 laps.  There are no gear changes, no subtlety.  Just bumper tags and migraines for two hours.
   "If you must watch this nonsense, some words of advice: Take a hat if it's sunny, and a Walkman.  Turn the volume up to 10.  Then close your eyes and pretend you're not there."
   To a man the Aussies taking part in the event, their country's first with a NASCAR flavor, were mightily embarrassed.  The foremost Australian driver, Allen Grice, who had competed in the Coca-Cola 600 at Charlotte Motor Speedway, personally apologized to his American counterparts--including Bobby Allison, Neil Bonnett, Dave Marcis, Kyle Petty, Michael Waltrip, James Hylton and D.K. Ulrich from the big-time Winston Cup Series.
   By evening Wright's harsh attack generally had been forgotten.  This is because Jane and his associates were treating the U.S. entourage--drivers, crew chiefs, members of the media--to dinner and entertainment at a working sheep ranch about 40 miles west of Melbourne.
   Two vehicles were made available for transportation: A bus for those who didn't care to have a beverage en route and a large van for those who did.
   A dozen or so of us, including Bonnett and Marcis, boarded the van.  For our refreshment, Broderick had bought three "slabs."  A "slab" is Aussie for a case of beer.  There was a slab of Fosters, a slab of Black Swan and a slab of Victoria Bitters.
   We found a feast awaiting at the ranch.  After dinner we were entertained by two Aborigines, Joe and Willie.  They wore native garb and their bodies were painted garishly.  Joe played a didgeridoo, a hollowed-out tree limb with holes in it like a flute, and Willie danced.  In one number, Willie mimed a butterfly, contorting his body in unbelievable moves.
   At last it was time to go, and under a full moon and the starry, bright Southern Cross, we boarded the van back to Melbourne.  The Aussies in the group started telling bawdy jokes about their country, mostly the island state of Tasmania.  All the jokes were side-splitting.  The van rocked with laughter as  we rolled through the night.
   After one punch-line, someone started singing "Waltzing Matilda."  Thereafter, the famous Aussie song followed every joke.
   It was a rollicking, fabulous experience that I'll remember fondly the rest of my days.
   As we neared Melbourne, Marcis had an observation.
  "Too bad that Gerard Wright guy couldn't be with us tonight," said Marcis.  "He might have had fun and changed his mind about the race and about us."
   The face of Bob Jane's No. 1 aide clouded and twisted in anger.
   "By this time tomorrow night," he declared, "Gerard Wright may be singing alto in The Vienna Boys' Choir."

   Next: 'Roos, Koalas And A Piano Bar.