As World leaders gathered in Glasgow in a battle to save the planet, a somewhat lesser conflict was about to erupt in the same city. I didn’t see any premiers at the Peugeot Ashfield Stadium where Glasgow Tigers took on the Poole Pirates in the first leg of the Championship play-off final, although the old guy with an American accent, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, beanie hat pulled firmly over his ears with the stars and stripes on his lapel looked somewhat familiar. Hadn’t he trumped Trump – or was I just hallucinating after my epic journey north? Let me explain …
I had only met Mike a week or so previously when fate, fuelled by a sofa, reignited his passion for Speedway. I was already a fully paid-up member of the crazy gang – a speedway supporter who was prepared to travel hours for a methional fix and the adrenalin rush that is Speedway. No brakes, no gears, no fear – the true epitome of motorcycle sport. Yet Glasgow was a fourteen hour round road trip, and after two postponements the rearranged fixture was now slap bang in the lap of COP26, with alternative transportation mired in understandable security restrictions, and hotel accommodation mirroring the costs of downtown Dubai. However, I hadn’t reckoned on Mike’s persistence and his golden ticket – a pilot’s licence!
Taking to the sky from Blackbushe Airport, Hampshire, in his agile Piper Arrow we were soon cruising at ten thousand feet heading due north. The incredible tranquillity of caressing the clouds, while still being able to see clearly the detailed terrain below was simply breath-taking. This calm was in stark contrast to the chaos that had befallen our original plans as security concerns began to close airstrips at an alarming speed. As Cumbernauld (north of Glasgow) was locked down our choices were now down to two – Perth or Newcastle – and even these could change whilst we were airborne.
Leaving behind the commercial ground control chatter in Manchester the pockets of restricted airspace in and around Glasgow and Gleneagles were repeatedly reinforced as we edged closer to our primary target – Perth. Slovenian, then Turkish, military jets announced their presence with an eery discourse of intent. There would be no messing with them. The Hungarian counterpart was even more icy. A few miles off course and we would be at the centre of an international incident or simply blasted out of the sky by one of our own. Landing at the picturesque strip at Perth before it too became a potential casualty of the all-conquering caution was such a relief that I hardly noticed Mike’s dexterity in clearing the runway before a following plane hit the same piece of runway a stone’s throw away from us.
Arriving at the stadium with time to spare for a pint of Tennent’s and some food, my appetite had been supercharged by the previous perilous adrenalin rush albeit trackside the menu was limited. Wolfing down a cheeseburger and chips smothered in curry sauce was, at that precise moment in my life, the most incredible culinary delight ever to pass my lips. But to be fair I was so hungry even my boots looked appetising. According to the announcer only fifteen of us had made the journey north of the border, although I wondered if any of the others had faced the same hazards?
The Pirates began like an express train, and resident number one Craig Cook was left in the wake of buccaneering Benjamin Basso in the first heat. Yet the Tigers clawed back and with the Pirates undermined by falls the home team deservedly took a ten point first leg lead. Flying back the next day we again dodged the flack and prepared for the ultimate leg at Poole.
A little over twenty-four hours later we continued our expedition onwards to Dorset and in front of a packed, raucous home faithful the Pirates clinched the title to claim the domestic double. On a night of raw emotion where, by my estimate, the Tigers faithful outnumbered the Poole representation a couple of nights previously, British Speedway bade a fond farewell to the legend that is Rory Schlein. It was a somewhat fitting end to our boy’s own tale to relax and listen to the men that made it happen on track at the post match press conference:
Stefan Nielsen – the softly spoken, passionate guy, cruelly robbed of a full season by injury, who, like the rest of us, wanted Rory back again next season.
Benjamin Basso – the Danish kid who had brought home the bacon on many occasions since he was drafted into the side, acknowledging his proud parents who had flown over to cheer him on.
Zach Cook – the honorary Pirate from the Plymouth Gladiators who looked every bit a proud champion in his first year as a rookie on these shores.
Ben Cook – you can’t get enough Cooks in the Pirates kitchen and brother Ben belied his youth to deliver an address that simply oozed class.
Danyon Hume – the rising star who propelled himself into orbit and the main body of the team. Simply meteoric!
Danny King – Captain Fantastic, humble, and the pivot around which the experienced riders fused with the juniors to produce a magical spirit which simply swept away the challenge from the other Championship contenders.
Steve Worrall – who could topple the man with number one on his back? Rarely anyone on track. Yet on this occasion his Nan called to congratulate him and he took the call!
Rory Schlein – the heartbeat of the Pirates and one of the most loyal servants to the UK scene. I don’t think that I was the only one with a lump in the throat when this man mountain called it a day. You will be sorely missed Rory.
Danny Ford – Promoter with Pirate blood in his veins, carrying on the best traditions of dad Matt.
Gary Havelock – the northern half of the management duo. He has seen and done it all, yet the 1992 World Champion couldn’t hide his emotion as the cup was lifted.
Neil Middleditch – Middlo, or Mr Poole Pirates, wears his heart on his sleeve and is to the club what Nelsons Column is to Trafalgar Square, what the Opera House is to Sydney and what the Taj Mahal is to the people of India – simply inseparable.
As for me I’m simply a fan who is nuts (but not as much as Mike) about the greatest show on earth – Speedway!
Until we do it all over again in 2022 – Come on you Pirates!
© Ian Kirke 2021 & all photographs