By John Mikkelsen
When millions of Australians like me are constantly despairing over the seemingly endless stream of economy busting mis-steps by our inept Labor Government, another magic weekend sporting event has again provided welcome relief.
I’d put the last few minutes of the classic Bathurst 1000 at Mount Panorama in the same category as the last three minutes of the AFL Grand Final, which I wrote about recently- the Brisbane Lions came from 17 points down to defeat the Fremantle Dockers after the Dockers’ victory anthem was already blaring out over the huge crowd at the MCG.
But the last few minutes of The Great Race were even more dramatic, with the outcome even more miraculous for dyed-in-the-wool Ford Mustang fans and possibly more devastating for the hordes of former Holden fans who now pin their hopes on the US-based Chev Camaro.
The event which drew another huge crowd was also the 20th anniversary of the demise of Holden legend Peter Brock and all was looking good for a Camaro to clinch the Peter Brock Trophy and fill the first two spots on the podium, but with five laps remaining, the Mountain Gods intervened.
The Dick Johnson Racing car #17 pairing of Brodie Kostecki and Todd Hazelwood had been leading for much of the race and looked good for their second Bathurst win. But a slow pit stop with a botched brake disc change on lap 125 put Kostecki back in fifth place with a seemingly insurmountable gap between him and the front runners – The Chevs of Anton De Pasquale/ Lee Holdsworth, Zac Bates/ Aaron Seaton and the Ford Mustang of Will Brown/ Scott Pye.
But with five laps remaining a hard-charging Kostecki on a younger set of tyres managed to get past an elbows-out Brown to secure a possible third spot on the podium.
Ford fans had been hoping for a safety car to bunch the field but the race had already run a remarkable 156 laps with no sign of a serious crash. Then out of the blue, all Hell broke loose.
With only five laps remaining, Chaz Mostert slightly locked the rear tyres of his Walkinshaw TWG Racing Toyota Supra, causing him to go too narrow on the corner exit at Forrest Elbow and crash heavily into the wall.
That finally brought out the safety car and then with just three laps remaining, the green flag waved. De Pasquale held his nerve at the front but a determined Kostecki overtook young rookie driver Bates and set off after the lead Camaro.
De Pasquale (above) was still holding a clear lead into the final lap but his team had obviously badly miscalculated his fuel load at his last pit stop (just a few seconds more, guys) and his Camaro spluttered and died suddenly a few km short of the chequered flag. Very sad for him, co-driver Holdsworth, and the legion of ex-Holden fans, but great for the Blue Oval brigade.
Kostecki charged past and seized victory from the jaws of defeat, leaving his team boss, the legendary Dick Johnson, in a state of emotional teary-eyed disbelief.
I was stunned too (in a good way) and just like the mighty Brisbane Lions victory a few weeks earlier, that vision of Dick with his head in his hands and tears running down his cheeks, re-ignited my mind’s own version of Dr Who’s Tardis.
Suddenly I’m back in the mid-’80s as editor of The Observer newspaper in the busy Central Queensland port city of Gladstone and we are hosting our big Sports Star of the Year event at a packed venue. The annual event always includes a major sporting personality as guest speaker, such as Rugby League great Wally Lewis, but this year is special for me – the celebrity is the one and only Ford racing hero Dick Johnson and I’m a big fan!
My job is to introduce all the monthly sports star nominees (no sexism here, there’s a pretty even spread of women among the candidates and there’s also a junior division with a mix of girls and boys) then introduce the guest speaker and finally hand him an envelope to open and announce the winners. The only drawback – I hate public speaking, which back then I rate about on par with dreaded death knocks, where a journo is assigned to interview the grieving widow, husband or parents of some poor soul who has just died tragically.
Anyway, no avoiding it, so man up and keep the beer jugs flowing! All is going swimmingly and towards the end of the proceedings I even crack a joke that has some guests laughing and a few including The Observer’s general manager glaring at me (but it was the truth and it involved an award winning TV series about black slavery in America, called Roots).
“Earlier tonight I told the boss that if I didn’t get home before 11 pm, I’d miss out on Roots… Well he just looked at me, shook his head and said ‘John, that’s the story of my life’…”
Oops. Anyway, that set the tone for the remainder of the evening. No TV recorder back then so no Roots, but a few of us were invited back to the home of a member of the local Promotion Bureau, an event sponsor, set on an acreage a few kilometres out of the city.
Dick, as guest of honour, was also invited.
No problem, time to relax now the formal proceedings were done and dusted. That was until the host brings out a bottle of Bundaberg’s finest rum. Maybe it was OP and the Polar Bear mascot would have approved and winked, but I should have know better. Dick has the good sense to abstain or maybe risk a sip or two, but he’s ready to regale me with some good yarns about his racing career, including the rock incident that defined his early beginnings at Mt Panorama but wrecked his chances when he was leading the field. It’s history that he returned the following year as the winner, with a new car thanks to generous donations from Ford fans and the Ford Motor Company which matched them dollar for dollar.
Good one Dick! I tell him I’m also a fan of Allan Moffat and he looks more serious as he tells me Allan is a bit on the obsessive compulsive side, taking his racing very seriously.
“He locks himself in his car pre-race to avoid the press …” A wry grin, so maybe he’s joking. Anyway, whatever it takes to win races, and Allan has done that many times over.
So the night rolls on, Russell the host appears too many times at my elbow, and before my poor wife manages to drag me out into the fresh air to drive me home in my trusty Allan Moffat Special Ford Falcon, I’m rambling on about how good those Falcons are at Bathurst. I bid Dick farewell and he’s probably still wondering if accepting that invitation to Gladstone really was worth the effort. Sorry, Dick.
But Fords Rule, right? Just ask Brodie.
John Mikkelsen is a former editor of three Queensland regional newspapers, columnist, freelance writer and author of the Amazon Books Memoir, Don’t Call Me Nev. (https://www.amazon.com.au/Dont-Call-Nev-John-Mikkelsen/dp/B09S244GP1/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?
Good (for a laugh) to see any naysayers come out against “petrol heads.” They do use a special ethanol blend fuel but killjoys against a bit of fun that captivates millions here as well as audiences around the world would probably prefer ultra heavy EV’s zooming noiselessly around the Mountain until they need a re-charge as often as the current cars need a refuel and then imagine the carnage if one of these weighty beasts crashed into a concrete wall the way Chaz Mostert did on Sunday! Or a battery ignites and trackside crews can’t extinguish the flames!
Obvious Bob, I made exactly the same comment about The Who’s Meet the New Boss (Same as the old boss) weeks ago to a bunch of email contacts re Vic’s new hopeless Labor leader Ben Carrol and like you, I hope that corrupt bunch are tossed out in a few weeks. But that doesn’t mean we should deprive music or sports fans their indulgences and escapeism as millions of them (including me) would also like to see dramatic changes in domestic and international politics. It’s only when one or the other becomes an over-riding obsession that it needs to be reigned in.
As to Easy Rider’s comment, the sports-loving Aussie is indulging in a form of tribalism, by going “off” and carrying on like a lunatic at their team’s exploits, adoring these sport-people like they are gods or something.
Same with the music industry, with the crowds in adoration and worship of musos whose main ability is to write a song or play an instrument, but, when pressed, would likely have nothing more that attitude, though likely not supported supported by an great amount of actual substance to suppor that attitude.
The aforementioned abilities-musicianship and writing ability are great to have, but don’t count much when it comes to changing the political machine they are often raging against.
“Meet the new boss, same as the old boss” said The Who, and the new boss, like Ben Carroll, VIC Premier, looks pretty much like a carbon copy of the Old Boss.
So reality check for you, too, Rider.
As a video I thought of making will go, as it is would be a reality check for athletes, goes like this:
I am holding a school ruler up as a prop for a high jump, saying:
“I am a world class athlete. I can jump over a stick.”
I then go on to say: “Now that I have said that, all power to all of you athletes and your fabulous abilities.
“This is just a reality check to say to you and your fans that there are much more important issues to be aware of than whether your footy team wins or loses, and your ecstatic fans need to realise that they are not the ones playing the game, So chill a bit, you dim-wit fans, and don’t “invest” too much, as it is only anentertainment.
“The country is going down the s–i chute, so pay attention, and so something about that, maybe by waking up a bit (and reading Cairns News a bit, maybe?”
Wow, great race – I watched all day and sure didn’t see that ending coming! For all the wowsers who think we don’t need sport as a distraction from the dismal state of local and international politics, go take a reality check and let the many millions who enjoy motor sports, footy, cricket or whatever floats their boat, get on with it. Another good article John and great video to illustrate what you have written, including Dick’s emotional reaction!
I’m just not interested in sport but I do love the Bathurst 1000.
So WTF do you not do a piece about the sustainability of all this motor sport, when we have a fuel crisis and peopel are scratching for the money to run their cars, and transport and other companies are going to the wall on a daily basis because the governments and councils don’t give any bigger a break from the cost-of-living economic genocide.
My Economic Genocide video, for that matter, made quite some years ago.
Compare it to what is happening today. Am I a clairvoyant or something?:
Bot:
Under 30: Men generally had slightly more crashes per kilometre. Over 30: Women generally had more crashes per kilometre in one Australian analysis using 1994–95 data. Young drivers: A NSW study following drivers for up to 13 years found men had a 25% higher rate of any recorded crash after adjusting for driving exposure and other factors. However, women had a higher rate of crashes resulting in hospitalisation. Fatalities (2024): Men accounted for about 75% of Australian road deaths — approximately three-quarters of the total.
The above statistics from the bot showing the group “men” has a larger crazy element than the group “women”, but around here it’s not true the feminists are the hoons judging by the last half dozen times I have been “hooned”. But hooning is not the same as actual racing