A kind of magic

GLYN Taylor is magic – well, he has to be, doesn’t he? Conjuring a big storm cloud out of nowhere like that on Friday night.


Glyn, of course, performed this sensational act of sorcery because he didn’t have Chris Kerr or James Grieves available and therefore didn’t want to race Sheffield with a weakened team.
Unfortunately even the most wonderful of wizards are prone to the odd cock-up of course and, on this occasion, the mercurial Mr Taylor’s act of magic came AFTER all the riders, track staff, officials etc had arrived at South Tees Motorsports Park, along with a good many fans. D’oh, there’s always something you haven’t thought of, isn’t there? Still, he might yet get that gig as David Copperfield’s sidekick.
Or maybe he’s not a magician at all. Maybe the meeting was called off because the track was already in a poor condition after the heavy downfall and the referee decided that with more of the wet stuff forecast before the scheduled start time, the safest option was to stick out the “meeting off” signs.
After all, we’ve already seen a shockingly high number of injuries since the start of the season. Our own Chris Kerr is among them and Newcastle’s George Stancl joined the list on Friday night. Surely we don’t want any more.
I’m too much of a big girl’s blouse ever to have ridden a speedway bike. But when someone who has (and on whose track two teams of riders are due to stick their neck on the line), tells me he wouldn’t have raced in such conditions, I believe him. Especially when it’s someone as down to earth and honest as Glyn Taylor.
Glyn was left out of pocket to the tune of at least £1,500 by Friday’s wash-out. Add that to the costs of calling off the match against Stoke twice, and you start to wonder whether you’ll see him outside BHS with a guitar and a sign reading “speedway track to support – please give generously”.
We were all pig sick at being denied our evening’s entertainment on Friday. My liver wasn’t especially happy either after I clambered through that unexpected window of opportunity to sink a few pints of Stella at the Wacky.
But, I suspect none of us felt the blow as hard as Glyn.

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