Cardiff, 28 June, 2008

I love speedway. Back when men were men I used to occasionally see Sheffield Tigers in the era of Dougie "Flyer" Wyer - he now drives a lorry apparently - but there's a working class hardness to this sport, one where the bikes have no brakes or gears (there's a fixed gear, but I've no idea what this means) and where falls, all of them, hurt.
Last year, Chris "Bomber" Harris won the British Grand Prix for Britain (well, for himself really) with a thrilling manoeuvre on the last bend of the last race. This was fantastic sport, but the outcome handily delighted the crowd, delighted Sky (who cover the Grand Prix and the Elite League) and delighted speedway itself. Harris looks like David Cameron's poor relative and isn't one for talking.
This year though, Harris only reached the semi-finals, but only after breaking his nose in a heat collision with Niels-Kristian Iversen, a team mate at Harris's Swedish team, Vastervik. Before he staggered to his feet for the re-run (just two minutes later, for fear of disrupting Sky's schedule, rather than my deadline), it was one of those moments where I thought someone was badly hurt.
Afterwards, Harris was nowhere to be seen, but the Top 3 made it to the press conference, still in their kit, still covered in dirt and still smelling like compost heaps. First and second, Jason Crump (a jolly beach bumalike with a bad earring and, I'm sure, a can of beer furtively lurking under the table) and Greg Hancock teased each other, smiled and chatted away merrily. There's genuine camaraderie here, born of being one of just 15 riders on the Grand Prix circuit and the genuine respect former world champions ought to have for each other.
Next to them, the current holder Nicki Pedersen talks on his mobile. He's been jeered all night by the crowd, for being involved in most of the incidents that resulted in re-runs, without being censured. He looked pretty innocent to me, but what do I know of racing lines and motorcycle skullduggery?
The press conference is a peculiar affair. One man asks all the questions and, as he does, photographers bellow instructions to each rider. Crump says he's delighted: "we've got a championship on now". Pedersen says he wasn't to blame for anything ever and Hancock cheerily berates the track which he says was too dangerous, "although I don't want to come across like a whiny bastard". He doesn't.
Afterwards, oh sweet joy of access, they wander amongst us. Crump can't get rid of that smile on his face, Pederson says the British crowd were too nationalistic (he has a point), that the jeers hurt him and that he's still in pain.
I ask Hancock how differently he rides on a dangerous track. "Just get a start, hold the line and keep going," he smiles. "I did it brilliantly in the first four heats [which he won]. But did you see the last heat [where he finished third out of three]? I rode like a novice."
And with that, filthy but unbowed, these brave men strode off into the Cardiff night.