12/24/2020
May you all enjoy Christmas for its true meaning in this challenging year and fondly recall all the great things that happened, too.
A Christmas Message from Speedway Illustrated
‘Twas the Feature before Christmas, when all through the track,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a floor jack.
The racing résumés were hung by the flagstand with care,
In hopes that an offer from JGR soon would be there.
The crewmembers were nestled all snug in their beds,
As hangovers crept into their greasy heads.
The trophy queen in her sash and I in my Speedway Illustrated cap,
Had just run one incredible lap.
When out in the shop there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the race-car bed to see what was the matter.
Dropping the window net, I flew like a flash,
Ready to blame someone else for the crash.
The eight-foot fluorescents gave such a glow,
To that glorious race car resting silently on four jackstands below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature open trailer, and eight tiny racers there.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Dick.
More rapid than supers his racers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now, Majeski! now, Bloomer! now, Tremont and Bubba!
On, Rico! On, Nichols! on, cousins Edwards and Schrader!
Each of you to the top of pit wall!
Then climb in your race cars and dash away all!"
As nerves before the green flag is to fly,
Released with excitement as engine roar fills the sky.
So up to the cushion they flew,
Steering cars of tricks and some tires covered in goo.
And then, in a twinkling, someone got on his roof,
No one admitting responsibility for the goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Off the flagstand St Dick came down with a bound.
He held the black flag, all in a furl,
To the entire field, he gave it a whirl.
On its wheels put back, intent to rejoin the pack
Just like Earnhardt – the legend – 20 years back.
Each drivers’ clothes all tarnished with rubber and soot.
They looked as tough as Red Foote.
The tear-offs, how they twinkled! Each dirt clod soft as a berry!
Rotors were like roses, each header a cherry!
St Dick’s little mouth drawn up like a bow,
Hiding the green he would soon throw.
The stomp of each pedal as we mashed the gas,
Gave power to making a pass.
On victory, outfitted with a wreath.
A tech man arrived, without any teeth.
A rulebook he held to his big round belly,
I claimed the kit was bought from Andy Granatelli.
He grabbed gauges from the tool box’s top shelf,
I laughed until he said to yank each head myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Gave me to realize, I’d been dq’d instead.
He spoke not a word, but pointed at my work,
He filled the paperwork as I called him a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
Told the promoter that his son is now where the trophy goes.
He sprang back to his shack, to his team gave a whistle,
On me the sky started to drizzle,
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he slammed the door to be out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and next time get it right!"
- Karl Fredrickson
*In order for our valued teammembers to spend quality time with their families, the Speedway Illustrated offices will be closing at 4:57 today and re-opening Monday at 8:04. We hope you all enjoy this important time with family and friends.
