The pen is mightier than the sword

(sometimes, though, I wish I had the sword!)

at one of the inner-city hotels. As the pleasant evening of chat, nibbles and autographs drew to a close, I mentioned to PB that I’d nip down to the concierge to arrange having the car brought around so we could head back to our hotel.

All organised so headed back upstairs to the mezzanine oor function area, turned the corner – to nd Brock still signing autographs! But for whom? All the Mobil people had gone! Turns out there was another gathering in the room next door which ended as the Great Man waited for my return. As I got there, Brock was on his knees carefully applying the Artline marker pen to the left buttock cheek of an extremely attractive young lady wearing an extremely tiny little black dress!

I quizzically raised an eyebrow; Brock bestowed a quick peck on the cheek (not the one he was signing) and we left. As we walked to the car, I again raised the eyebrow and PB explained.

“Wal, I was standing at the door saying goodbye to the last of the Mobil folk and while I was waiting for you, a function in the room next door nished and as the people came out, a few asked for autographs. The last person was the young lass you saw who when she asked for an autograph, I asked her what did she want signed because as you could see she wasn’t carrying anything – you’d taken the last of the posters – and apart from the LBD (little black dress) – that was just about it. I thought it was a legitimate question!

“She proceeded to lift up the hem of the LBD exposing a very pert bum cheek and motioned for me to sign it! What was I to do? Got to give the customers what they want!”

I simply shook my head.

The lengths some people went to get a scrawled name of their heroes – and the lengths some of those heroes went to get them that signature – still astounds me. A case in point was the 1995 Mobil Round Australia Trial. I was contracted by Mobil to be media liaison for the trial, with emphasis on the Mobil Bridgestone Holden Rally Team run by George Shepheard. Driving a rented Avis Toyota Landcruiser, we’d try to get to the end of a stage to get relevant news out, grab some video footage and still-camera images, then blaze off and do it all again.

Also, we had to get to the overnight stops or major cities before the Shepheard Team drivers as we had sponsor functions to get them to. Importantly (for this story) we carried Brock and co-driver Dave Boddy’s day bags so they could do a quick change if necessary for a media or sponsor meetand-greet.

The end of one special stage nished at something like two or three in the morning, somewhere in the middle of nowhere to the north of the Barkly Tablelands near or at Cape Crawford – a cape that was 100-plus kays from the ocean. But I digress. Despite the late (or early?) hour, a huge crowd had turned out hoping to catch a glimpse of their heroes or, to just be a part of the social aspect of a rare event like this. Distance is nothing to Territorians – two or three hundred-kilometre trips were usually measured by how many ‘tinnies’ it took to get there…

Drivers and fans were gathered round signing autographs when suddenly ‘The Icon’ dashed out of the group and over to us, some 30 or 40 metres away. “Quick Wal, where’s my bag?” Bag duly found, Brock ruffles through it, grabs a pair of jocks and dashed off! We were thinking that the lad might have copped a dose of “Borroloola Belly” but all became clear a while later.

Seems a LYL (lovely young lady) had a special request (don’t they all!), explaining that she indeed lived two or more hours away and had said to her bloke early in the evening that she was going to drive to the rally stage end to get Brock’s signature. The boyfriend/partner suggested she should make the trip worthwhile and challenged her to bring back a pair of PB’s undies. Hence the mad dash to get his bag, and the scrabble to nd his knickers to make it ‘mission accomplished’ for the lady.

“Um, Brock” I said, “they were clean undies weren’t they?” “Dunno “said Brock, “I couldn’t tell in the dark!”

It doesn’t bear thinking about does it? We’ll move forward a few years now with Brock (sort of) retired and the baton passed on to those ne young gentlemen, Mark Skaife and Craig Lowndes.

It was at the Indy Carnival on the Gold Coast. These were one of my leastfavourite events, as at that time there were no pit garages for the Supercars teams and we were spread out at the southern end of the circuit in car parks and the like. Getting there, and from one end to the other for sponsor, media and other commitments was a nightmare, whereas now the teams are in pit garages and are the show, life would be much easier.

But back then, we were stuck in a car park out in the weather and the heat from the sun. Add to that the heat-soak from the cars after practice/qualifying/racing and it would combine to leave crew and drivers a little fractious. So, after these times you could imagine how popular I would be when asking Mark or Craig to sign something.

That was the situation here and both had just completed a long-ish autograph session and had escaped to the transporter and its air conditioner. Minutes later one lass walked into the tent hoping for an autograph (not from me!) from the drivers. Now I am normally well-practised in saying no but on this occasion, I could barely say anything – as the young lady was barely wearing anything!

A light cotton wrap-around skirt and a bikini top – and let me tell you, that bikini top was struggling to be t for purpose!

I stuck my head into the truck and asked Lowndsey for just one more signature. He rolled his eyes but stepped out, gave his usual Lowndes grin, said g’day and asked what she’d like signed. The lass thrust her left attribute at Craig and said ‘bikini top’ leaving CL with the enormous mental battle of how to achieve this without getting into trouble from someone/any body! He was a little more naïve then!

He carefully lifted the thin material, pulled it away from ‘the area’ and quickly signed the top and escaped back inside. The lass then asked if Mark was available as he ‘really is my favourite.’ Back into the transporter I go and the response was less than enthusiastic – until both Craig and I suggested it might be worth his while.

When confronted by the same problem as Lowndes, there were no mental issues or delays. “Do you want the other one signed?” said a by-now very friendly and focused Skaife. “Yes please!” as the right side of the bikini top was offered for endorsement and adornment.

Nothing subtle about our hero; a handful of the whole article was quickly taken (for stability purposes only) and the best-ever signature was given: Mmmmmaaaarrrkkk Ssskkkaaaiiifffe!

Never seen an autograph take so long!