Cam texted me after your funeral today with respect to something that was nothing to do with this little tribute I've been working up for you for the last few days. Which is what this is going to be. But that which he texted I can use here. You see there were a lot of people at your funeral today and I was only one of them. And although you made sure you and I had a good connection, there were at least a hundred people at the funeral today who had a much bigger connection with you. And in the case of your family, an infinitely bigger connection, of course. So I'm slightly worried that I'm being a bit presumptuous to write below what will be a slightly crazy tribute. But then Cam texted me earlier, as I say. And the thing he wrote was this: "You just have to think, would Sully have liked it?"
So, I'm going to go for it.
The tribute below is going to take the form of you ringing someone (anyone) to invite that person over for a late night session watching Bathurst at Cam's place. And whether he and Sally are looking for an early night or not. Now there's no way I can pull off speaking with your voice, as I write this. But I'll meet you half way. I'll use my own voice, but I'll hint at yours. And also, I'm going to not let whoever you're ringing off the phone.
One thing: I won't be figuring in the story. Because as I say, a hundred people should figure in such a tribute before me. But for fun I'm going to drop in one small connection between you and me. And that connection will be a reference to Paul McCartney's Uncle Albert / Admiral Halsey, of all things. Because of all the songs you got me to analyse over the years, this a few weeks ago was the last one. "What's it mean?" you asked. "It has to mean something!" But I had no idea, even though when it comes to things Beatles I'm second to only Danny and a few billion other people.
"Usually," I suggested a little helplessly, "Paul's songs don't mean anything at all. Ask Danny. I'm sure he will agree with me on this one."
"Nah," you said. "It's gotta mean something."
All right then, let's go. You're ringing someone, OK? And you're about four hours into the phone call and the monologue has just got onto Bathurst in 1971. Which was run just a month or so after Paul McCartney released Uncle Albert / Admiral Halsey, as coincidence would have it.
***
"Hey have you ever watched Bathurst '71? We were there. Cam, Tony and me. And Cam caught a Holden fan doing something really bad. He got it all on film. Drop into Cam’s place and you’ll see what I’m talking about. You don't need to ring first, just drop in. Tell him Sully sent you and that I want you to have a look at 'Bathurst '71, Can Two'. He'll be rapt. It's his favourite reel. I bet it's sitting on the projector waiting for you.
"Actually, nah fuck it. I'll come too. Pick me up on your way over and we'll both go! But one thing, before you come over, I've gotta tell you what happened. What this thing was that this Holden fan did. Or tried to do anyway. Do you remember that fucken box that ended up stuck on Moffatt's grill? That empty beer carton?
"Well, this is about that. Except it's more about what happened leading up to that. On the lap before.
"But first, to paint you a picture, I need to take you back to 1971. 1971 was the greatest year in the greatest fucken era this world has ever seen. Except for Elvis in Hawaii, of course, but that hadn't happened yet. But 1971, what a year. Peace, love and fast cars. And rock 'n' roll was back better than it had ever been. And not only was the rock 'n' roll great but all of the music was great! In 1971, every fucken band, singer and songwriter in the world got together and decided to peak at once. Except Frank, of course. And Babs. You can't peak when you're peaking your whole life already.
"But this is not about music, this thing I want to tell you about. And to tell you about this thing I need to bring you specifically up to October in 1971. And even more specifically I need to bring you with us up to the top of the mountain at Bathurst.
"So we're up there camped in the Ford camp, right? Cam, Tony and me. Directly opposite us on the other side of the track is the Holden camp. The race is going great. Since lap two, Moffatt and Bond have been lapping Toranas and it's party time. I've got all the doors of the car open and the radio's cranked up to ten and that song Admiral Halsey's just come on whatever the fuck that's about. And the V8s are roaring around the track and 'hey Tony, what's this fucken song even about?' Tony's standing next to me on the big esky. 'Who gives a shit!' replies Tony. 'Switch it off.' Fucken Tony and Cam. I love 'em, but all they'll listen to is Stones. I'm gonna ask Danny when I get back. He'll know.
"But then, what was I talking about?
"Whoa! Did you see that?! Moffatt and Bond just went past a Torana fucken whoosh! And now the Torana's got the wobbles up. He's lost it! He's spearing off the track like a fucken dart and now he's wedged in a gum tree! 'Hey I think he might've sped up as he got airborne!' I yelled to Tony. But Tony's not there. He's laughed too hard and he's lost his balance and fallen off the esky. And now he's flat on his back in the dirt, flailing. He's got that surprised look on his face that turtles get when you tip them over. Which you should never do. Always leave the fucken turtles the right way up, OK?
"But Cam, well, he's missing all of this. Because he's busy. He's sitting just down from Tony and me by the fence on a fold-up picnic chair. He damaged his ankle last night jumping off an upside-down-on-fire-shitbox Corolla and now he's got his left leg in the small esky under the card table in amongst the beer and the ice. I know it might sound funny that Cam took a tumble from a burning car, but it isn't. He really did hurt himself. And I was really worried, because he's my brother. So I had to get angry with him when he wouldn't get his ankle looked at. I did try to tell him that I was taking him to the hospital whether he likes it or not, but you know those fucken Ryans. He just looked me in the eye and said 'no.'
"And he's a strong bugger, too. It took me ages to wrestle him to the ground. Eventually, I got him on his back and I was dragging him to the car yelling 'I love you brother, I love you, you're fucken going to the hospital!' But he kept screaming: 'My ankle, you've got my ankle, let go of my ankle Sully, aarrrrrgh!'
"The poor bastard. That probably hurt a lot. But Tony came flying in from the left and sorted it all out somehow.
"And that's all I can remember of last night. All I know beyond that is that today, Cam's in no shape to be up and about and jumping around. So he's put his hand up to get behind the camera. Which is a good thing, because he's good at that sort of thing. He's meticulous. And right now, he's sitting down there like a track marshall what with his projector and his card table and his notepad and all his pencils neatly lined up like soldiers. And what with his left leg in the esky. I hope that's not gonna give him trouble that ankle. Shit.
"But anyway, if it's giving him any pain, he's not showing it. He's deep in concentration. He's got a little routine going. He's looking at his stopwatch, making notes in his notebook, looking up at the top of the track, making notes in his notebook and so on. Like I said, he's meticulous.
"Meanwhile, on the other side of the track, as I said earlier, is the Holden camp. And aha! I remember what I was talking about now. Because opposite Cam specifically is that Holden fan I was talking about. The one I said did a bad thing. Because she fucken did. But right now she's just standing there and she's studying the top of the track every bit as intently as Cam is. She's alert, she's fidgety and ... hmm, she's got half a slab of beer under her arm.
"Now ordinarily, I wouldn't pay any attention to anyone on the other side. I'm more interested in what's happening trackside than whatever they're doing over there. But this Holden fan is catching my eye. And not only because she's built like a tradie, which always gets me going. But also because there's something about her that's not quite right. And aha, here's what it is: it's a hot day and she seems in no hurry to get her beer into some ice. Maybe I've been hanging around detectives too much lately or something, but I'm noticing things like that these days. But ... nope, I can't make sense of it. So I shrug and turn my attention back to the track.
"The dull roar of a pair of Phase Threes hammering up the mountain on the other side on lap three now sends a thrill through the Ford camp. I'm watching Cam, because I know he has all this timed down to the second. I wait ... and then suddenly, Cam makes his move. With Cam-like cool, he slowly places his stopwatch neatly on the card table next to his soldier-pencils and in the same movement he lifts his movie camera up onto his shoulder. He then presses the go button on the camera and ... action.
"With a mighty roar, over the top they come.
"Ah, it is beautiful. And now a sigh goes up from the crowd. Because the two Falcons are so close together this time around that they're airborne at the same time. And oh my goodness, look, they're touching. My friend I cannot describe this, because I'm balling my fucken eyes out now just telling you about it. Forget the ballet, this is the ballet. And Alan Moffatt, he's so relaxed. He's six foot up in the air flying at two hundred and forty miles an hour in a one-two formation and he's got his arm leaning on the window sill. I swear he's out on a Sunday drive taking in the view! Which is a great view by the way. I did the track on Friday with Cam navigating and got a bird's eye view myself. And then at the bottom of Conrod Straight Cam was saying 'you need second at the corner Sully, go down to second.' But I told him 'nah I can take it in third' and shit, there were people everywhere wandering around next to the track and even though I went off sideways I missed them all. That was lucky.
"Anyway, right now I glance to my left and I see a tear glisten in the corner of Tony's eye as he watches the Falcons fly by. And it occurs to me as I see Tony so happy and Cam so happy that at this moment in time, in all of history, no matter what has happened in the past or whatever might happen in the future, right now I am truly happy, too.
"Now what I didn't know at the time was that that very moment, Western civilisation was peaking too. But alas, it was not to last. Because an instant later, our reverie was shattered. Because that Holden fan? The one holding the half a slab? Well, she lifted them over her head like she was on the boundary line in a soccer match firing a ball back into play and hurled her beer at the Falcons.
"Years later, in a moment that would live in infamy, a rock would be rolled into the path of the great Dickie Johnson's Tru Blu XD. But this little story is not about something like that happening now back here in 1971. It's about something like that that could have happened back here in 1971. Which can be just as bad if you truly think it's going to happen. Which I did.
"In retrospect, it should not have surprised us that she missed. Because she was Holden. Which means more tatts than teeth and everything else that goes with that including being a bad shot. No teeth. That gets me going too. But yes, we shouldn't have been surprised. But at the time, you're not thinking like that. You're panicking. You're picturing half a slab ripping the guts out of two brand new Phase Threes. And you're thinking about the waste of beer, too.
"But shit, I've kept you on the phone too long again, haven't I. Look get off and get round here to pick me up and we'll have a look at all this at Cam's place. I don't need to be telling you every little thing about it, we can watch it instead. But first, I didn't tell you what happened to the beer that she chucked. I'll just tell you about that and then you'd better come around here straight away, because it's getting late and we've gotta get around there before Cam and Sally go to bed.
"So, the beer. Here's what happened with that. Pretty quickly as the beer flew towards the cars it became clear that the beer was going to clear the cars and that the cars were going to clear the beers. And suddenly, the drama was over before it had even got started. And even above the now suddenly lower pitched roar of the Fords disappearing down the mountain, a sigh of relief rippled through the Ford camp. But like I said, it's what could have happened that matters, not what did happen. And it gives me a shudder to think about that to this day. And ah yes, that's right. The beer. Well that skidded right across the hard track without slowing down and then kept going along the grass on the other side. She was a good strong woman that Holden fan. And then it finally did start to slow down as it travelled along the grass until it finally came to a stop right near Cam's right foot as it rested on the bottom wire of the fence, as his luck would have it. He's always jagging things like that.
"Cam didn't ask questions, of course. He didn't even raise an eyebrow. He just kept on doing what he was doing, studying the stopwatch and making his notes in his notebook and so on. But to his routine he now added an extra item: reaching down through the fence every now and again to grab a new can. He didn't even have to get up out of his chair. He's got long, stretchy arms, has Cam.
"OK then. That's that. So get around here. But just before you do, let me just tell you that how that empty beer carton ended up on Moffatt's grill. Even the Channel 7 cameras caught that one. Next time around, on the very next lap, as the Falcons came over the top? Well, that same Holden fan now chucked her now empty beer carton at the Fords. And this time she scored a direct hit. But I saw no joy on her face. It was, by now, a hollow victory. She just sat down, sulking, and stared at Cam. Because Came was still drinking her beer."
Click. Beeeeeeeep.
"Hello? Are you there? Oh for fuck's sake. Tony! They've cut my phone off again!"
***
Like I said, vale Sully. And thank you. You wanted to leave the world a better place and you did.
