The Great Bathurst Debate

The Great Bathurst Debate

"G’day mate. ‘Ow yar goin’?"

"Yeah, good mate. ’Avin’ a beer?”

“A beer? A beer? Why would you stop at one?

“Good point, Baz. Go a pot?”

“Sounds the go, Mate, ‘its ‘ot enough out there. Cheers, Davo."

"No worries. So, you watching Bathurst this year?"

"Is the Pope Catholic? Course I am. Wouldn't miss it for quids."

"Reckon Brock'll take it out again?"

"Brock? Peter Perfect himself? Mate, he's got it in the bag. That Commodore's a weapon. Nine wins, Davo. Nine bloody wins. The King of the Mountain."

"Yeah, well, even kings fall off mountains, don't they? I reckon Dick Johnson's got a real crack at it this year. That Falcon's flying."

"Johnson? You having a laugh? Holden's owned that mountain since God first made mountains."

"Owned it? What about Moffat? What about Bond? Both Ford men, both Bathurst winners."

"Ancient history, mate. We're talking about now. Brock and that beautiful Marlborough Commodore. Poetry in motion."

"Beautiful? Looks like a bloody a packet of cigarettes on wheels. The Falcon's got lines, style. Aerodynamics."

"Aerodynamics, he says! Listen to Professor Einstein over here. Mate, that Commodore, it's about grunt- power! The roar of that Holden V8! It makes your chest vibrate."

"Your chest vibrates because you're having a bloody heart attack because it’s looking like Brock isn’t going to make the finish. Ford's got precision engineering. German influence, you know."

"German? Oh, come off the grass! Here we go. Might as well be driving a bloody Volkswagen if it’s got anything German about it. Holden's Australian through and through. Built here, raced here, won here."

"Ford's been Australian longer than you've had that mullet of yours. Besides, doesn't matter where it's built. Matters who crosses the line first."

"Another beer, my shout"

"Too right. Make mine a seven this time. This discussion could bo for a bit."

"Two beers it is. Oi, Kev, two beers of Gold when you get to it mate, thanks!"

"So where were we? Oh yeah, you were talking rubbish about Ford."

"Rubbish? That's a bit rich coming from a Holden bloke. You lot are still dining out on Brock like he's the second coming."

"Because he is, mate! The man's a legend. A hero. An artist behind the wheel.

"An artist? He's a lucky bastard who's had the best cars and the best team. Put him in a Falcon and see how he goes. Thanks, Kev, yer, my shout, yer, take it out of that"

"Put him in a Falcon? That's like asking Bradman to bat with a bloody ping-pong bat. Why would you handicap a genius?"

"Handicap? The Falcon's the superior machine! Better handling, better top speed, better looking."

“Okay. you two, turn the volume down a bit. The rest of the customers don’t want to know about Bathurst, and the Boss is getting cranky.”

“Sorry, Kev, yer, okay. And you was sayin’ better lookin’? Better lookin? Mate, ever had your eyes checked? The Commodore's a work of art. Sleek, muscular, purposeful."

"It's a cigarette box, like I said earlier. A big red box with wheels with Marlborough written over it. My Great Aunt Maud’s got more curves than a Commodore."

"Your Great Aunt Maud\s got more curves than Conrod Straight! Don't bring looks into this when you're backing a car that looks like someone sat on it."

"Someone sat on it? That's your professional opinion, is it? What are you, a bloody automotive designer now?"

"Don't need to be a designer to spot a ugly car when I see one. That Falcon front end looks like a startled catfish."

"Catfish? catfish? The Commodore's looks like a dropped pie! All squashed and sad looking."

"You're talking absolute crap now, mate. Total crap. The Commodore is iconic. Iconic, I tell yar!"

"So's the Titanic. Doesn't mean I want to be on it when it goes down."

"Oh, that's bloody hilarious. You should be on TV. Get your own comedy show. 'Davo the Delusional Ford Fan.' "

"Better than being a Holden tragedy. You blokes are like a cult. Probably got a shrine to Brock in your lounge room."

"And you've probably got a poster of Dick Johnson on the back of your dunny door! Bit weird, mate!"

"At least I'm backing a winner! Ford's gonna dominate this year. Mark my words!"

"The only thing Ford dominates is the DNF list! Did Not Finish! That's the Ford motto!"

"Oh, piss off! At least our engines don't blow up every second lap!"

"Blow up? Blow up? The Holden V8 is bulletproof! Built like a tank!"

"Drives like one too! Slow, heavy, outdated!"

"You take that back!"

"Make me!"

"I bloody will!"

"Yeah? You and whose army?"

"Don't need an army to deal with a Ford fanboy!"

"Fanboy? fanboy? I'll show you fanboy, you Holden-humping, Brock-worshipping—"

"Right, that's ENOUGH!"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Bruce, the publican, and you've both had enough. Too much beer, too much mouth, not enough sense."

"But he started it!"

"I don't care who started it. I'm finishing it. Both of you, out. Now."

"You can't kick us out!"

"Watch me. Johnno! Johnno!"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Escort these two gentlemen to the street, would you?"

"My pleasure, Boss. Right, you two. Come on, up you get."

"This is un-Australian!"

"What's un-Australian is arguing about cars like a couple of dim-witted kids. It's just Bathurst, for crying out loud."

"Just Bathurst? Just Bathurst? Did you hear that, Davo? Just Bathurst!"

"Bloody disgusting. The man's got no soul."

"Finally, something we agree on."

"Yeah. An’ the Publican's is a soul, bloody arseole."

"Total moron."

"Probably drives a Toyota."

"Ha! Probably does. Come on, mate. There's another pub down the street."

"Good idea. We can watch the race there."

"Long as you don't waffle on about Ford all day."

"Long as you admit Holden's a glorified shopping trolley."

"There they go again, Johnno, you better walk us all the way down the street."

"No worries, Boss. Okay, gents. Just keep it civil, eh?"

"Civil. Right. Sure….. Let’s go Davo. Probably welcome customers at the Commercial. So anyway, about that qualifying time..."

"Yer, there was something fishy about that."

“Well, like I said, looks like a startled catfish.”

“You’re like a bloody dog with a bone; never let it go……”

And so they continued, all the way to the Commercial Hotel.