Dear old outspoken Motor Sport,
The finest mag. that can be bought,
What happened to your centre pages?
We haven’t seen a car for ages.
Instead therein we see portrayed,
Admittedly so well displayed,
And all in super technicolour,
pictures of something or other.
These objects you persist in showing,
Which end is which there is no knowing,
But if you study carefully
Something to your advantage you may see.
You can just glimpse the driver’s head,
It could be Hill or Uncle Fred,
But though it may appear a joke
You’ll learn what kind of fags to smoke.
Where did all this nonsense start
That caused our senses to depart?
What are these things that draw the hordes?
No more than high-speed poster boards.
So please once more give us to sample,
Marque Club racing for example,
With cars that really can be bought,
Driven by men, not astronauts!
So keep your slicks and No. 6,
They’re really getting on our wicks,
Enough of chrome roll-over bars,
Give us back our motor cars.
Ian S. Bolton.