Maybe I'm just boring. Perhaps my vehicle knowledge is flawed.
I've just never got the difference between a Holden and a Ford.
Sure. One's red, one's blue. There's the logo too. But they look and sound the same.
So to compete upon a racetrack, seems a slightly silly game.
But as I stand among the regulars by Hamilton's grand stage.
Attention never falters. We press against the cage.
A grumble, a screech, a whine, a scream.
A collective turn from fading chassis towards the jumbo screen.
There's a man with a flag. A jacket. A shirt. A cap upon his head.
Every item's logo'd. Labelled. Lambasted with black and red.
I cannot question his loyalty. It is beautiful, and pure. But it's also blind.
For if you peer beneath the bonnet they're near identical, you'll find.
Who knows... Perhaps they'll discover a special motor racing gene
Cos you're born Holden, or you're born Ford. There is no in between.
I think I missed the DNA and though race day's always fun.
They're all just expensive taxis. And I've spent too long in the sun.