The Colour of Money

The fruits of my labour

I read with interest the other week of the travails of Phil Bardsley, the erstwhile Sunderland and Scotland full back. Incase you missed the brouhaha, I shall recount. The Daily Mail, and by extension, the rest of middle England* got its collective knickers in a twist over Mr Bardsley picturing himself lying, covered in £50 notes. He was promptly fined a huge amount of cash by his club and was accorded pariah of the day status in the eyes of the Daily Mail and its readership.  The faux outrage was such that the resulting earth tremors were reported on the Radio 4 Today programme - hence the reason I heard about it. Just incase you thought that I had read the Daily Mail. Good god no. I rely on John Humphries reading it and reporting on the outrage. I see that as effective delegation.

Now, Bardsleys act was crass, deeply unclassy and insensitive especially in austerity Britain etc, etc. However, this was a private photograph that had been purloined by the paper and to me it seemed like just another way of someone who is far richer than I could ever hope to be, showing off their wealth. After all, a deeply impractical sports car, or environmentally damaging 4x4, or a particularly flashy watch, or, I suppose, a particular accent, are all just ways that we seek to differentiate ourselves from others. To show how rich and successful we are, that we are a different class than others. Is ‘wearing’ money as Bardsley did, more distasteful than driving around in excess money, or using money to tell the time, or alter the way we speak? It all seems all much the same to me.

Anyhow, last weekend saw me taking the short trip down to Eaglesham for the VC Glasgow South Road Race. The second in the WoSCA series of Cat 3/ Cat 4 races. Although this is a step up in the racing that I had been competing in, I had finished 15^th in the previous race in the series and was therefore hopeful that I could put on a good showing and get into the top 20 or so. The race was run on a pretty flat, narrow course with an uphill drag to the finish. There were 80 odd riders in the race, and alas no impediment to whittle the race down before the end. Unfortunately this led to a pretty horrible race. The roads were too narrow for the number of riders, there was plenty of bumping and boring in the group and riders were continually on the wrong side of the road. The commissaries had to stop the race at one point and warn us all about the standard of racing and threaten to abandon the race if we all didn’t buck up our ideas. For the first time in my racing career, there were a couple of guys who were disqualified for dodgy riding, however, if truth be told, there could have been many more.

Comfortable in the bunch

I decided fairly early on that no one was going to get a break from the group and that the safest course of action was to position myself at the back of the peleton and just wait out the race until the last lap. As we entered the final lap I started to move my way through the grupetto towards the front. With about 5 miles to go a group of four or five riders opened up a hundred yard or so gap. I successfully managed to bridge the gap and was in the ideal position with 1 mile to go. I perhaps started my sprint a little too early and was hanging on towards the end, however I managed an 8^th place finish over all and second place 4^th category rider.

The second best finishing 4^th Category rider, is kind of a booby prize. The second best of the worst riders in the race. Not even the best of the worst. The points and the resulting progression towards third cat are far more valuable.  However prizes are not to be sniffed at. Having won the princely sum of £35 this season and therefore being a full member of the brethren of professional athletes, I feel it does bring me a perhaps unique insight into the behaviour of Mr Bardsley. After all, what do you do with all this cash? Sure, I could buy a flash car, but how would I fit my bike in the boot? A chunky watch would be an option, but they don’t tend to come in carbon fibre. The only thing left is to take a picture of me covered in my winnings, much as Bardsley has done. £35 won’t cover much more than my nipples though.

I’d like to see the Daily Mail publish that picture.  Now that would cause some knicker twistery.

The finish. 8th.
6th place and 3rd Cat promotion was only a wheel width away.

From Glasgow,
n

* Although it pains me to admit this, there is a Scottish edition of the Daily Mail. It pains me further to admit that this paper does have a readership north of the border. Alas we cannot claim moral authority and a lack of knicker twisting north of the border. Therefore, in this instance when I say middle England I actually include middle Scotland in that too. This is the only time that this should be permitted.